Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 141951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 473(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 473(@300wpm)
“Dad,” Lucas muttered sharply under his breath, “have a little respect.”
He always tried to draw the line with Ronald. That sweet spot where Lucas could stand every insult and mean comment about people he cared for coming out of his father’s mouth. The story never changed with Ronald. The same person he could look in their face and smile became the next human he called an idiot in one of his rages.
Jacob wasn’t perfect, nobody was, and his brother had demons, sure. Maybe he needed a bit more time to grow up than the rest of them, and made mistakes along the way, but Ronald could at least respect the fact that Jacob tried.
He tried to do better.
Be better.
That was more than Ronald could say for himself. He didn’t need to take every possible chance he could to put Jacob down for nothing but doing better—but of course, Ronald did and would.
“Lucas,” his father said in an annoyed sigh, “I won’t pretend like I’m not happy to see that he didn’t come tonight. I’m not interested in another scene where he has to go through the whole spiel about why he’s sob—”
“I’m considering therapy,” Lucas interjected quietly, knowing where his father’s conversation would go, and the two across the table were waiting for Ronald to decide if they would flip to break, or not.
Giving his father something about him to latch onto and criticize to feed whatever misery lived inside Ronald seemed like a better route than listening to him insult and talk about Jacob when his brother couldn’t even defend himself.
Sure enough, the therapy comment worked.
Ronald scoffed, loud. “The fuck you are—for what, to cry about how your mother didn’t love you enough? Are you serious? You sound like an idiot.”
That time, Ronald wasn’t quiet at all.
No, the whole room heard it.
At least, Ronald had moved on from Jacob. That’d make this one game of pool Lucas would grit his teeth though mildly bearable.
Very fucking little else.
Chapter 6
Callie Smith, a social worker, and part-time licensed counselor could make anyone smile by the sight of hers alone. Her short, black bob framed an animated face, and when she smiled at strangers in the same way she did to those she called friends, people couldn’t help but smile back. A ray of freaking sunshine, Delaney bet the woman even woke up happy and full of joy.
If not, she hid it well.
In front of Delaney’s Jeep, Callie did some version of a victory dance at having procured fast-food from the king of burgers—or so the restaurant proclaimed. She balanced drinks in a holder in one hand and a brown bag full of food in her other. It wasn’t Delaney’s favorite fast-food but considering she hadn’t bothered with breakfast before hitting the road that morning, anything looked edible at the moment. Especially greasy or salty things.
She could pay for it later.
“Get in the Jeep,” Delaney called, laughing, out the driver’s side window.
Callie grinned her way into the passenger seat, plopping the drink and food to the middle console. “Are we eating here, or …?”
The potato chip factory next to the gas station and attached fast food joints wasn’t a bad place to park in Waterville, but a person couldn’t escape the distinct smell of grease in the air. Even inside a car. No matter the time of year, the factory made itself well known. She thought the smell did get worse in the winter months, though.
There wasn’t much else to do or see in the small valley community further down river from Delaney’s hometown. A big hospital where everyone within an hour’s drive had to go to deliver babies or get treatment for something more than a Band-Aid couldn’t fix. It was a momentary hub between the larger towns.
“I know a spot,” Delaney said.
Callie shrugged as she buckled herself into the Jeep. “I’m up for whatever. I’ve got some extra time today. Things didn’t go so great at the hospital.”
“Oh?”
Silence answered Delaney’s vague prompting.
She was never quite sure whether or not she should just outright ask Callie about her work with at-risk children and their turbulent families. Callie did everything from home checkups on open CPS cases to delivering children to and from medical or therapy appointments when their foster parents couldn’t manage it. Her caseload continued to grow double and triple what she should handle, and the worst of humanity sometimes hid behind the walls and doors children called home.
It could be a lot.
Delaney didn’t like to push.
“It’ll work out eventually,” Callie said, although it sounded more like something she meant for herself.
That was okay, too.
“Let’s find a place to eat,” Delaney said as she maneuvered the Jeep out of the parking spot next to Callie’s unmoving car.
She hit the highway from the on ramp just offset from the gas station. Callie, who’d professed her desire for food the second the two met up in the parking lot, dug through the bag before Delaney had even merged completely.