The Rescue - Nicholas Sparks [36]
Then, of course, there was the whole man thing. Brett—good old Brett—was the last man she’d dated, and in reality it hadn’t even been a date. A roll in the sack, perhaps, but not a date. What a roll, though, huh? Twenty minutes and boom—her whole life changed. What would her life be like now if it hadn’t happened? True, Kyle wouldn’t be here . . . but . . . But what? Maybe she’d be married, maybe she’d have a couple of kids, maybe she’d even have a house with a white picket fence around the yard. She’d drive a Volvo or minivan and spend every vacation at Disney World. It sounded good, it definitely sounded easier, but would her life be any better?
Kyle. Sweet Kyle. Simply thinking about him made her smile.
No, she decided, it wouldn’t be better. If there was one bright spot in her life, he was it. Funny how he could drive her crazy and still make her love him for it.
Sighing, Denise left the porch and walked to the bedroom. Undressing in the bathroom, she stood in front of the mirror. The bruises on her cheek were still visible, but only slightly. The gash on her forehead had been closed neatly with stitches, and though she would always have a scar, it was near the hairline and wouldn’t be too obvious.
Other than that, she was pleased with how she looked. Because money was always such a concern, she never kept cookies or chips in the house. And since Kyle didn’t eat meat, she seldom had that, either. She was thinner now than she was before Kyle had been born—hell, she was thinner than she was in college. Without her even trying, fifteen pounds had simply melted away. If she had the time, she’d write a book and title it Stress and Poverty: The Guaranteed Way to Lose Inches Fast! She’d probably sell a million copies and retire.
She giggled again. Yeah, right.
As Judy had mentioned in the hospital, Denise did resemble her mother. She had the same dark, wavy hair and hazel eyes, they were roughly the same height. Like her mother, she was aging well—a few crow’s-feet in the corners of her eyes, but otherwise smooth skin. All in all, she didn’t look too bad. In fact, she looked pretty good, if she did say so herself.
At least something was going right.
Deciding to end on that note, Denise put on a pair of pajamas, set the oscillating fan on low, and crawled under the sheets before turning out the lights. The whir and rattle was rhythmic, and she fell asleep within minutes.
With early morning sunlight slanting through the windows, Kyle padded through the bedroom and crawled into bed with Denise, ready to start the day. He whispered, “Wake up, Money, wake up,” and when she rolled over with a groan, he climbed over her and used his little fingers to try to lift her eyelids. Though he wasn’t successful, he thought it was hilarious, and his laugh was contagious. “Open your eyes, Money,” he kept saying, and despite the ungodly hour, she couldn’t help but laugh as well.
To make the morning even better, Judy called a little after nine to see if they were still on for their visit. After gabbing a little while—Judy would be coming over the following afternoon, hurray!—Denise hung up the phone, thinking about her mood from the night before and the difference a good night’s sleep could make.
She chalked it up to PMS.
A little later, after breakfast, Denise got the bikes ready. Kyle’s was ready to go; hers was draped with cobwebs she had to wipe off. The tires on both bikes, she noticed, were low but had enough air to get into town.
After she’d helped Kyle put on his helmet, they started toward town under a blue and cloudless sky, Kyle riding out in front. Last December she’d spent a day running through the apartment complex parking lot in Atlanta, holding on to his bicycle seat until he’d gotten the hang of it. It had taken him a few hours and half a dozen falls,