My Twist of Fortune by Rayne, Piper (top fiction books of all time TXT) 📕

ice cream I spilled all over myself last night while I ate it out of the carton. I stand and head into the bathroom. “Leave me alone. You two have plenty of clothes. Find something.”

“No! Mom, it’s mine. Tell Mandi to let go.”

Jed honks the horn of the truck from the driveway. The truck that Jeff just had to buy Jed because why not buy your seventeen-year-old son’s happiness with a truck instead of actually, oh, I don’t know… keeping your dick out of other women’s vaginas.

“Mandi, give Nikki the shirt so she can go to school. You can find something else.”

“Seriously?” Mandi’s shoulders sink as though I told her she has a giant zit on the tip of her nose and there’s a boy at the door.

I shut the bathroom door. With my hands on the sink, my chin falls to my chest and I inhale and exhale a deep breath to find some serenity and calm. Maybe I should download one of those meditation apps or try yoga or something. All the other moms raved about it back in Arizona.

Turning on the shower, I grab the hem of my sweatshirt to strip it off, but I catch my reflection in the mirror. Oh my God. What happened to me? I’m wearing an oversized pair of flannel pants and my dad’s overly large “Just the Tip” sweatshirt with a bullet and American flag on it.

“Today is a new day,” I murmur.

Wheels squeal outside as Jed punches the gas pedal. I picture the back of the truck fishtailing. I’m the mother of a hoodlum. Tears prick my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall.

I strip off my sweatshirt and my pants and step into the avocado-colored porcelain tub with the valance of fabric, complete with ties and tassels. My mom does nothing that doesn’t involve tassels. A rush of cold water shoots down on my back.

“SHIT!” I scream and bolt out of the bathtub, one lonely tassel tie falling to the floor.

I dry myself off before putting my sweatshirt and pants back on for warmth then head downstairs to the kitchen, finding Mandi and Posey. Posey is dressed, backpack zipped up and a Pop-Tart and glass of milk in front of her on the table. Jesus. One day she’ll be in a therapist’s office, saying it all started when she was seven and her parents divorced.

“Mandi, was the water hot this morning?”

“Lukewarm.” She bites a piece of toast.

“Were you the last one in?” I ask.

She eats her toast, staring at her phone. Another one of Jeff’s gifts. “First.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Did Jed or Nikki say anything?”

She shrugs and sips her juice.

I turn on the lights at the top of the basement stairs before rushing down. At the bottom step, the sight of water on the cement floor alarms me.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I tiptoe through the water and find the source—the water heater. Since it’s only been two retired people living in this house for the past twenty-plus years, I’m sure it’s in shock from my teenage boy, who takes three showers a day.

After running back up the stairs, I grab the home phone and dial my mom in Florida. I’d love to volunteer to pay for this since they’re letting my kids and me stay in their home rent-free while they travel in their RV. Although they’ve offered to let us stay when they return in two months, if I want to preserve what little sanity I have left, I need to find a place of my own. Which means I need to save all the money I can.

“Hey, honey, shouldn’t you be on your way to school?”

“Good morning, Mom.” I ignore her question. “I think the hot water heater is done.”

“Hold on.” She must only move the phone a millimeter away from her mouth before she screams, “Frank!”

Posey slides off the stool and points at the clock, eyeing me to make sure I see it.

I cover the receiver. “Go wait in the car.”

They actually listen, and I tap my fingers on the counter, waiting for my dad.

“I’ll call Hank Greene,” my mom suggests.

“No, don’t do that.”

Just the thought of my ex-husband’s cousin coming here and seeing me makes me want to dig a hole for myself. My gaze scatters across the messy house. The carton of ice cream I finished off last night sits by the trash can. The takeout pizza boxes are precariously balanced on the counter. Jed’s socks and sweatshirts litter every surface, and cups clutter the end tables. I’ve lost all control of my children.

I hear the phone exchange hands. “What’s up, buttercup?”

“Hey, Dad, I told Mom I’m guessing the water heater is done. There’s water in the basement and all I got was cold water this morning.”

“Yeah, that thing has been on its last legs.”

I wave my hand to get this conversation going even though he can’t see me. “So who do I call? Who do you use?”

“I’m calling Hank right now,” Mom yells in the background.

“Dad! Tell her no.”

But I hear Mom on Dad’s speakerphone. The line is ringing.

“Hank’s a good guy,” Dad says. “He does all the work for us ever since his dad retired. He’s the “it guy” in Sunrise Bay now.”

I stop myself from saying he was the “it guy” when I was in high school too. Another reason I do not want him to bear witness to what has happened to me.

“Hey, Hank!” Mom singsongs, then her voice fades away. I strain to hear anything, but she must have left the RV with the cell phone.

“Don’t you think it’s a little awkward to have Jeff’s cousin come and fix the water heater?”

Dad doesn’t say anything for a moment. “True. Point made. Okay, well, we’ll have to call someone from another town. Helen!” he yells.

I move the phone away from my ear.

Posey comes back in the door, her eyes pleading. “I can’t be late again, Mom. Please.”

She’s right.

“Hey, Dad, I have to take the girls to