Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 113812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
She planted a seed of hope in me that I’ll tend to back in the city.
I left The Pass before sunrise this morning. Now, almost nine hours later, I should be home, but I’m stuck in traffic from the airport into Manhattan with a kid who was over it all, like his dad, five hours ago.
“But when, Daddy?”
I look around to see familiar landmarks and bridges, and how slow we’re going. I think I could walk faster at this point. “Thirty minutes. Maybe forty-five, buddy.”
“I’m hungry.”
“I’ll have food waiting. What do you want? Burger, pizza? Chinese food?”
“Roast and lima beans like at Grammy and Grandpa’s,” he replies with his full chest, looking me dead in the eye.
Ruffling his hair, I lean over, and say, “A kid after my own heart.” Sitting back up, though, I have no clue where to get that in a city where I can have anything delivered at any hour. “Doubt it will be as good as Grammy and Grandpa’s, but let me do some research.”
No such luck on short notice, so pizza it is. Hot and waiting for us when we walk into the lobby with our suitcases. “How are you, Jeff?” I ask.
“Doing good, Mr. Grange.” Leaning down, he asks Beck, “How are you, fine sir?”
“Hungry.”
Jeff gives me a knowing look. He understands because he has kids. “That pizza is right here, little man. You carrying it or your dad?”
We’ve had a recent tripping incident that spilled the entire meal on the lobby floor. Accidents happen. No use in destroying his confidence. I take the handle of his suitcase and roll it next to me. “You carry it, Beckett.”
Jeff carefully hands him the box.
Beckett grins like a Cheshire cat. “I promise I won’t trip this time.”
My parents believed in me and made me feel like I could do anything I put my mind to. I carried that faith with me through every stage of life, knowing failure was only temporary. I’ll always do the same for my kid. “I believe in you. You got this, buddy.”
I kick the door closed and leave the suitcases as I latch the locks behind me. Beck is already washing his hands, ready to chow down. I’m starving as well. But my phone vibrates in my pocket before I can sit down and eat.
Anna.
I swipe open the message and read:
Is he safe?
The insinuation that I would put our son in danger is annoying enough, but that I can’t even walk in the apartment without the reminder that she needs to ask as she claims “just in case” hits a nerve. And I’m in no mood to deal with it.
But if I don’t, she’ll have the cops at my door.
He’s safe and eating dinner.
It’s like she has a reply locked and loaded it arrives so fast.
Hope there are proper vegetables involved.
Like everything else in her life, there’s a ranking system with vegetable tiers and what she deems good and bad foods. The insult goes deep since she knows I grew up on a farm. She thought it was quaint for a while but then hokey ever since we broke up.
I don’t owe her a response, but keeping things civil is a priority for me. I text her:
Just walked in the door. We’re wiped out. I’ll bring Beckett over tomorrow as planned. Good night.
Maybe not subtle, but she didn’t text back, so the message was received.
It’s Friday night, and I wish I had booked our tickets back for tomorrow. It would have been nice to have an extra day, but Anna wanted him back at hers on Saturday, so he has the weekend to rest before school starts again after spring break on Monday.
I grab a bottle of water for me and a juice box for him. He carries the box to the coffee table like a professional. We both flop on the couch next to each other. I click on the TV to land on the Knicks playing, and we kick back for the night.
He doesn’t make it to eight before he’s asleep. Fortunately, he was ready for bed and in his jammies already. I carry him down the hall and cross his room to lay him in bed. He never budges as I tuck him in and even place a kiss on his head. It’s not loud living in the sky, but I can hear the faintest sound of sirens in the distance.
We’re not in the country anymore.
My chest tightens as my emotions twist.
I take one more look at him sleeping before closing the door and returning to the living room. To take my mind off the things I left in Texas, I do a quick cleanup, then turn off the TV and shut the blinds, making sure everything is secured for the night.
A shower sounds good, especially since my muscles have been sore in revolt of working the ranch again. From my legs to my arms and some of the linear muscles of my back. Guess running on a treadmill and a weekly pickup game of basketball down at the courts with Baylor aren’t challenging me anymore.