My stomach roiled, and I had to fight back the bile that surged up my throat. I shoved my head under the spray, breathing slowly and deeply. Eventually, the shakes and nausea subsided.
My fingers played across the scar that curved over my collarbone and down my side. It had faded over the past five years, but it would always be there. A reminder of hell on Earth. But also that I had survived.
I shut off the water and stepped out of the shower-tub combo. I took my time drying off and getting ready for the day. My eyes burned from lack of sleep. Not only had my nightmare woken me early, but I’d also had a hell of a time falling asleep. Images of Roan’s panicked expression as he fled last night played in my head. Something had him on edge; I just had no idea what.
Taking the hairdryer into my bedroom, I finished preparations for the day. I went out to give the animals breakfast and Dory her medicine before coming back inside and making breakfast for my chick.
Maybe it was because I had extra time today, or perhaps because of my dream, but I made the meal extra special. As I placed the last berry on the plate, I grinned at my creation. There was something about forcibly turning around a day that started rough that helped me feel more in control.
I headed down the hallway and slowly opened Cady’s door. A smile instantly curved my lips. My girl slept wildly: red hair everywhere, arms thrown wide, legs like a starfish. Her glittery pink nightlight made the room sparkle.
Crossing to her bed, I knelt and brushed the hair out of her face. “Morning, Katydid.”
“Mmm,” she mumbled, smacking her lips.
“It’s time to wake up.”
“Nuh-uh,” she argued, still half-asleep.
“I made your favorite…” I tried enticing her.
Cady’s eyes fluttered open. “Cady pancakes?”
I chuckled. “Cady pancakes all the way.”
She beamed. “Today is the bestest.”
I tapped her nose. “I agree. You want to eat first and then get ready?”
Cady bobbed her head in a nod, and I helped her sit up. I slid on one slipper and then the other. Grabbing her robe off the hook on her door, I got her into it.
She stumbled slightly as she made her way down the hall, and I couldn’t help but laugh. Waking up was always a challenge. Chauncey hurried over to greet her, and she patted his head as she slid into her chair.
Cady grinned down at her breakfast. A stack of two pancakes made to look just like her. Raspberries for her red hair. Green grapes for her eyes. Strawberries for her mouth. Nose and eyelashes drawn on with chocolate syrup.
“I almost don’t want to eat it,” she whispered.
“Well, that would be a waste.”
Cady giggled and cut off a bite. Then she paused. “Do you think Mr. Grizz has someone to make him pancakes?”
My heart clenched. “I don’t know. He can probably make them himself.”
But that was a lonely proposition, day in and day out. And I knew how that felt.
Cady’s lips pursed. “We should invite him next time. Pancakes would make him less grumpy, for sure.”
I choked on a laugh. My girl always told it like it was.
“I miss my glitter boots,” Cady said with a sigh as we pulled up to the school.
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. “It’s going to be pretty muddy out on the playground since the snow is melting. Do you want to risk ruining your favorite boots?”
They were already getting too small for her. I would have to hunt for something similar that wasn’t ridiculously expensive.
“Mud does not go with glitter.”
This time, I couldn’t hold in my chuckle. “No, it doesn’t.”
I climbed out of my station wagon, dreading that I needed to stop by the mechanics’ to get it looked at. I opened Cady’s door, and she hopped out.
Catching sight of the woman walking toward me, I winced. “Morning, Katelyn,” I greeted with as much warmth as I could muster.
She scrunched up her nose at me as she tossed her perfectly curled blond locks over one shoulder. “That car sounds horrible. Doesn’t look much better.”
I didn’t let my smile dim. “It gets us from place to place.”
The woman rolled her eyes, looking more like her six-year-old daughter than an adult.
Heather looked up at her mom. “Susanna and Lainey can come play after ballet, right?”
“Of course, honey,” Katelyn said, ushering her daughter toward the school building.
Cady’s shoulders slumped, and I had the sudden urge to deck a six-year-old. It wasn’t that Cady wanted to be friends with the mean girls, but they were all in her ballet class, and they made a sport of excluding her.