Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 174623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
"Just in time," Andrea says, placing a plate of pancakes in the center of the table. "Eggs have just another minute."
Dean digs into the pile of pancakes, bouncing happily in his chair.
Melissa and Caroline enter the room, chatting quietly as they take their seats.
"Daisy joining us this morning?" I ask.
"She's fixing her hair," Dana explains. "She mentioned something about flyaways and hating her hair."
"I remember those days," Melissa says with a grin.
"I'm going to head to the office," I tell the group. "Let me know if you need anything. I can add something to the grocery list for flyaways."
"Thank you," Dana says before turning her attention to Dean, who is trying to add another pancake to his plate. "Son, save some for the others."
I smile as I leave the room, seeing Daisy coming down the stairs.
"Good morning," I say to her, not dropping my smile when she gives me a nasty look and doesn't respond.
Some people, including kids, just aren't morning people.
"Sorry," I hear, making me turn back in that direction.
I look at Daisy, smile still in place.
"Your mom says you had some hair struggles this morning," I say to her. "I’m going to add a product to the grocery list that will help with that."
The anger fades from her eyes, replaced by a gratitude that looks very familiar.
Kids, and even sometimes the adults I've worked with, aren't used to being able to get the things they need, much less having access to the things they want.
"Really?" she asks.
I shrug. "I don't think the shopping will happen until tomorrow afternoon, but you'll have it soon."
A smile grows on her face, but then she looks down, the tip of her shoe drawing a circle on the hardwood floor.
"Did you need something else?"
She's slow to lift her eyes to me, and I hate the doubt clouding them.
"What about some little clips?"
"I'm sure that's possible," I offer. "Would you want neutral colors or vibrant colors?"
She considers the question longer than I think is necessary.
"My dad would say that I didn't need to draw attention to myself," she whispers.
"I understand that," I say, knowing I'm walking a fine line. It's not part of my position to tell her that her dad's opinions shouldn't matter right now. "But what do you want?"
"I want something colorful," she says, the doubt somehow growing even more in her voice.
"How about I get you both, and then you can decide daily what you want in your hair?"
Her eyes glisten, the threat of tears forming on her lower lashes. "Really?"
Hair clips shouldn't be such a big thing for anyone, and I hate that this child is struggling with something so simple.
"Of course," I say. "Now get to breakfast before Dean eats all the pancakes."
She gives me a wide grin. "Thank you so much!"
"Of course," I tell her, but she's already skipping away.
It amazes me how something so simple can change her entire day.
Sadness creeps in as I step into the office.
I know hair clips aren't a necessity, but people shouldn't have to struggle so much that they can't afford a couple of extra dollars to make a little girl happy. It's not just New Mexico that is struggling. The entire nation is feeling the burn of higher taxes, higher gas prices, and inflated grocery prices.
Victoria was right that abuse is going to increase. The stress of not being able to care for your family is a huge trigger. Add in addictions, something also growing in this nation, and it makes for a very explosive situation in some households.
I close my eyes, pulling a deep breath and letting the scent of vanilla and flowers fill my nose.
The new intake is coming today. Victoria prepared me on what was expected yesterday, and I have full confidence in my ability to perform those duties, but it's the raw stories of new intakes that have the ability to take hold of me. Their fear and trauma are so fresh, it's almost like a living, breathing thing, and it always sends me right back to the day Graham caught me trying to leave.
I grab the case folder, going back over the notes so I'm prepared when "Beth is here," comes through the mic in my ear.
"Thank you," I say as I stand, walking toward the office doorway to greet her.
She has her own code to get into the house, and within seconds, I hear the front door open alert in my ear.
I smile as she steps inside, giving her time to close the front door before speaking.
"Good morning," I tell her.
She greets me with a wide smile. "It's so hot out there."
"I still haven't gotten used to it," I tell her, grateful when she doesn't ask me where I'm from.
I don't know how much information is shared with the people connected to Cerberus, and honestly, it's not something I want to think about. I've lived such a reclusive life that I hate the idea that anyone knows who I really am.