Total pages in book: 7
Estimated words: 6671 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 33(@200wpm)___ 27(@250wpm)___ 22(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 6671 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 33(@200wpm)___ 27(@250wpm)___ 22(@300wpm)
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
PROLOGUE
COURTNEE BEAUFORT
THANKSGIVING DAY 2021
My sisters and I sit in the back of our parent’s minivan while Dad drives to Grandma’s house. We’ve done this every year we’ve been alive. Twenty-one years of this to be exact. Though in recent years, the rides have quieter, and less fighting. We recently celebrated our 21st birthday, apart for the first time. Stacie lives in LA and is pursuing her acting career. Ashlee lives in New York City. She works for a publishing house as an editor. I’m the only one who stayed home in Charleston. I teach eleventh-grade English at a private high school.
Stacee is learning lines for her upcoming movie, Ashlee is reading a book, and I’m grading term papers. Mom and Dad are singing Christmas songs terribly together. They are still sickeningly in love with each other. They met in sixth grade and have been together ever since. They have given us girls, The Beaufort Three, as we are affectionately known as, the perfect example of what love is.
When we are almost to Grandma’s place, someone hits us from behind. The car spins out of control, flipping in the air. I hear the screams of my family, but there is nothing I can do. I’m pinned in the third row by something heavy and black. I can feel myself fading and I can do nothing about it. My eyelids grow heavy, and my head is killing me. I can’t believe I’m going to die before I’ve even had a chance to live.
The next thing I know, I wake up. I’m disoriented, but it doesn’t take me long to figure out I’m in a hospital. The fluorescent lights above me are blinding. The beep, beep, beep of the machines hooked up to me is surreal. Looking around, I spot the red call button near my right hand. Reaching for it, I push it several times until the door bursts open, and a bunch of doctors and nurses enter the room.
“Miss Beaufort, you’re awake. I’m Doctor Wantabe.”
I try to speak, but I can’t. It’s then that I realize there’s a tube in my throat.
“Don’t try to talk, Courtnee. You’ve been in a coma for a while. Let’s have the doctor take a look at you, then you’ll be able to talk.” I nod and wait while the doctor does his thing, then he pulls the tube out slowly. The nurse puts a straw to my parched lips, and I drink it greedily. “Slowly now,” she says, and I do my best to listen to her, but I’m so thirsty.
When I’ve had my fill, I clear my throat.
“Where is my family?” My voice is raspy from disuse.
“Miss Beaufort, your father had a heart attack while driving, causing the accident,” Doctor Wantabe says. His bedside manner is less than desirable.
“No. Someone hit us.”
“There were no other cars at the scene and your father did suffer a heart attack. He died instantly.”
“What? My mom and sisters?” I ask, about to freak the hell out.
“Your mother passed away in route to the hospital. Your sisters were discharged three months ago.”
“Three months? How long was I out?”
“It’s February 8th. So, a little over three months.”
I’ve lost my parents and three months of my life. A few minutes later, my sisters burst into the room.
“Court?” Stacee shouts from the doorway, but soon they are pushing their way through the throng of nurses to my bedside.
“Are you guys okay?” I ask as their arms come around me.
“We were fine, minor cuts and bruises. You wouldn’t wake up.”
“What do we do now?” Ashlee, the youngest of us, asks.
“Have you had their funeral yet?” I, the oldest, ask.
“No, we were waiting for you to wake up.”
“Their lawyer keeps calling the house. They left a will. Mister Forsythe is eager to execute it.” This from Stacee.
“Of course, they did. Everyone should have a will. I’ll take care of everything when I get out of here,” I promise.
It takes another week before the doctor releases me, but it’s a whirlwind of activity once he does. Our parents left us everything equally, including the house we grew up in. We decided never to sell it. I moved back in from my little apartment downtown. My sisters go back to their lives, and I go back to work. My students welcomed me back with open arms. They were sick of the parade of substitute teachers.
Soon, the pain of losing both of my parents at the same time fades to a dull ache. I’ll never forget them, but I have to move forward. Weeks turn into months, and months turn into a year. Thanksgiving rolls around again. I cooked, but it’s not the same. We would have gone to Grandma’s house, but she died too this year. I don’t think I’m alone in thinking that this year sucked. Completely, one hundred percent sucked.