Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 118459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 474(@250wpm)___ 395(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 474(@250wpm)___ 395(@300wpm)
He eyes me, his face blank. “You kill that motherfucker in the ring and I’ll consider it even. Okay?”
We shake hands. “Deal.”
FORTY-SEVEN
JULIA
I turn the radio on and press through the saved stations then turn it off.
In the rearview mirror, Ever snuggled into her booster chair watching the world go by.
“How are you feeling, sweetheart?”
She turns her head and smiles at me through the mirror. “I’m okay.”
“Do you hurt?”
“I always hurt a little. But it’s not so bad now.” It’s just another pin in my heart.
The nurses gave her a stronger dose of pain medicine before we left the hospital. Macie, our favorite nurse, seemed to push us through dismissal quicker than usual. I think she sensed our need to get out of there. Macie has been a godsend to us. We’ve formed a gratifying friendship over the past few weeks. She’s funny and smart and very no-nonsense. I’m not sure how she and Will met, but from our conversations and his name being brought up, I’m positive that there’s something going on between them.
I really thought they’d keep her another day, but the doctor said she was stable enough to go home today.
When did “stable” become the preferred word to use to describe a child?
The thought makes me sick. I breathe deeply, warding off the puking sensation and the tears. Everything is hitting me at once and I don’t know how much longer I can do this. I just want to sleep. I want to close my eyes and not have nightmares that wake me up in a cold sweat, just to see I’ve only been out a matter of minutes. Nightmares so bad that I don’t want to risk going back to sleep again.
I want to have a normal conversation with my daughter. One where I’m not trying to absorb every word, every nuance. I want to do all of the stupid things that I normally hate but miss so badly—things like dishes and laundry and vacuuming. What I wouldn’t give to have a day just to crank up the radio and clean because that’s all that had to be done. I remember back to worrying about the water bills. I still do, but it seems so . . . trivial . . . at this point. I look back at Ever again and she’s watching me. I wish I had realized earlier that nothing matters but us. Together. How many days did I let pass and not cherish them? How many days did I let pass and miss the entire point of the day? If I wake up tomorrow and she’s not . . .
No! Don’t go there.
I fight back the tears springing to my eyes. I can cry tonight when she’s sleeping and Crew is training. I can cry in the shower and blame my puffy eyes on the hot water. I can cry to myself and not add any more stress on the two people in the world that I love and are fighting things of their own.
I can’t even think about Crew fighting. I can’t. I know it’s coming up. I can feel him shifting. He won’t talk a lot about it. He just tells me not to worry. But I do. When I let myself think about it, usually late at night while I’m watching Ever sleep, I worry. I don’t know how he’s going to fight. I don’t know why he thinks for sure he’s going to win. I don’t know much about the guy he’s fighting or what it all entails as he keeps me protected from that. I’m grateful for that, in a way, but I also feel like there’s so much more to what’s going on than I know.
“Are you happy, Mommy?”
“Of course. I’m with you, aren’t I?”
She doesn’t look convinced. “I want you to be happy, Mommy. I want you to smile like you used to smile. It makes me happy to see you smile and you don’t very often anymore.”
“Oh, baby,” I say, trying not to break down in the middle of traffic. “I am happy. I’m just worried a lot right now.”
“About me?”
“I always worry about you. You’re my baby.”
Ever doesn’t respond. She just traces something on the window of the car.
“Are you happy, baby girl?” I ask.
“Kinda.” I hear her sigh. “I miss going to school. I miss staying all night with Mrs. Bennett. I miss having good dreams.”
“You don’t have good dreams?”
“No. I have bad ones. But don’t tell Daddy that his dream catcher isn’t working, okay? It would make him sad.”
“It’ll be our secret,” I say softly.
“You know what does make me happy?”
“What’s that?”
“Going home. I like having us in one spot. I like it when he comes in my room and thinks I’m asleep and kisses my forehead. He always whispers a little prayer and then tells me to fight. It makes me feel happy.”