she quickly slaps his fingers away from the pan of cornbread. I laugh to myself as I put away the groceries and watch Jordan’s face alight in shock that my gran just scolded him. Maybe he’s needed someone along his path to scold him every now and then. His slack jaw makes him look like a lost puppy.
“Is she always this mean?” he asks as Gran leaves the room.
“I can hear you, boy.”
Laughter spills from my lips and it feels good, really good. Somehow I know things are going to work out. Jordan will make the decision to sober up and stay clean and then, I don’t know, but maybe he’ll be happy. Maybe then I can move on too and pick up the pieces of my life I’m not proud of.
“You think that’s funny?”
“Not really,” I say through unstoppable giggles. “It’s just, you should have seen your face.”
“Well, I’ve had about enough of this torture from you both, I’m going upstairs to shower. Let me know when dinner is ready.”
Before I have time to think of some kind of smart retort, Jordan is off and running up the stairs and I’m left in the kitchen to prepare dinner. Not that I wanted or needed his help, but a little gratitude never hurt.
By the time dinner is prepped and in the oven, my stomach is rumbling loud enough I’m pretty sure people in the next town over can hear it. I check on Gran, who is napping in her blue chair, lightly snoring. Gran hasn’t been totally put together like she used to be when I was younger, and with the cancer she seems even more disheveled than normal. I say a silent prayer that the medicines truly are helping her.
I hear the shower turn off upstairs, which means hopefully I can grab one before dinner is ready. The bathroom door is ajar when I get upstairs and through the gap I can see Jordan drying off with a towel. He is quite the picture to look at, with his long, lean muscles and damp hair. He’s a bit taller than Grandpa was, but maybe Gran will let me go through what she kept of his to see if anything would fit him. One pair of pants and a shirt isn’t going to last him very long. I slip past the bathroom but the floor creaks and Jordan pops his head out of the door. I cringe and turn around, hoping he doesn’t catch the blush on my cheeks.
His eyes dart back and forth between the empty hallway and me and I can tell he’s having a hard time focusing on anything at all. I ball my hands into fists and want to punch him, want to knock some sense into that thick skull of his.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I say as I seriously consider kicking him in the shins. “You kept some of those pills, didn’t you?”
Jordan’s half-baked eyes widen in surprise. He steps away from the bathroom door, letting his towel slip lower on his hips, turning my cheeks a darker shade of pink.
“How many did you take, Jordan?”
He shrugs, giving me a faint smile that I want to smack off his face.
“How many do you have left? Where are they?” He turns his head toward his pants lying in a heap on the tile floor. I spring past him, grab the pants, and shove my hands into the pockets until I find four loose pills. I toss them into the open toilet and flush them all before Jordan can make it across the room. He reaches for me, grabs ahold of my wrist, and yanks me around to face him. He leans down, his face barely an inch from mine, and snarls.
“Those aren’t yours to throw away.” His fingers close even tighter over my wrist, making my fingers prickle.
“Jordan, let go of my arm,” I say firmly but quietly. His grip doesn’t loosen, instead he moves closer to my face. “You’re hurting me.” I jerk my arm from his hand and slap his scruffy cheek. “You’re an asshole. Get out of this house!” I run from the bathroom down to the kitchen and rummage through my purse until I find his bottle of pills. Wrapping my fingers around the orange bottle, I run back up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He’s still standing in the bathroom with the
“Is she always this mean?” he asks as Gran leaves the room.
“I can hear you, boy.”
Laughter spills from my lips and it feels good, really good. Somehow I know things are going to work out. Jordan will make the decision to sober up and stay clean and then, I don’t know, but maybe he’ll be happy. Maybe then I can move on too and pick up the pieces of my life I’m not proud of.
“You think that’s funny?”
“Not really,” I say through unstoppable giggles. “It’s just, you should have seen your face.”
“Well, I’ve had about enough of this torture from you both, I’m going upstairs to shower. Let me know when dinner is ready.”
Before I have time to think of some kind of smart retort, Jordan is off and running up the stairs and I’m left in the kitchen to prepare dinner. Not that I wanted or needed his help, but a little gratitude never hurt.
By the time dinner is prepped and in the oven, my stomach is rumbling loud enough I’m pretty sure people in the next town over can hear it. I check on Gran, who is napping in her blue chair, lightly snoring. Gran hasn’t been totally put together like she used to be when I was younger, and with the cancer she seems even more disheveled than normal. I say a silent prayer that the medicines truly are helping her.
I hear the shower turn off upstairs, which means hopefully I can grab one before dinner is ready. The bathroom door is ajar when I get upstairs and through the gap I can see Jordan drying off with a towel. He is quite the picture to look at, with his long, lean muscles and damp hair. He’s a bit taller than Grandpa was, but maybe Gran will let me go through what she kept of his to see if anything would fit him. One pair of pants and a shirt isn’t going to last him very long. I slip past the bathroom but the floor creaks and Jordan pops his head out of the door. I cringe and turn around, hoping he doesn’t catch the blush on my cheeks.
His eyes dart back and forth between the empty hallway and me and I can tell he’s having a hard time focusing on anything at all. I ball my hands into fists and want to punch him, want to knock some sense into that thick skull of his.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I say as I seriously consider kicking him in the shins. “You kept some of those pills, didn’t you?”
Jordan’s half-baked eyes widen in surprise. He steps away from the bathroom door, letting his towel slip lower on his hips, turning my cheeks a darker shade of pink.
“How many did you take, Jordan?”
He shrugs, giving me a faint smile that I want to smack off his face.
“How many do you have left? Where are they?” He turns his head toward his pants lying in a heap on the tile floor. I spring past him, grab the pants, and shove my hands into the pockets until I find four loose pills. I toss them into the open toilet and flush them all before Jordan can make it across the room. He reaches for me, grabs ahold of my wrist, and yanks me around to face him. He leans down, his face barely an inch from mine, and snarls.
“Those aren’t yours to throw away.” His fingers close even tighter over my wrist, making my fingers prickle.
“Jordan, let go of my arm,” I say firmly but quietly. His grip doesn’t loosen, instead he moves closer to my face. “You’re hurting me.” I jerk my arm from his hand and slap his scruffy cheek. “You’re an asshole. Get out of this house!” I run from the bathroom down to the kitchen and rummage through my purse until I find his bottle of pills. Wrapping my fingers around the orange bottle, I run back up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He’s still standing in the bathroom with the
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