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)
“Sometimes the best way to get someone to see what’s possible is to save yourself.” He pulls a card out of his pocket and passes it to me. “If there’s anything else you think I should know, or if there’s anything you need, just give me a call, okay?”
“Yeah. Sure.” I slide the card into my backpack. “Thanks.”
“Of course. You going in?” He tips his chin toward the hospital.
“Yeah. Thanks for the talk.”
“No problem. You know how to get in touch if you need anything.”
He stands, and so do I, and we turn in separate directions.
I take the elevator back to my mom’s room. Her eyes pop open as I slide into the chair beside her bed, and she gives me a small smile. “You’re back.”
“You need anything? Something to drink? Eat?”
She flinches when she tries to shake her head. “I’m okay.”
“How are you feeling?” There’s a heaviness in the air, as if it’s weighted down with questions that don’t have answers.
“Tired and sore.”
I nod. “Makes sense. It was a bad fall.”
“That handsome police officer stopped by.”
“Logan Butterson. I ran into him in the parking lot.”
“He asked a lot of questions about what happened.” She smooths her blanket.
“That’s his job. What’d you tell him?” I know the answer, but I ask anyway.
“I told him the truth. That I can’t remember.” She glances at the nightstand. “Can I have some water? I’m thirsty.”
“Sure, Mom.” I bring the straw to her mouth, and she sips.
“Officer Butterson said you’re a great hockey player, that you have real promise. That must be true because you have that scholarship.” She frowns again. “I’m sorry Clay ripped up the letter.”
The scholarship has nothing to do with hockey, but that’s not important right now. “It’s okay, Mom. It’s not your fault.”
Her chin trembles. “He just gets so mad sometimes, and I don’t know what to do.”
I push her hair back off her forehead. “I know, Mom. It’s okay. You don’t have to worry about that.”
She takes my hand in her uncasted one and whispers, “Sometimes I think about leaving.”
Occasionally she’ll make an off-hand comment about telling him to move out, but never when he’s around, and usually when she’s annoyed with him. But this seems different, like a guilty admission.
“Are you starting to remember?”
She looks away. “I don’t know. It’s all so confusing. I remember the fighting, but it’s foggy.”
“The doctor said it might take a while for it to come back to you. You should just rest.”
“I am tired. Maybe it’ll be clearer next time I wake up.”
I smile. “Maybe.”
“Will you stay for a while?”
“Of course.”
She smiles. “You’re a good girl, Winter. A real miracle.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I kiss her forehead and settle in the chair beside her bed.
Another seed of hope takes root. If she remembers what happened, maybe she’ll finally do the one thing she’s always been too afraid to: leave the abuse.
19 THE LIGHT
Winter
With my mom awake and stable, I resume my shifts at Boones. I work from seven to one, Monday through Friday, then visit with my mom for a few hours before hockey practice. After that, I have dinner with the team at Iced Out before I spend a couple of hours at the library working on assignments for my course. BJ’s house has more than one computer, but I like the library, and it gives me an excuse to see Clover.
When my homework is done, I return to the hospital and stay until visiting hours end. BJ picks me up, and we make out in his Jeep for a while before we go back to his place. Sometimes we jump in the hot tub or go for a late swim and make out some more, but sometimes we’re both so exhausted, we go to our bedrooms and pass out.
A week after the fall, the doctors deem my mom ready to be moved from the hospital to a rehabilitation facility which is covered by the Hockey Academy’s family fund. I’m beyond relieved that she doesn’t have to go home yet, especially since she still can’t remember what happened. BJ’s parents assure me that she’ll be able to stay in rehab until she’s mobile again, and that their spare room is mine for as long as I need it.
Yesterday BJ and I stopped at the cabin to grab clothes for my mom while my dad was at work. The house was in even worse shape than before. Empties covered every surface, the sink was piled high with dishes, and ashtrays overflowed with butts.
We took my mom’s clothes back to BJ’s and washed them twice to get the cigarette smell out. I also grabbed a couple of family photo albums because she’s been asking for them.
The hospital is transporting her to the facility in one of their vans, and I meet her there so I can help get her settled. The Sunshine Center is a beautiful, renovated house down the street from the library, and it’s partially funded by the Buttersons.