Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
“What the hell are you doing?” I asked as I tried to pry his arms off of me.
“Please forgive me, Blake. Please. I swear it only happened that one time. Then at the mall she kind of—”
“Kind of what?” I interrupted. “Kind of plunged her tongue into your mouth without you noticing?”
He groaned and squeezed me tighter. “Blake, please. I was desperate for you. That was the first time I was going to see you after a while, and the last time I’d seen you, you gutted my heart for the second time. I’m sorry if I made bad calls, but I was so fucking lonely and depressed and sick without you,” he pleaded.
I sighed. “It’s fine, Cole. I forgive you. Please get off of me. You’re still sleeping on the floor though.” He let go and settled himself down next to my bed while I tucked myself in and turned off the light.
“Blake?” he whispered later when I thought he was asleep.
“What?”
“I love you...more than you’ll ever know,” he said hoarsely.
I felt tears sting my eyes. “Go to sleep, Cole.”
Chapter 19
Present
“Aunt Shelley,” I call out. “There’s a man here to see you.”
“Be right there,” she shouts back.
She’s been in the kitchen all morning, baking bread and cookies for tonight’s bingo guests. I can tell she’s exhausted today. The chemo has been dragging her down more than usual lately. Other than bingo, she hasn’t had the energy for many things. She hardly has the neighbor, Phoebe, over anymore. I think she’s embarrassed by her hair loss. If I was Aunt Shelley’s age and looked the way she did, not much would embarrass me. She’s never told me her age, but I know Phoebe and most of the bingo players are in their sixties, so I’m guessing she’s around that age. I’ve also come to that conclusion based on the music she listens to, which isn’t saying much because I listen to the same music—and I’m thirteen.
She doesn’t seem to know many people outside of the bingo realm, and those people are mostly Phoebe’s friends. The man that’s here to visit is younger than the others. I can’t tell how old, but he doesn’t have wrinkles. He’s looking at me really funny, and it’s making me feel a little uncomfortable. I ask him to come in, but he says it’s best if he waits on the porch. I tell him I’m going to get Aunt Shelley for him since she still hasn’t come out. He takes a seat on the rocking chair out on the porch.
“Aunt Shelley, the man is still out there waiting,” I say when I walk into the kitchen.
“Oh, honey, I forgot all about that. Who is it? Is it Bob?” she asks.
Bob is one of the Bingonians—as I call them.
“Nope, this is a young guy,” I reply.
She furrows her eyebrows and looks a little panicked. “I’ll be right back,” she says throwing down her apron in a rush. “Watch the oven.”
I’m curious to know who the guy is, so I wait until I hear the screen door shut and tiptoe to the living room, hoping to hear something.
“Oh, baby,” I hear her cry.
“I know I shouldn’t be here, but I needed to see you,” he says, his voice choked up.
“I’m glad you came,” she replies quietly.
“She’s gotten so big. She looks just like her,” he says hoarsely.
“I know,” Aunt Shelley whispers. “It’s so hard sometimes,” she sobs.
“I’m sorry, Ma,” he says. “I know it is.”
I run back to the kitchen when I hear the sound of the timer go off. I put on a mitten and take the bread out to cool. I really want to hear more, but I don’t want to go back. I know Aunt Shelley heard the timer; it was really loud. I wonder why he called her “Ma.” I wonder how he knows me. He said I’ve gotten big, so he must have seen me small. I don’t remember seeing him though. And who do I look like?
The worst part is that anytime I ask Aunt Shelley anything, she gives me the run around. I wonder if she’ll invite him to stay for dinner. Maybe if he stays, I’ll find out who he is. I doubt he will though. He sounds like he isn’t supposed to be here. I sit down on one of the stools and prop my elbows on the wooden table and watch the bread cool. Aunt Shelley makes the best bread. She taught me how, but I don’t have the patience for it. She tells me that I need to learn to have patience. She also keeps preparing me for the day that she’s no longer here.
I hate to hear her say those words. I don’t want her to leave me. She’s the only person that I really have. I have my friends from school and dance, but I only see them in those two places. Our neighbors are all old and we live miles apart from most of them, except for Phoebe. She lives down the street and is only thirty-three steps away from us. I know because I count the steps whenever I go over to her house. It’s always the longest and shortest walk that I take around here. I used to go over to Thelma’s house, two miles down, when her grandkids used to visit. They stopped coming last year though. Now that they’re teenagers they’re too cool to hang out with their grandma. Either way, Aunt Shelley is the only family I have. This is the only home I have.