Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“I come into contact with you, too,” she mutters, smirking.
“We mean it.” Having Preston on my side is a big plus. My voice is louder than before when I ask, “Who are you trying to impress? What do you have to prove? You’re only risking your health when you push yourself.”
Why does she have to be so damn impossible? Even now, when we’re making sense and giving a shit for once. “And what if I tell you I’m perfectly fine to make my own decisions based on how I feel?”
“I don’t remember asking for your input.” Preston crowds in so we’re both in her face. “We see you around school, and you’re going to have some explaining to do.”
“I’m shaking in my boots,” she grumbles—but I wasn’t born yesterday, either. She’s trying to fight back a smile. After being almost alone for all this time, she has people who are willing to order her around if it means keeping her safe. It has to feel good.
We can actually make her feel good. Not only her body, either. All of her. I’m not a humble person, but I think the feeling swelling in my chest is from the way she humbles me. Like there’s this big responsibility, making her feel taken care of when she’s lost almost everyone who ever took care of her before us. She’s worth it.
A stack of mail sitting on a table just inside the front door catches my eye on the way through the living room. The envelope on top has a slightly smeared stamp on it in bright red ink. Final notice. That doesn’t sound good.
Preston’s teasing her over something, and she’s not paying attention, meaning I can flip through a little to get an idea of what’s really happening around here. She didn’t exactly make it sound like things are great when it comes to money, and all these bills tell me she’s not lying. When I come across an envelope printed with the name of the hospital, I snag it before I can think twice and shove it into my back pocket. I don’t know why I need to know. I just do. I have to know everything about her life. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of learning about her. And if she needs help, maybe we can be that help.
At least, that’s what I think before I actually open the envelope once we’re in the truck. “What is that?” Preston leans over to take a look once I have the bill unfolded. My stomach drops around the same time he lets out a high-pitched whistle. “Holy shit. They put a decimal point in the wrong place.”
I’m too surprised to say anything right away. “I mean, I knew people spent a shit ton of money on medical bills,” I finally croak. “But I never actually knew a specific number.” And I kind of wish I still didn’t.
Preston looks up at the house, then back down at the bill, which he takes out of my hands so he can get a closer look. “No way they can handle this.”
“I don’t really think they have a choice.” I’m so uneasy inside as I sit back, trying to come up with reasons why I shouldn’t go back into the house and wrap Emma in my arms and tell her everything’s going to be all right. “It’s not like you can randomly decide to not treat your cancer. I mean, I guess you can, but…”
“I get your point.” He scowls at the clock on the dashboard. “We need to get moving if we’re going to get changed at home before class.”
Like I care about class. Like I care about anything else now that I have an idea of what Emma and her grandma are staring down. And this is just one bill. How many more are there?
The question rolls around inside my skull the whole way home, where, for once, the sight of Dad’s car sitting in the driveway doesn’t make me roll my eyes or plan how to avoid running into him. It’s not that I don’t like him—I mean, I guess I like him as much as anybody likes a parent. It’s just that most of the time, I don’t feel like dealing with him. It’s not easy, having a dad who always seems like he’s looking down his nose at you, for one thing or another.
“I wonder if Dad can do something about this.” I’m already out of the truck and halfway to the stairs, in a hurry to catch him before he leaves for the morning. Once that happens, there’s no way of knowing when I’ll see him again, and it’s going to drive me crazy if I have to sit around and wait to talk to him.
Preston mutters behind me as I lead the way into the house. “There’s nothing he can do,” he argues, but I’ll wait until I hear it directly from Dad before I start thinking about a Plan B. I mean, technically, this isn’t even Plan A, because it isn’t really a plan. More like a shot in the dark.