Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
I glanced at the nightstand, seeing a picture frame of Claire and Benton in front of a horse. Not a mare or a pony. But a Clydesdale. “Where was that taken?” I nodded past her shoulder to the nightstand.
“Oh.” She looked at it then turned back to me. “That’s my dad’s horse. Budweiser.”
“Budweiser?” I asked with a cocked eyebrow.
“Yeah,” she said with a laugh. “We watch the American Super Bowl for the funny commercials. They have these commercials with those horses every year. So, I asked if we could call him Budweiser.”
I chuckled. “That’s funny.”
“We have other horses too.”
“Is that where you and your mom went the other day?”
“Yep.”
“That’s nice. You’ll have to take me sometime.”
She perked up, a smile moving on to her face. “Does that mean you’re staying?”
“Yes. For a while.”
“Yay!” She gave a squeal. “We’ll have so much fun. Maybe you can come to school with me.”
“I think I’m a little old to go back to school.”
“My teacher says you’re never too old to learn.”
“Well, that’s a good point.”
A knock sounded on the open door, revealing Benton dressed in all black. There was no light in his eyes, not like there usually was whenever he looked at his daughter. “Sweetheart, come here.” He gave a nod down the hallway.
She jumped off the bed and followed him.
Something told me I should stay behind, that this didn’t involve me.
But I could still hear everything.
His deep voice was distinct, like aged scotch, weathered wood, ancient stones. “Your mother is leaving.”
“Oh, okay.” Claire probably hugged her mother, because she spoke with a muffled voice, like her mouth was pressed against her stomach. “I love you, Mom.”
I closed my eyes, wishing I were in a room where I didn’t have to hear this.
Beatrice’s voice came a moment later, after a long and distinct pause. “I love you too, baby.”
Silence.
Like they were all staring at one another.
Beatrice didn’t say anything, so Benton took over. “Mom is going to be gone a while. Visiting your grandparents in London.” There was no anger in his voice like I expected, because all he cared about was making this as easy for Claire as possible, softening the blow before it struck.
“Okay,” Claire said. “See you when you get back.”
More silence.
My eyes remained closed, visualizing all of this, Beatrice standing at the door with her bag over her shoulder, knowing she was going to walk out of this life without looking back. This was the end.
But for Claire and Benton, it was just the beginning.
The door opened then closed.
My eyes opened.
Claire spoke. “Constance said she’s going to stay awhile. Told her I’d show her Budweiser.”
Benton was quiet.
“She liked my horses too. I think she likes Strawberry the most.”
Still nothing.
“Daddy…you okay?”
After a long stretch of silence, his sigh was audible. “I’m fine, sweetheart. Let’s make lunch.”
Benton let me get Claire ready for bed. He had been in a foul mood ever since Beatrice left, so he wasn’t quite present.
I had no experience with childcare, had been forced to learn when we were stuck in Hell together, but now it felt natural, as if I’d been doing it my entire life. I dried her hair, watched her brush her teeth, and then put her to bed.
When I came back into the main living room, he was sitting in his armchair and staring at the fire. One elbow was propped, his fingertips against his temple, and his other hand was around his glass. A glass full of scotch.
He seemed to be ready for bed, because he was in nothing but his sweatpants.
Didn’t seem to care about his vanity in front of me.
But then again, he didn’t seem like a man who cared about anyone—especially in his own home.
His blue eyes remained on the fire, either unaware that I stood there or ambivalent to it.
After my suffering, I assumed I wouldn’t feel compassion toward anyone, because no one else had survived what I’d survived. But the empathy washed over me, seeing this powerful man hold on to his glass of hard liquor like it was all he had in the world.
I could have just gone to bed without a word, but I decided to take a seat.
His eyes flicked to mine once I joined him, the rest of his body still.
“Do you mind?” I grabbed an empty glass.
No response.
I tipped the decanter and filled my glass. The fumes immediately hit me in the nose, like smoke from a fire. It’d been a while since I’d had a strong drink, usually sticking to wine, but right now, I’d earned something with a kick.
I took a drink and let it slide into my belly.
It burned all the way down.
His eyes moved back to the fire, and he did the same.
There were no tattoos on his fair skin. No scars either. Just tight skin over bulging muscle. Each of his pecs reminded me of the large stones back at the settlement, huge boulders that were too heavy to move.