Page 90 of Ask Your Mom If I'm Real

Ten

Poundtown is fun until you end up with a little pound cake in the oven.

—Bryson to Jeremiah

JEREMIAH

I watched the snow fall from the huge plate-glass window of my apartment.

I was one of four apartments in the newly renovated downtown area.

Five years ago, when the idea to revitalize the downtown area had been brought up among my siblings, Noel, Ginger, and Christopher, I’d loved the idea of these kinds of apartments.

I also loved the idea of giving back to my community.

So with Ginger and Noel’s help, Christopher and I had started planning.

Christopher with his construction company, and me with the money that I had to back it, we totally revitalized the street that we now lived on from top to bottom.

Then, our revitalization of our downtown street had then sparked the city to also revitalize the rest of the downtown area.

Now it was the most quaint little Christmas village downtown area that I’d ever seen. And the snow that was falling down only made the Christmas wonderland thing even more gorgeous.

The snow made all the colors along the roofs, around the light poles, and along the shop windows pop.

But even as beautiful as it was, it wasn’t enough to get my mind off of the woman that I’d met at the arena.

Then again at her candy store.

When she’d walked into my grandmother’s bathroom with her daughter, I’d known she was meant to be someone important in my life.

When she’d left, my heart had sank.

When my grandmother had explained that she thought that she was the sweetest girl ever, but was scared of her own shadow, my stomach had soured.

I wanted nothing more but to go to that house and ruin the man that dared put that look of defeat in Merriam’s eyes.

But my grandmother had cautioned me when I’d told her what I suspected.

Give her time, sweet potato. She doesn’t trust easy. If you can just be there for her, she’ll come around.

Sweet potato.

Even my grandmother’s cute pet name for me wasn’t enough to fix the feeling in my gut that I’d done something terribly wrong.

I’d left them both there, alone, with that man that beat his daughter.

Maybe he didn’t beat the kid.

But why the hell did that little girl only whisper? Why was she afraid of her own shadow?

I really didn’t like the picture my mind was painting. I also didn’t like that she felt like she was stuck, with no way out.

Ultimately, that’d been why I’d given her my name, address and phone number.

I wanted her to know that she had an option.

My phone rang, and I absently pulled it out of my pocket and answered it.

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