Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 162369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 812(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 541(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 812(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 541(@300wpm)
“Do I look like a baby?”
“No, you look like a weird little gremlin bleeding in my living room.”
“I do not!” She laughs.
I nod toward the stairs. “Then get to it,” I say lightheartedly. “I ain’t got all day.”
While she’s upstairs, I head to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water and shuffle through a week’s worth of mail that’s piled on the counter.
And wait.
And wait.
I go back to the living room, lean over the banister, and peer up the stairs. I don’t hear a sound.
“Hey,” I call up the stairs. “You okay up there?”
Silence.
I eye the stairs, waiting for her answer. “Penny?”
Nothing.
Taking the steps two at a time, I rush upstairs with horrible visions running through my head of her sprawled out on my cold tile floor. She could’ve hit her head, and there’d be blood everywhere, dripping down her face, just like—
My breath stutters.
The bathroom door is wide open, but she’s not there.
“Penny?”
The door at the end of the hall—the room I haven’t stepped foot in for years—is still closed. I pace to the opposite end of the hall to my bedroom. A wave of relief and surprise courses through me when I find her lying on my bed with her eyes closed.
On Brianna’s side.
Another surprise is Cherry planted next to her with her head nestled on Penny’s shoulder. I can’t remember the last time Cherry came upstairs. She used to sleep on the bed with us every night, which was just as endearing as it was annoying. Ever try to have sex with a big-ass fluffy dog staring at you, not moving out of the way? Or them dropping an old slimy toy right next to you when you’re midthrust?
I hover in the doorway, stewing with confusion about what to do with a stray, peculiar child who’s made herself at home in my room with my dog.
“Hey…” I say, leaning against the doorframe. “You get lost?”
“No.” She doesn’t open her eyes. “I felt like I had to lie down. Cherry was worried about me.”
“Do you feel sick?”
“Not like sick sick…but like, homesick.”
Her words make my heart squeeze. “C’mon, I’ll take you home.”
“I don’t want to go there.” She sits up and blinks at me. “I miss my bed. I want to live here again.”
I let out a laugh. “You’ve never lived here.”
Frowning, she smoothes her hands over the comforter. I’m glad to see she’s got a little bandage on her finger and isn’t turning my bed into a crime scene. “Yes, I did. I picked out this blanket.”
Heat tingles up my spine. “My wife bought that blanket.”
“That’s what I said.”
My patience for dealing with a little kid is fading. I didn’t realize they constantly made stuff up. It’s kinda scary. “C’mon, Penny. Let’s get you home. I’m sure your mom is gonna be wondering where you are.”
Ignoring me, she flops back down on the pillow. “I want to stay here for a little while. Can you sit with me?”
I push myself off the doorframe and cross the room to sit on the edge of the bed. “You want to tell me why you don’t like being home?” I ask. “You can trust me.”
“It’s just…” She sighs, struggling with words. “I had a dream I live here. With you and Cherry.”
Ah, so that explains a lot. She must be a vivid dreamer and wakes up thinking her dreams actually happened. I’ve had those myself. Some dreams I’d rather stay in forever and never have to wake up to reality. “Well,” I say. “Sometimes dreams are tricky and seem real.”
“But… I don’t think it really is a dream. I think this is my real home.”
“Dreams can make you feel that way.” Curiosity crawls up my spine. “Tell me, what makes here feel like home to you?”
She chews her lip and stares up at the ceiling. “I like your statues. And the way the barn and flowers smell. I like the moss on the rocks. I like all the pictures and the blanket and the red chair and couch. And I like this big, soft bed. Everything here is loved on.”
“What do you mean?”
“At my mom’s house, everything is new. Like at a store.”
Me and Brianna furnished our house by hunting through antique stores, consignment shops, and garage sales on weekends. Everything we bought felt like a treasure that traveled through time. Faded, worn, scratched, and, as Brianna used to say, very well loved.
“You’ve got a really unique way of looking at things for a little kid, ya know that?”
“My mom says I have an old soul.” She squints her eyes, like she’s thinking really hard. “I love Cherry, and I like your smile a lot. When you smile, I feel happy. That all feels like home.”
“You ain’t wrong. All that is what home should feel like.”
“And I like the baby’s room,” she adds softly.