Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 43920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 220(@200wpm)___ 176(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 220(@200wpm)___ 176(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I grumbled, pulling my phone from my back pocket. The phone rang three times before Georgine answered.
“What?” she snapped. “I’m working.”
“Did you neglect to tell me that this is the last day before Christmas break?”
A couple of beats of silence went by. “Wait. Is that right?”
“I’m going with yes.”
“Oh shit! I forgot all about that because she slept at her grandmother’s last night. I had to be up early to get to the fish market this morning.”
“She had all her gifts for her friends, didn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“So you forgot it was the last day, but you remembered the gifts?”
“Listen, motherhood is an unholy balance between being on top of some things and under others. My memory is highly selective. I can remember to send her with gifts and not remember that you will be playing the role of her sherpa today.”
“That’s great. We’re supposed to stop for food. I’m starving.”
“Stop whining. Just bring back my kid and everything else.”
“Were there serving dishes I need to find? Did you make stuff?”
“We made cupcakes with—oh, I see what you mean. Thank you. Yes. Do not leave there without my Christmas platters. There should be four: one with the three wise men, one with angels, one with reindeer, and one with bells. They are all done in a midcentury motif and are worth a small fortune.”
“One wonders why you would send them to school, then?”
She was quiet.
“Isn’t you wanting the other mothers to see them kinda bitchy?”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Isn’t pride a sin?”
“Never mind,” she grumbled. “You and the Bible are not acquainted. Don’t even act.”
“Says you.”
“Says everyone, and though I appreciate you giving me more time in the kitchen for my prep, we both know you were runnin’ away from that man of yours.”
“I wasn’t running away from—”
“Where are we going?” Dawson asked from beside me, sunglasses on top of the cowboy hat now as he smiled at me, waiting for an answer.
“Is that him?” She cackled. “Did he follow you there?”
“Never mind,” I told her, pointing for Dawson’s benefit before we started up the stairs of the administration building. “Besides the platters, is there anything else?”
“No. Hopefully she got a few gifts, just so she felt included.”
“What does that mean?”
“That means we are not quite as well off as others at that school.”
“I don’t know that it matters where Cami is concerned. All the girls love her and want all the things she has. She’s like a style icon already.”
After a moment she said, “Perhaps.”
“She is. You know she is.”
“Anyway, I was kidding about the sherpa part. It really shouldn’t be too bad.”
“That is the kiss of death right there. Thanks a lot.”
Inside the building, I started across the ancient polished oak floors, admiring the glass cases lining the hallway, which broke off into several directions. You could continue straight and then take stairs up or down. You could go left, down a short flight of stairs that would lead you to another hallway, or take a right and have the same choice. I took a right and went down the stairs, while kids on the other side of the rail that divided us went up, heading home.
Finding Cami’s classroom, I was assaulted by the scent of pine and peppermint that was at least better than the scent of cinnamon and clove that it had been before Thanksgiving. I was a big lover of plain beeswax candles that smelled naturally like honey and nothing else. I would have had a migraine if I had to sit in that room all day.
“Why do all holiday candles smell like this?” Dawson asked, coughing.
“Be good,” I ordered him.
“Like being in here for a prolonged amount of time wouldn’t give you a migraine,” he said, arching an eyebrow.
There was no getting away with anything when the person who knew you best in the world was with you.
Cami was in her uniform, with stickers all over the front, and she was wearing a necklace made out of red and white lollypops. Her desk, from the floor to the chair to the actual top of it, was covered in gifts. We would need two people carrying, so it was actually lucky that Dawson was there.
“Uncle Chris,” she gasped and left the group of girls standing around her small mountain of presents. She ran over, slamming into me hard, arms wrapping around my waist, head pressing to my abdomen.
She was shaking, which instantly alarmed me.
“What’s the matter?” I asked quickly, one hand on her back, the other cradling her head.
“I got into a fight at afternoon recess.”
“A fight?” That made no sense. Everyone loved Cami. Like, across the board, everyone adored her—kids her age, older ones, younger ones, and adults, we were all goners. She was smart and discerning and sized people up quickly. “Explain.”
“Are you Mr. Joseph?” asked a blonde woman who looked like she could have stepped out of a Tiffany’s Winter Wonderland ad. Her hair was up in a deliberate messy bun. It was artfully done with the wisps falling around her face. Minimal makeup, but with her peaches-and-cream complexion, nothing was really necessary. She was seriously giving Grace Kelly vibes from Rear Window with how lovely she was.