Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 130275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
I walked over to him and carefully placed my hand on his arm. Cael turned and abruptly pulled his arm away. He glared at me for a second, before I saw his gaze soften a bit when he realized it was me.
He pulled his headphones back and said, “What?” He wasn’t being harsh to me. Rather, he sounded exhausted, gloomy.
I handed him the book. “I’ve finished,” I said. “It’s really good.”
He stared at the offered book like it was a live grenade. I saw the battle play out on his face on whether to accept it or not. It was clear he fought some kind of war within himself. But then he met my eyes and his shoulders lost all tension. He held out his hand and carefully took the book from me. “Thanks,” he whispered and turned back to the window. I took that as my cue to leave.
I was almost at the door when I heard, “Night, Peaches.” The surprise that unexpected nickname brought to my chest was so strong it felt like it had left a mark. I turned to see a haunted yet kind expression on Cael’s face; then it quickly disappeared.
“A real Georgia peach, huh …” he’d said that on the boat.
“Night, Cael,” I said, voice a little bolder, and drifted up the stairs, for once letting my heart race. Because this time, its too-fast beat actually felt … nice.
Heartfelt Words and Warm Embraces
Savannah
THE CHILL FROM CLIMBING SCAFELL PIKE STILL CLUNG TO ME LIKE A cloak. The weather today had not been like that of the Helvellyn climb. It was wet and stormy, the rain so heavy and cold that it seemed to sink into our skin and ice the marrow of our bones.
I had taken a scalding-hot shower to chase off the chill when we’d returned. But there was just something about today that had made me feel off. The gray clouds were oppressive, and the exhaustion from our hiking mixed with that of the jet lag was weighing down on me. I felt weary. And I yearned to go home. I wanted to feel the comfort of Ida’s tight hugs, and I wanted to curl up on the couch with Mama and Daddy and just hear them talk about their day.
More than that, I wanted to see my Poppy in her Blossom Grove.
“It’s been four years since your sister passed?” Mia asked, and I stared at the fire roaring in the small office that was acting as Mia and Leo’s counseling room. I tensed at Mia’s words. “How old was she when she died?”
I swallowed the lump that had risen to my throat. My throat always tightened when I was asked about Poppy. Like my body was defending itself from talking about my sister, from further ripping into an already open wound.
“Seventeen,” I replied, forcing myself to comply. I wanted to be anywhere but here right now. But I had promised I would try. So, I clasped my hands together in my lap and kept my gaze downcast. I pulled the end of my sweater’s sleeves down until they covered my palms. A nervous habit I’d always had in the moments I felt uncomfortable.
“Seventeen … the age you are now,” Mia said, and she had clearly connected the dots. I nodded and stared back at the flames. The logs crackled and it reminded me of summers at the beach growing up.
“Was it quick? Her illness?”
I inhaled a fortifying breath and shook my head. “No,” I whispered. “It stretched out over a couple of years.” Tears brimmed in my eyes, and my mind took me back to those early days when Poppy was diagnosed. I could still remember Mama and Daddy sitting us down and telling me and Ida. I didn’t think either of us had really understood the gravity of Poppy’s illness. Well, not until we’d moved away to Atlanta for her treatment. Not until her appearance had changed, Mama and Daddy’s smiles had become strained, and I’d realized that things weren’t going the way we’d wanted.
I couldn’t fight the memory that pushed into my mind …
I walked into Poppy’s hospital room and stopped in my tracks. Ida’s hand was wrapped in my own. She squeezed it to the point of pain when we saw Poppy looking so small in the middle of her hospital bed.
But that wasn’t what had stopped us. Wasn’t what had made tears spill over my eyes and track like twin waterfalls down my cheeks. “Your hair,” Ida said, speaking for us both.
Poppy smiled and ran her hand over her bald head. “Has gone,” she said, seeming just as upbeat as she always was. She tipped her head to the side. “Do I suit it?”
She did. She absolutely did. But then, she always looked beautiful. She was sixteen. Had been fighting cancer for a while. Had been getting lots of treatments … but I wasn’t sure they were working. Ida and I were kept away a lot. I hated being away from Poppy. Something was missing in me when she wasn’t around.