Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Not that she ever noticed.
I loved you at the time.
I don’t believe that she doesn’t still love me. Even if it’s only as family, the love is there. I can build on it. I will make her mine. None the wiser to my internal monologue, Arwen points to a picture of me and then to me. Daddy. She points to Audrina. Mommy. Then she turns the page, and the next picture is of Anya and William. Baba and Dede, she signs and then does the same thing for a photo of my parents on the following page. Between my mom and dad is Ingrid, and the grin that takes over Arwen’s face leaves me breathless. This is my aunt. She is very smart and very pretty.
My girl is so damn smart, so wordy, and I am utterly entranced by her. Audrina has done so damn well with her. It kills me that I missed it all.
Tears burn in my eyes as I slowly agree. She loves you—very much.
Arwen beams, her grin taking up her whole face. Does she? I wish I could talk to her.
I don’t know what Audrina has told her about where we are. Did she say we were on a trip? Was I working? I have so many questions and absolutely no answers. As long as I get her home, I’ll be fine. Everything will fall into place once I get my girls home.
Oh yes, she does, I sign, moving a curl out of her eye. I look on the desk and find where Audrina leaves her hair ties. She did the same in her old office. Instead of using a pen cup for pens, she used it to hold hair ties. Before I do what I intend, I ask Arwen if I can. She nods eagerly, and I gather her hair up in a little ponytail on top of her head. Her eyes are so bright as they look up at me.
How are your ears? I ask, and she shrugs.
They still hurt.
Yeah, I don’t like my kid hurting. I think my ears are starting to hurt. It’s all in my head, I know, but damn it, my kid shouldn’t be sick. Ignoring that frustration with her mother, I sign cheerily, I think I know how to cheer you up.
Her eyes sparkle. I swear it. No one could ever tell me any different. How?
Would you like to call your aunt? I find myself asking. I don’t know if it’s a good idea, but my gut tells me it is. Arwen starts to bounce, signing Yes, and I know I have to. I clear my throat and exhale as I open my FaceTime app, and to my surprise, Arwen drops herself into my lap. She leans back against my chest, and I can’t move. She’s drawn to me, just as I am to her. Her little hands come up to wrap around my forearms in such a sweet embrace. I’m hardly breathing as I look down to see she is watching what I am doing on my phone. A slow grin moves across my face, my first real smile, and I find that I feel whole again.
I have no clue what is about to happen, how I am going to make everything work out, but when Arwen looks at me with such hope in her brown eyes, I know I’ll die trying.
Ingrid answers on the third ring, signing a hello as she looks at me expectantly. I haven’t called her much since Audrina left, but I know as much as she thinks she doesn’t want to speak to me, she will. I make sure she can see my mouth and try to sign with one hand as I ask, “Where are you?”
My sister’s voice isn’t articulated, a soft tenor to it, and sometimes it’s hard to understand. That doesn’t stop her, though. She signs and talks to make sure her point gets across. “In the courtyard of school. I’m on break. Where is Audrina?”
“She’s working.”
“Working?” she asks, confused. “Where? Are you coming home with her?”
I shake my head. “I need to show you someone.”
“Someone?” she asks, her brown eyes guarded as her brows knit. “Who?”
“You can’t tell anyone.”
Her furrow deepens. “What? Why?”
“Promise.”
“I promise,” she says, exasperated. “Is she coming home?”
Since I’m unable to answer that, I slowly lower the phone and watch as Ingrid takes in the smiling toddler in my lap. Her eyes widen, her lips part, and then she covers her mouth. Arwen doesn’t understand, but that doesn’t stop her from quickly signing, Aunt Ingrid! I’m Arwen!
When she does jazz hands, I let out a sound between a sob and a chuckle.
“Aunt?” Ingrid asks, her eyes filling with tears. “Thatcher?” A tear rolls down her cheek, and it pains me almost as much as Arwen having a fever. Her hands shake as she signs to me, “She’s yours?”