Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
I screwed the top back on the sunflower butter. “Yeah, how could she? I mean, she’d only had a pacemaker put in. Jeez, woman. Lazy much?” I drawled, my voice thick with sarcasm.
Luciana had been working for this family for fifty years. My father had been nine years old when my grandparents hired her. It was time she had her freedom. Enjoyed her golden years or whatever.
“I know her health forced her to retire, but I miss her.”
“Then, replace her,” I replied.
It had been three months since she’d left us. I was fine with it, but Mom was the one struggling to move on.
“I can’t find the right fit. Luciana was family,” she said, taking out the fake butter and sugar-free jam from the refrigerator.
“Then, we will make our own meals,” I replied flippantly as I put the sunflower butter back into the pantry.
“Will you get me the loaf of bread? The keto-friendly one?” Mom called. “Pilar should have gotten it yesterday when she did the grocery shopping.”
Pilar was the maid. Now, if she had retired, I might be more upset. Thankfully, Pilar was only fifty and had many years left in her. I could make my own sandwich, but I did not want to clean a toilet. Or do laundry. Or wash dishes.
I picked up Mom’s favorite low-carb bread and walked back out of the pantry to toss it onto the counter beside her.
“Thanks.”
I started to walk outside and paused. I’d already been out there, tanning for an hour today. I swam laps. Tried to read, but focus had been an issue. Did I really want to go do more of the same thing?
Turning back around, I looked at my mom. If anyone knew you, it would be your mother. Right?
“What do I enjoy?” I asked her.
She paused from smearing jam onto the bread and looked up at me. If not for the Botox she got religiously every four months, I was sure her brow would be puckered. “What do you mean?”
That wasn’t the response I had been hoping for.
“What do I enjoy? What am I good at?”
Please let her know. Someone had to know. I couldn’t be that…shallow.
Mom laid the butter knife down and studied me. “I am assuming you mean other than spending your father’s money and, of course, tanning.”
I was that shallow. If I had swallowed one of those smooth, round decorative rocks that lined the flower beds outside, it would have felt better. The boulder sitting in my stomach wasn’t pleasant.
“Never mind,” I said, wanting to flee to my room. Where no one could see me. Where I didn’t have to face my pointless existence.
I was almost to the door when my mother called out, “Do you remember that year—I think you were twelve—you went with me to the bank? It was in late November. The Salvation Army had a Christmas tree there with tags all over it with wish lists from kids who were in need.”
I paused and turned back around. “Yeah.”
A small smile touched Mom’s lips. “You asked me what it was for. I explained that there were kids who weren’t as fortunate as you. That these were lists of things they wanted and needed for Christmas. People would choose a list and purchase the things on it, then return them to this location, where they were picked up and delivered to the children.”
“And I took all the names on that tree and had you take me to buy everything,” I finished, not seeing how this had anything to do with what I liked or what I was good at. It had been a moment when a spoiled kid realized just how lucky they were and felt guilty about it for the first time.
Mom nodded. “Once you realized there were trees like that all over town, you had me take you to them to do the same.”
There wasn’t a point to this.
“Yeah, I remember.”
Mom leaned her hip on the side of the counter and crossed her arms over her chest. “The next year, you typed out and printed a list of places that had the Salvation Army trees. You gave Crosby, Gathe, Than, Opal, and Kash all a location and specific instructions on what to do. You enlisted your father to provide the drivers, and for one entire weekend, the six of you bought the things on every child’s list on every tree from here to Jackson.”
I shrugged. I had been a determined kid. And it had felt good.
“You organized the entire thing yourself. The boys hadn’t wanted to do it, but you convinced them they did. You made it fun. Had Luciana prepare a taco bar and make Christmas tree cupcakes to serve while you hosted a movie night outside, under the stars, as a treat for all their hard work.”
I’d forgotten about the after-party. That had been a well-planned out idea.