Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
She sighs. “You’d be surprised. There were people in my old neighborhood who thought I was a deadbeat for living off Mama and Papa’s life insurance for a while after they died. But I was seventeen years old and pregnant. I was studying for my GED and had doctor’s appointments to get to. There wasn’t enough time for a part-time job. And then Mimi was born, and it was all I could do just to keep the two of us alive for a while.” She laughs, a soft, weary sound. “A newborn was a lot more work than I imagined, and Mimi was a great little sleeper. I can’t imagine how hard it must be for moms who have babies with colic, who cry all night.”
“A lot of them have a partner to help out,” I remind her.
“A lot of them don’t,” she counters. “There aren’t many good ones out there these days, Grammercy. Believe me, I’ve had enough run-ins with the scum of NOLA to prove a girl should always pick the bear. So, you have to promise me something.”
I nod. “Shoot.”
“Promise me you aren’t a secret psychopath with plans to hurt me or my daughter. Because if you hurt Mimi, I’d have to kill you. And then I’d go to prison and she’d be an orphan just like I was. And I don’t want that for her.”
I squeeze her hand gently as I promise, “I will never hurt a hair on that sweet baby’s head, Elly. And I’ll do my damnedest to treat you the same way. I know things are more complicated between adults, but all I want to do is help. Help and…maybe be your friend, if you need one.”
Her expression softens. “Yeah, I do, Mr. Graves. I really do.”
“Me, too.” I brush my thumb across her knuckles. “Then it’s a—” Before I can finish, a voice calls out from down the hall.
“Mama? Where are you, Mama? Are there snacks yet? I’m so hungry.”
“I’m just down the hall getting them, baby. Be right there.” Elly releases my hand and leaps to her feet, the spell broken between us.
She starts toward the vending machine, but I shoo her away.
“Get out of here,” I say, pulling out my wallet. “I told you, I’ve got this, I just got distracted. Go see how she’s feeling. I’ll be there in a minute or less. Tell the hungry girl she won’t be hungry for long.”
Lips curving, Elly nods. Still, she hesitates another beat before starting toward Mimi’s room, proving how alien it is for her to trust that someone’s watching her back.
And yes, I do literally watch her back—those shorts make it impossible not to—but only for a second. Then I’m at the machine, punching the numbers for all the chips that end in “O.” I grab a couple of my favorites, too—pickle chips, kettle chips, and some cookies and crackers, too, figuring a kid in the hospital deserves options—and hustle back to bay twelve.
When I push through the curtain, Mimi is looking much more alert than when we first arrived. While Elly adjusts her pillows with practiced ease, the girl’s big brown eyes land on my face.
A beat later, she’s grinning. “Grammercy Graves? What are you doing here?” She pats excitedly at her mama’s arm. “Mama, it’s Grammercy Graves! From hockey! We watched you win the Stanley Cup!”
Elly let’s out a slightly nervous laugh. “We sure did. That was a fun night, huh? We should go to parties more often.”
“Yeah, we should,” Mimi quickly agrees, her gaze dropping to the haul in my arms. “Are those for me, Mr. Grammercy?”
“Mr. Graves,” Elly corrects gently, but I shake my head.
“Call me Gee,” I say. “All my brothers’ kids do. Less of a mouthful. And yes, Miss Mimi, these are all for you. I’ve got all your favorites, some cookies, and my personal chip of the moment.” I dump the treats at the end of the mattress and hold up the bright green bag, giving it a little shake. “Pickle chips, the only thing half as good as a fried pickle dipped in ranch dressing.”
“Ew,” Elly says with a laugh.
I press a hand to my chest. “Excuse me? Are you yucking my yum, Miss Thibodeaux?”
“Oh, course not,” Elly assures me, fighting to keep a straight face. “I would never.”
“Weird things can still taste delicious,” I say. “You at least gotta give ‘em a chance before you turn up that cute little nose.”
“We love weird things, don’t we, Mama?” Mimi says. “Weird is fun.”
“Agreed, Little Meems,” I say, holding up a fist for a bump. “Can I call Meems?”
“Yeah, sure. Mom does sometimes,” Mimi says. “And I’ll call you Gee.” Her lips curve into a mischievous grin that’s the spitting image of her mama’s teasing smile. “Unless you’re being silly, then you have to be Gee Gee, like the chihuahua that lives down the hall.”