Paradox - Progeny Of Innocence (bk2) (Paradox series) by Patti Roberts
Authors: Patti Roberts
Ads: Link
so alone and disconnected from herself that she felt she could relate to Zach’s circumstances.
She remembered when she was eleven, just after her father had died. How she would wake up in the middle of the night and drift aimlessly around the house in the still of the night. Searching for the father, who she realized was never coming home.
But Wade had been there to comfort her. Come on Kiddo, climb in, Wade would say, patting the sofa and making room next to him for her. She would cuddle up close to him, her head resting against his chest, listening to his rhythmic heartbeat as it lulled her back to sleep.
In the morning, Grace would find herself tucked up safely in her own bed. She would pretend that it was her father holding her, tucking her back into bed and brushing her hair softly from her forehead. When she eventually dragged herself out of bed in the mornings and wandered out to the lounge room to watch television, Wade would already be in the kitchen, preparing breakfast for her.
"Cereal, Grace?"
"Yes please," she answered, "and a coffee."
"You’re eleven years old, Grace; you’re too young for coffee. Milk or juice?"
"Okay, milk, then," she answered half-heartedly as she propped herself up on one of the stools at the breakfast bench.
"So when do you think I’ll be old enough to drink coffee?"
Wade studied her for a moment. "Sixteen, maybe," he said, putting a mug of cold milk down in front of her. He produced it in her favorite ‘Hope’ mug, that depicted an angel with beautiful white wings.
She sniffed it, then, cautiously took a tiny sip, tasting it like a seasoned connoisseur tasting a questionable glass of wine.
"Would you like a spit bucket with that?" Wade asked grinning.
She squished her tiny face up at him. "A spit bucket? Why? What’s a spit bucket? That sounds horrible, a bucket full of spit. Gross."
"Never mind. I’ve already given the milk the 'Connors' sniff test, no more than five minutes ago. It's fine, now drink."
She drank her milk and thought about their conversation. "Sixteen, that’s five years away, I think thirteen sounds better."
"Fifteen... and that’s my final offer."
"Deal!" she said, putting out her hand to shake on it.
Wade picked up a sharp knife and made a small cut on his palm.
Grace’s eyes popped open wide as she stared at the blood pooling in his palm.
"Cool, can I do that?" she asked, shoving her hand out toward him.
He took her hand gently in his and made a small incision.
"That didn’t hurt a bit," she said, amazed that no pain had accompanied the blade slicing through the flesh on her palm.
Wade smiled. "I didn’t think that it would."
She watched the blood trickle from the cut in her palm. "It isn’t really red like I thought it would be; it’s more bluish really. Let me see yours."
She peered into his palm. "It’s bluish-red, too, like mine."
"So it is. Okay, ready to shake on it?" Wade asked.
Grace nodded. "Yep, shake." They clasped hands and shook hands three times.
Had Grace looked, she would have noticed that her hand had already completely healed from the cut.
"Fifteen it is, Kiddo, not a day earlier, now eat your breakfast." He put a bowl of fruit loops down on the bench in front of her and handed her a spoon. Fifteen would be the perfect age to start preparing her for the next step in her journey. Wade did the calculations. They only had four years to prepare. With any hope, a little longer.
"Thanks, Wade," Grace said as she shoveled a mouthful of cereal into her mouth.
"You are very welcome, Kiddo."
"Are you staying here while I go to school?" she asked him.
"Just till your mom gets up, why?"
Grace shrugged her shoulders. "Sometimes mom is still in bed when I get home. I get lonely and I miss my dad. I like having you around."
The toast launched itself out of the toaster and landed on the kitchen bench with a plop. "Toast?" Wade asked gathering it up.
"Yes please, with Vegemite. I like it spread right to the
She remembered when she was eleven, just after her father had died. How she would wake up in the middle of the night and drift aimlessly around the house in the still of the night. Searching for the father, who she realized was never coming home.
But Wade had been there to comfort her. Come on Kiddo, climb in, Wade would say, patting the sofa and making room next to him for her. She would cuddle up close to him, her head resting against his chest, listening to his rhythmic heartbeat as it lulled her back to sleep.
In the morning, Grace would find herself tucked up safely in her own bed. She would pretend that it was her father holding her, tucking her back into bed and brushing her hair softly from her forehead. When she eventually dragged herself out of bed in the mornings and wandered out to the lounge room to watch television, Wade would already be in the kitchen, preparing breakfast for her.
"Cereal, Grace?"
"Yes please," she answered, "and a coffee."
"You’re eleven years old, Grace; you’re too young for coffee. Milk or juice?"
"Okay, milk, then," she answered half-heartedly as she propped herself up on one of the stools at the breakfast bench.
"So when do you think I’ll be old enough to drink coffee?"
Wade studied her for a moment. "Sixteen, maybe," he said, putting a mug of cold milk down in front of her. He produced it in her favorite ‘Hope’ mug, that depicted an angel with beautiful white wings.
She sniffed it, then, cautiously took a tiny sip, tasting it like a seasoned connoisseur tasting a questionable glass of wine.
"Would you like a spit bucket with that?" Wade asked grinning.
She squished her tiny face up at him. "A spit bucket? Why? What’s a spit bucket? That sounds horrible, a bucket full of spit. Gross."
"Never mind. I’ve already given the milk the 'Connors' sniff test, no more than five minutes ago. It's fine, now drink."
She drank her milk and thought about their conversation. "Sixteen, that’s five years away, I think thirteen sounds better."
"Fifteen... and that’s my final offer."
"Deal!" she said, putting out her hand to shake on it.
Wade picked up a sharp knife and made a small cut on his palm.
Grace’s eyes popped open wide as she stared at the blood pooling in his palm.
"Cool, can I do that?" she asked, shoving her hand out toward him.
He took her hand gently in his and made a small incision.
"That didn’t hurt a bit," she said, amazed that no pain had accompanied the blade slicing through the flesh on her palm.
Wade smiled. "I didn’t think that it would."
She watched the blood trickle from the cut in her palm. "It isn’t really red like I thought it would be; it’s more bluish really. Let me see yours."
She peered into his palm. "It’s bluish-red, too, like mine."
"So it is. Okay, ready to shake on it?" Wade asked.
Grace nodded. "Yep, shake." They clasped hands and shook hands three times.
Had Grace looked, she would have noticed that her hand had already completely healed from the cut.
"Fifteen it is, Kiddo, not a day earlier, now eat your breakfast." He put a bowl of fruit loops down on the bench in front of her and handed her a spoon. Fifteen would be the perfect age to start preparing her for the next step in her journey. Wade did the calculations. They only had four years to prepare. With any hope, a little longer.
"Thanks, Wade," Grace said as she shoveled a mouthful of cereal into her mouth.
"You are very welcome, Kiddo."
"Are you staying here while I go to school?" she asked him.
"Just till your mom gets up, why?"
Grace shrugged her shoulders. "Sometimes mom is still in bed when I get home. I get lonely and I miss my dad. I like having you around."
The toast launched itself out of the toaster and landed on the kitchen bench with a plop. "Toast?" Wade asked gathering it up.
"Yes please, with Vegemite. I like it spread right to the
Similar Books
