Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 51744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
Almost too thin.
And I never went hungry. Oh, God.
“But you did, didn’t you? You went hungry, Mom.”
She nods, swallowing. “Sometimes. Just that last year. It was more important for you to eat.”
How could I have missed my mother fading away before my eyes?
Easy. I was in love. First love, true love.
“You were a child, Avery. Don’t punish yourself for what you failed to notice. It was fifteen years ago. Besides…”
“Besides what?”
She clears her throat. “You may not feel any guilt at all once you hear the whole truth from me.”
My blood chills in my veins. What whole truth? Sure, I know Chance didn’t write that Dear Jane letter, but what else could my mother be keeping from me?
“Like I said, I was worried. Money was scarce, and—”
Adolescent feet clomp in the distance, and the screen door opens. “Mom? Grams? I thought we were going out to dinner. I’m starved.”
Grady.
He ambles toward us, his tall and lanky frame so much like Chance’s at that age. And that hair. That fiery auburn hair…
“What’s going on?” He glances between us.
“We’re just talking,” Mom says.
“Can you talk at dinner? Mom said we were going out.”
Ah, to be a teenage boy, with a life that revolves around constantly filling your stomach.
“I did say that.” I force a smile. “Go wash your hands. Grandma and I will be right out.”
He holds his palms out. “Already done.”
“Homework?” I ask.
“All done too. My stomach’s a tomb, Mom.” He pats his belly.
I gaze at my mother. Whatever she’s keeping from me will have to wait. My son—and his appetite—comes first.
And then an ice pick spears my heart.
My son is hungry, and I have the means to feed him.
My God, what would I do if I couldn’t? What must my mother have felt? The fear that she might not be able to feed her child?
And oh my God…
What did she do to make sure I’d never go hungry?
And I know, as if I’ve always known.
No aunt died, leaving us money.
I look to my mom. She doesn’t say a word but I can read it on her face. Being back in Bayfield has given me a closer sense to how things were.
To feed her child, my mother entered into a deal with the devil himself.
Jonathan Bridger.
22
CHANCE
* * *
I sit on the dusty floor, stunned, staring at the words on the document.
Five hundred thousand dollars. Half a million dollars for Linda Marsh to leave town and take her daughter with her.
Not only that, but another fifty thou each year she stayed away. Kept Avery away from here. From me.
I shake my head. I don’t remember a lot about Linda Marsh. She worked odd hours and Avery and I did our share of making out in their mobile home. We couldn’t make out at my place. My old man made it clear how he felt about Avery.
Plus? I didn’t like being home. I missed my mother.
God, my mother…
Without looking at the rest of the contents of Linda’s box, I push it aside and scour the small room, tossing more boxes until I find it. The one I knew would be there.
Lisabeth Davies.
My mother. She was tall and gorgeous with hair the color of a Montana sunset. I last saw her the summer I turned thirteen. She cried when she left, told me she loved me, said she’d be back for me as soon as she could.
I believed her for a while. I believed my beautiful mother would return and get me out of my bastard father’s house.
But she didn’t. She never came. I never saw or heard from her again.
I grew to hate her, and then I met Avery. Avery, who taught me how to love again. That someone would stick around for me. To be mine to keep always. Unconditionally.
Until she, too, left. Walked away without a word just as my mother had.
And ripped my heart to shreds.
“Why’d you stay at the ranch?” Austin asked me a couple nights ago when we were sharing a beer on the deck.
“Because this ranch saved me,” I told him. “When Avery disappeared, I threw myself into ranch work. I couldn’t leave. This place was like a person to me. My savior, in a way.”
“Even though our father was here?” he wondered. He never met Jonathan Bridger but hates him just as fiercely.
“In spite of that,” I added. “I had nothing to do with him, not once I turned eighteen. I even moved out of this house. I only moved back after he died.”
The box is light. I rip off the lid and—
The only contents are a death certificate.
I pick it up and scan it.
A tear falls from my eye. It’s dated a week after she left.
I shake my head. My mother didn’t leave me. She died. Cause of death is listed as…
Suicide.
My mother wasn’t suicidal.
Was she?