Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 119680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
“Sort of… But it doesn’t matter. I can’t go.” Even if they’ll cover tuition, I have to pay for books, housing, and food, and what I’ve saved will only cover half those costs. And I can’t leave her alone to deal with my father. He’ll break her. I can’t live with that guilt. It’s an endless loop.
“You shouldn’t have sent him to the trailer. He’s been drinking,” she whispers.
“He’s always drinking, Mom. And do you want to sleep beside him when he’s like this?”
She looks away, fingers going to her lips before she picks up one of the half-smoked cigarette butts from the ashtray. It’s crumpled, so she straightens it and lights it with shaking hands.
I try to see her through my coach’s eyes. Does he pity her? Does he pity me? Is that why BJ seems so invested in spending time with me?
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I should leave him. I should. I know I should. But I don’t know how.”
I cross the room, emotions warring. I wish my mom could stand up for us, could leave the man who continually hurts her, but she isn’t strong enough. So I have to be strong enough for both of us.
“You could kick him out. You could get an order of protection. He could stay in the trailer.” Even as I say this, I know she’ll never follow through.
“I should tell him to stay there for a few days. Until things calm down. I’m sorry he tore up the acceptance letter.”
And we’re back to this. Her continued apologies are a red flag. “Did you find the letter or did he?” I move around her, my legs wooden and my mouth dry as I push open the door to my room. Her contrition makes sense now.
It’s been ransacked. My things are strewn all over the place, binder lying open, papers scattered across my bed. My textbook for my class lies in a heap on the floor, but it’s my open dresser drawers that incite the real panic.
“I didn’t realize you had so much money in there.” Mom’s tone is equal parts apology and blame.
“It was from tips.” I didn’t put it in the bank on purpose, so it wouldn’t go missing from my account, which is still connected to theirs. I planned to drop it in when I needed to pay for my fall courses.
“It would have helped with the expenses.”
“I know. That’s why I put it aside, so I could help when we needed it.”
The bottom three drawers are pulled out, the contents vomited over the sides and onto the floor. But the top one is missing completely. My underwear and sports bras are all over the floor.
My stomach sinks and rolls. I don’t know what I expect to find as I drop to my knees and comb through the contents. It’s like my mind is resisting the truth: that he found it and took everything. That my mom didn’t stop him. We both have a secret stash, but she didn’t know the extent of mine. We called it the just-in-case fund. It was supposed to be enough for emergency groceries, or gas for the car, or a bill that couldn’t wait to be paid.
“No, no, no.” The metal lockbox has been jimmied open, and the contents are gone. I almost had enough saved for an entire semester of online college courses. And the deadline to pay tuition is coming up. There’s no way I’ll make enough in the next few weeks to replace it. I can’t afford a single class now.
Tears prick at my eyes. My dad is a master at ruining good things.
“Why did you tell him where to find it?”
“I-I-I didn’t know there would be that much money.” Her hands strangle each other. “I thought you only had a couple hundred dollars in there. And then he found the acceptance letter. You shouldn’t have hidden those things. Or that much money. He was so mad.” Her fingers go to her lips again. “And then you were with that boy with the watercraft. You have to be careful, Winter. Those rich boys put ideas in your head. Like that coach. I’m sure he means well, but what happens when the funding for that program runs out? Or you can’t make the grades and keep the scholarship? And then all your hope would be taken away again. Remember when that happened before?”
She’s referring to when I played for the girls’ team in high school. I always had to work on weekends and after school, I couldn’t afford the equipment fees, and I missed too many practices, so I lost my spot on the team—and just before the scouts came to watch the playoffs.
“This is different.”
“I know you’re upset, but it’s better this way,” she says. “Better the money is gone. Now you can just focus on your job and take more hours at Boones.”