Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 76203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
She was sitting at the table with Dixon and a couple of the club kids with a giant platter of food in front of her: lasagna, quesadillas, salad, sweet potato fries, and a bowl of mixed fruit. From the looks of her, she’d already had (and spilled) quite a bit of lasagna.
“Mommy!” she cheered, but her face quickly fell.
“Turns out Mommy has a really bad cold,” I told her, surprised how much I hated the lie. My whole career meant a lot of lying. It never bothered me. Lying to my kid, though? A whole different thing. “She’s got a really sore throat and is going to need us to bring her tons of ice pops, ice cream, tea, and cold drinks to her while she heals up. Think you can help me do that?”
There was a small bit of suspicion in Denali’s eyes but she nodded.
“Maybe Eddie will even let you help make ice cream for Mommy,” I added.
Her eyes brightened at that as she looked over at the man in question.
“I can always use a helper in the kitchen, lil’ pip,” he said. “Gotta get you your own apron. What color do you like?”
“Princess.”
We all laughed at that. “Alright. Princess it is. I’ll get you one, and we will make your mom the best ice cream she’s ever had so her throat can feel better.”
Seeming to sense the need to reinforce the lie as he came into the kitchen from the backyard, Velle nodded at Runa. “My grandma always used to make me wear a scarf when I was sick, too. She told me it helped warm up the cold.”
That, it seemed, was what Denali needed to fully buy the lie. And we all relaxed a little as she prattled on about Eddie’s lasagna and how one might go about making black raspberry ice cream.
“I’m gonna leave that one to the expert,” I said, waving to Eddie. “While I go get your mom in bed so she can rest, okay?”
“Okay.”
“You can come check on her anytime you want,” I added as I led the heavy-limbed Runa up the stairs and down the hallway to the room she’d be staying in.
A short snort of a laugh escaped her as she found that not only had Denali organized all her toys around the room, but she’d set her books up in a stack on the nightstand, put her blanket on the bed, set up her little astronaut projector, and left her orangutan stuffed animal on her mother’s bed wearing the zookeeper medical kit I’d bought her.
“That’s a cute kid we got,” I said as I led Runa over to her bed and pulled back the covers.
She nodded at that.
“Alright. You’ve got blankets, the remote,” I said, putting that on her lap, along with tissues, and a random-ass book about the swamplands I spotted on the nightstand. Maybe found and put there by Denali. Who knew. “I’ll bring in the drinks from the car. You want ice pops? Ice cream? Tea?”
“Tea?”
“Milk? Sugar?”
She nodded, and I was about to turn away, but she had the fucking saddest damn look on her face. Like she was completely and utterly lost.
The tea could wait.
I toed off my shoes and moved onto the bed with her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders then flicking through the TV options until I found a series about the national parks, then put that on for her to watch.
The pain, fear, adrenaline, and exhaustion seemed to catch up to her all at once. Before the episode about Grand Teton was over, she was dead weight against me.
Did I maybe sit there and enjoy the feel of that for a while? Yeah, yeah, I did.
Then I carefully climbed off the bed, making sure her scarf was secure, but not too tight, then made my way downstairs to grab our daughter and get her ready for bed.
It was a fucked-up thing to say, considering what led them to needing to be at the clubhouse, but something sure felt right as I tucked in Denali and kissed her goodnight, then followed her instructions to kiss her sleeping mom’s forehead goodnight too.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Runa
The next couple of days mostly involved dozing on and off in bed to avoid being awake to feel the pain in my throat with each swallow.
My sweet little girl brought me endless ice pops and homemade ice cream between time spent swimming, playing with the club kids, and helping Eddie in the kitchen.
York was equally attentive, bringing me ice packs for my throat as well as easy-to-swallow foods, extra pillows and blankets, and throat lozenges. And, sometimes, when Denali was otherwise occupied, he’d just come and sit, keeping me company as I watched the documentary series about the national parks.
“Haven’t been there,” I rasped out. My voice was back for the most part, but it sounded about ten times huskier than before.