Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 142214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 711(@200wpm)___ 569(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 711(@200wpm)___ 569(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
He crouched beside one of the cat shelters and ran his hands along the edge of the little roof, his fingers trembling slightly from cold or anxiety. The sun hadn’t reached this part of the garden yet, so the cats hid elsewhere. Probably curled up in the kitchen sunroom, waiting for him like devoted subjects.
“I went into town and picked up more of your tea.” She kneeled beside him on the cold gravel. “It’s steeping on the counter with honey, just the way you like it.”
He blinked at her, still somewhat confused. “We’re out of valerian. I checked twice. Maybe three times. I could’ve sworn I had more in the green tin.”
“I got some today.” She reached out, adjusting the open flap of his coat with gentle fingers. “Let’s go inside where it’s warm and you can have some.”
He pulled back in quiet defiance. “Not until we fix the leak in the corner cat house.”
“Dad, your hands are freezing. Greyson will come by and fix it later.”
“Greyson’s busy.”
“Not too busy for you.”
He frowned, then nodded, his breath forming small clouds in the cold air.
“You’re shivering, Dad. Come inside. We’ll look at the shelters after you’ve had your tea.”
Still, he hesitated. Rolling a loose pebble between his finger and thumb, squinting toward the treetops as if trying to remember something lost among the bare branches.
And then, in a soft voice, he said, “You’re so much like her.”
Wren swallowed hard, her throat burning. She didn’t ask who. She didn’t need to.
“She could hear people, even when they didn’t say a word.”
Her throat burned. “Mom would want you to go inside, Dad.”
“I’m not ready yet.” He shook his head. “She should have been here, with us.”
Wren never complained about the care her father needed, but sometimes, when his episodes came during busy days, it was hard to prioritize his needs over hers. She’d been doing it since she was fifteen, and learned long ago there was no rushing him when he got like this.
She picked up the glove he’d dropped. “Come inside with me, Dad. We can have tea together, and you can tell me everything that needs fixing. We’ll make a list, like we used to.”
He nodded. Not really agreeing, but yielding to the possibility. “A lot needs fixing around here.”
That hurt to hear, being that The Haven was less than five years old and she’d spent every spare minute she had fixing it up. “We’ll take care of everything. We’ll make it perfect—for Mom.”
He finally gave in and they walked toward the doors together.
Most days, Bodhi did as he pleased, taking care of the grounds, seeing to the cats, and drinking tea with Aunt Astrid when she visited. But every once in a while, he had an episode.
Maybe it stemmed from the drugs he did in his youth. Maybe his manic moods had to do with depression. Or maybe this represented just the broken pieces left over after a broken heart that never quite healed.
When he got confused like this, the best thing to do was get him back on track and make sure he got a decent night’s sleep. Wren didn’t pity her father or herself. This was what was left of their family, and she was grateful she still had one parent in her life.
It didn’t matter what others in the town said or thought about them. As long as they had each other, they were all right.
She set her father up in the sun room with his tea and asked Lilly to teach her class. The cats greeted Bodhi—their god—with purrs and loving headbutts.
“How’s the tea, Dad?”
“Perfect.”
There was less risk in taking care of him now than when she was younger. She didn’t have to worry that someone might see him or judge him as an unfit parent. She didn’t have to worry someone might take him, or her, away.
Sometimes, his episodes lasted days. She used to miss school and truant officers would show up at her house. Then came the social services. If not for Greyson stepping in and helping her with Bodhi, she might have been forced into foster care.
Settling beside her father with a notepad, she clicked her pen. “Are you ready to make our list?”
Appearing startled by her company, he grinned. “No class today?”
She didn’t bother rehashing the last thirty minutes. There was no point. “I wanted to spend some time with you.”
His hand trembled as he set down his tea. “Well, that’s a treat. What kind of list did you want to make?”
“Whatever kind of list you want.” She set her pen to the paper and waited.
He sat back, cradling his mug in the sunlight that streamed through the windows. “Did I ever tell you about my time in Bali?”
“Yes, but tell me again.” She set down the notepad.
They never did make a list, but that was never the point. The point was making sure he felt safe and knew his world wouldn’t crumble without warning again.