Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 85472 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85472 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Carrie is a nurse. Something I decided after six months at my old job that would come in handy. When Dad passed, I had just finished college with an associate’s degree in early childhood education. I loved my job but could see the benefits of also having a nursing degree. Travis and I discussed it, and I was going to go back to school when he finished.
When I realized I couldn’t afford to stay in our apartment on my income alone, I began to look for a new place, and a new job within walking distance. I knew I would need to sell our cars to help make ends meet. When I wasn’t having any luck, Carrie suggested becoming a certified nurse’s aide. Being a nurse, she claimed they were in high demand. So, while I was pregnant and working, I took the twelve-week course and passed my certification.
Carrie is my biggest supporter of going back to school and becoming a nurse. However, I just don’t know how I could make it work. Financially I could probably get some help, but then I’d spend even more time away from Madeline, and that’s not something that sounds appealing at all.
“What’s all that?” I ask as she starts unloading the small brown bag she is carrying.
“Breakfast.”
“Carrie—” I start and stop knowing it’s no use. My best friend is one in a million.
“None of that.” She looks over her shoulder at me and winks.
“And the tote?” I ask.
“Oh, I had to bring some stuff for my niece.” She starts to empty the tote and tears well in my eyes when I see a pack of diapers, wipes, and two outfits. I made the comment that Madeline was growing so fast a few days ago, and my guess is that those outfits are the size I told her Madeline was almost in.
“Carrie, you didn’t have to,” I tell her, choking up.
“I know I didn’t. I wanted to. I’m happy to help. I know things are tight for you, and honestly, Wren, you’ve been through it. You’ve had a lot of shit roll downhill to you, and this isn’t much in the grand scheme of things.”
“You do this almost every time that you visit.”
She shrugs. “I can afford to, and I want to. I know if I were in your shoes, you would do the same.” She folds up the tote and shoves it into her purse. “Now, get your ass over here and eat with me. I miss my best friend. Tell me all the things,” she says, grabbing her sandwich and coffee and settling on the couch. My apartment is too small for a dining room table, and the galley kitchen is too small for one as well.
My stomach grumbles from hunger, but my best friend, being the rock star that she is, ignores it when I take a seat next to her, sandwich and coffee in hand. I take a bite of my sandwich—bacon, egg, and cheese on a bagel—and it’s the best thing I’ve eaten in weeks. In between bites, I tell her about Madeline being sick and the stranger yesterday at the pharmacy.
“Wren, you know I can float you—” she starts, but I stop her.
“I get paid today, and my health insurance kicks in on Monday. It was just a bad time and a tough spot.”
“You should have called me.”
“I would have. I didn’t have time to. He just stepped up and said to pay it forward someday. Then I found he dropped cash into the bag when he handed it to me.”
“Wow. Was he wearing a ring?” she jokes.
“I was too embarrassed to look,” I tell her honestly. “Anyway, I’m going to look him up when I get to work on Monday and try to find him. I need to return the money.”
“You need it.”
“I know, but I’m not his responsibility.”
“How are you going to find him? Did he give you a name?” She doesn’t respond to my comment. She knows me well enough to know that my mind is made up.
“He said his name was Marshall Riggins.” As soon as his name is out of my mouth, she chokes on the last bite of the sandwich she just shoved into her mouth. “You all right?” I ask her.
“Yes. Wren, do you not recognize that name?”
“No. Should I?”
She stands and goes to her purse she left on the kitchen counter and walks back to take her seat on the couch. The entire time her fingers are flying across the screen of her cell phone. “Marshall Riggins is one of the Riggins brothers. Riggins Enterprises?” she asks.
“Oh. Yeah, that’s the big building downtown, right? What do they do anyway?” I ask her.
“They’re in logistics. They coordinate trucks and deliveries all over the world.”
“So Marshall? He owns the business?” I ask.
She nods, grinning wildly. “He does, with his four brothers. They’re all hot as hell.”