Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
I frowned. His story was so unrelatable. My family was tight to the point of being claustrophobic. There was no way one of us would have fallen through the cracks during a crisis.
I didn’t know how to respond, and settled on, “That sucks.”
Walker waved dismissively. “Old news. It might sound terrible, but it ended up being okay. My Aunt Kay came to the rescue. She’s my father’s older sister. That side of the family is Canadian, so they weren’t celebrating Thanksgiving. She’d heard what was going on and swooped in and took me home with her for the holidays. I didn’t go back to school till after Christmas, and I loved it. She and my Uncle Richard have a huge property on the outskirts of Toronto with an apple orchard, lots of animals and activity. I met my cousins and…I saw my father again for the first time in years. That part was awkward, but my aunt has a way of making everything okay. She didn’t have much to say about my dad’s absence. Neither did he. According to Aunt Kay, some people take a lot longer to grow up, and that wasn’t my fault in any way.”
“She’s right.”
“Yeah, I know. Whenever something has gone sideways in my life, she’s been there for me.”
“Good. I’m glad.”
He twisted the stem of his wineglass. “Anyway, I have a vivid memory of Aunt Kay asking if I wanted to bring anything with me, and—”
“You wanted your video,” I finished for him as our server descended with food for the table.
He delivered everything but our pizzas, which he assured us would be out shortly.
Walker divvied salad onto two plates and slid one toward me with the side order of dressing. “Yes, I wanted the video. Silly, huh?”
I thanked him, diving for the garlic balls and popping one into my mouth. “No way. Whatever keeps you sane.”
“Books are my great escape…and they probably always will be. Is hockey yours?”
I nodded. “Yeah, but it was a family thing. My dad teaches high school English and coaches. We all grew up at the rink where he had access to some equipment. Old sticks, used skates, ice time. There were so many of us that we could field a decent-sized team.”
“Your parents played with you too?”
“Oh, yeah. My mom has a wicked snap shot, and Dad likes to think he’s a beast of a goalie.”
“He’s not?”
“Let’s just say Dad’s the guy you want to goalie for the other team.” I shook my head ruefully. “Love him, but he’s a sieve.”
Walker gave a lopsided grin. “It’s great that you’re close with them. They seem like the type of parents who’d do anything for their kids.”
“They are,” I agreed wholeheartedly. “Things are easier now that they don’t have to skimp and save every fucking dime. They finally get to do things for themselves—travel a little bit, spend time at the lake house.”
“The lake house,” he repeated, double-dipping his garlic ball into his sauce. “Sounds swanky.”
“Ha. I wouldn’t call it swanky. It’s cool, though. My grandparents bought the cabin in the nineties. It was going to be their weekend getaway, but it was a piece of shit with terrible insulation. Fine for summertime if you didn’t mind the drive or the mosquitos. We all loved it, but you’d freeze to death if you were dumb enough to go in wintertime. Anyway, a couple of years ago, my dad and my uncle took the cabin on as a project. They renovated it, top to bottom. Every family member put in some time painting, sanding, and hauling crap to the dump. And now, the crappy cabin is the Czerniak family lake house. I swear to God, the way my parents talk, you’d think it was like some Aspen lodge.”
“Good for them.”
“Yeah, they love it. They say they’re too young to retire, but they deserve some chill time. They struggled like hell for years. They did their best to keep the worst shit from us, but…”
Walker licked his fingers, his brows knit. “What?”
I frowned, wondering why I’d started down this path. It was Walker. He was a good listener and he was easy to talk to. But still…I was pretty sure it was terrible “date” conversation.
He was leaning in now, though, gazing at me intently. I couldn’t help thinking that if he could share a piece of his story, I should too. It was only fair.
“They didn’t have any money. Like…they were always struggling. I was a kid, so I didn’t know details, but I overheard tense whispers about overdue rent when they thought we were asleep or busy doing other things. I noticed my mom patching holes in old coats, skipping meals or eating like a bird so there was more for the rest of us. Something as simple as a birthday party invitation for a random classmate would stress her the fuck out. I didn’t understand then, but how do you justify buying a gift for someone else’s child if you’re worried about feeding your own?”