Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“Literally everything,” Myla said dryly, sidestepping as Otto tried to swat at her from behind his mother.
“Mama go? Rhett go?” Rhett asked. He pressed his face against my neck.
“Holy fucking shit,” Mrs. Hawthorne said one last time as she came down the steps. Within seconds, she’d wrapped her arms around me and Rhett both, pulling us in for a tight hug. “Oh, sweetheart. I was so worried about you.”
I shuddered at the feel of her arms around me. I’d been waiting years for that particular feeling.
“Looks like she’s just fine to me,” Otto said from the doorway. He was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Shut up, Otto,” Myla hissed.
“You’re okay?” Mrs. Hawthorne asked, leaning back to look in my face.
“I’m okay,” I said quietly.
“And who’s this?” she asked, taking a step back.
“This is Rhett,” I said, my voice wobbling just a little.
“Who’s the dad?” Otto asked sarcastically.
“Otto William,” Mrs. Hawthorne snapped, swinging her head around to glare at her son. “If you don’t go inside right now, I’m going to let your brother deal with you when he gets here.”
“He’s not gonna—” Otto’s mouth snapped shut at whatever he saw on his mom’s face. Without another word, he spun and disappeared inside.
“Ignore Otto,” Mrs. Hawthorne said, her voice soft as she spoke to Rhett. “He’s like a grumpy bear with a thorn in his paw.”
“Bear?” Rhett asked, his head turning just a little so he could look at her with his forehead still tucked into my neck.
“Yep, he’s just like a bear.” Mrs. Hawthorne said. “A stinky, grumpy bear.”
“Huh,” Myla mused from the porch. “That’s a good description of Otto.”
“You guys want to come inside?” Mrs. Hawthorne asked tentatively, taking her eyes off Rhett for only a second to glance at me. “We’ve got snacks and drinks.”
She grimaced at me and spoke to Rhett. “You thirsty? Want some juice?”
“I bet he’d love some,” I said, smiling at her. Rhett rarely got anything except water or milk. “You want some juice, Rhett?”
“Yes,” he said, lifting his head up.
“Come on in,” Mrs. Hawthorne said, leading the way. “We have all different kinds.”
I followed her into the house and got a flash of déjà vu as we walked through the living room and into the kitchen. Everything was the same. They had a new couch, but it was in the same place. The blankets were different colors, but they were still draped messily over the furniture. The photos on the walls had been added to, but the old ones were still there. The table in the entryway had been painted, but the shape was familiar. There were backpacks stacked on the bench near the door, and for an instant, I could see my purple one from high school in the pile.
“Myla, can you get Rhett some juice?” she asked. “Use one of the sippy cups, okay?” She glanced at me. “I’ll be right back.”
“Sure,” Myla said, heading for the kitchen door. “What kind do you guys like? We’ve got everything.”
“Nothing for me,” I said, wishing I could put Rhett down so I could rub my sweaty palms on my jeans. “But thank you.”
“Do you like orange juice?” Myla asked.
“Apple juice,” Rhett replied shyly.
“It’s his favorite.” I bounced Rhett a little on my arm. “What do you say, Rhett?”
“Please.”
“Got it,” she said. “Be right back.”
She stepped outside and the gravity of the situation settled into the pit of my stomach. I knew with absolute certainty that Mrs. Hawthorne had gone to call her husband and probably Michael, too. She was telling them to get their asses home. She was telling them that I’d shown up out of the blue with a little bruiser on my hip that looked just like Michael. She was—
“Okay, I got you an iced coffee even though you said you didn’t want anything,” Myla said as she stepped back inside. “I figured you wouldn’t want a beer since you’re driving, so caffeine would have to do.”
“How long have I been gone?” I asked ruefully, shaking my head.
“Hey, I might only be ten, but I know what’s up.”
“I can see that,” I said as Rhett straightened his body, trying to get down. I set him on his feet.
“You should probably drink this at the table,” Myla said to Rhett, setting down the sippy cup. “So you don’t spill it.”
“Go ahead, bud,” I said, pressing on his back a little to get him moving. As soon as he climbed onto the chair, I stood behind him, running my fingers through his hair.
“I like apple juice, too,” Myla said, sitting down in the chair across from him. “But my favorite is pineapple. Do you like pineapple juice?”
Rhett looked up at me.
“I don’t think he’s ever had any.” I smiled. She was exactly how I remembered her, and I felt something inside me settle at the knowledge. For some reason, Myla’s chatter made me feel like I’d made the right move coming here.