Burnt Devotion (Imdalind, #5)

“Stop the sarcasm, Maggie. I’m just saying you could watch it to make sure your weight doesn’t get out of control one day. Your mother always said-”


“Ok, stop right there, please, Dad. I have no interest in what that woman thinks of me. She left, so she definitely doesn’t get a say so anymore. She doesn’t care.”

She was always on me about my weight. Of course, back then I just thought it was motherly protection, you know. Now, who knew what was going on in her head.

I’m kinda short, I guess; five-three. My mom has always said I should watch it and maybe start doing more activities, such as joining the cheerleading squad again. I quit my sophomore year. I was already on the track team, but apparently, our running shorts weren’t cute enough for her.

I have always liked my body, always. I wasn’t fat. I wasn’t one of those girls that griped and complained and had conniptions every time I had to put on a bathing suit. And I’d never had any complaints from anyone else either. Especially not Chad, who constantly told me how he loved that I ate real food and looked normal and didn’t ask him if I looked fat every time I changed my clothes. No one except her ever had a problem with it or ever said anything to me about it. I refused to get a complex because of one high strung woman. And now Dad had to start this crap?

“She does care. We just didn’t do what we needed for her. We took advantage. She wouldn’t have left if we had been more...”

“More what, Dad? More perfect?”

“You know what I mean.”

“No. You don’t love people for what they can give you. You don’t love them because of what they do for you or how good you make them look. Love is blind, love does not boast, love is not vain. Remember, Dad?”

“I know what the bible says, Maggie, but since when do you care what God has to say about anything?” Ouch. True, we hadn’t been to church not one Sunday since my mom left. “Your mom loved us, we just didn’t show her enough love to keep her here. We failed her.”

I stood up, not caring that Kyle hadn’t texted me yet. I looked at the sad, mean, black haired, pale and thin man in front of me with his wrinkled navy blue shirt and his hair greased back, uncared for.

“Dad, I love you, but I’m not taking the blame for something she did. I’m going out with a friend. I won’t stay out too late.”

“Chad?”

“No, not Chad. Chad’s too busy trying to leave this town.”

“Well, good for him and you knew it was coming. You could learn a few things from that boy. He was a little out of your league anyway, I think. Probably why it didn’t work out. You’ve gotta be more realistic, Maggie. You expect too much from people,” he muttered.

“Ok, Dad. Bye.”

I left without another word from him or me. I grabbed my green cargo jacket from the hall coat rack and stuck my phone in my pocket. I looked at myself in the hall mirror. I remembered this mirror. It was bulky and huge, made from antique silver. Dad had to wrestle to get it in the car after mom found it at an old, out of the way antique shop. I looked in it and I saw my light brown hair with a little wave at the ends passed my shoulders. I saw my green eyes. I saw the freckles smattering my nose and cheeks on tan skin. I wasn’t gorgeous, but I still didn’t understand why I wasn’t good enough for anyone.

I searched through my backpack for the ten dollar bill I knew was there and stuffing it in my pocket with my phone, I headed out the door.

It was cold and humid. The air was thick with fog and moisture, making a glow around the street lights as I made my way down Broad Street. One street over was Main. I lived right smack in the middle of town my whole life. I didn’t have a car because I didn’t need one. I could walk anywhere I needed to go and the diner I worked in was only five blocks down and over.

But I wasn’t headed to the diner. I had no idea where I was going, but I just needed to get away. Dad had completely changed. We used to get along; play games, go to movies, cook together, rake leaves together. We were a typical uptown normal street family from Tennessee. But when my mom left, my dad may as well have left too. He would never have said anything about my weight before, especially since there’s nothing wrong with it, and never ever would have just sat there while his only daughter graduated. He also wouldn’t have let me get a job just so I had money to buy things I needed because he was too buried in his grief to go to work anymore. He was not the same man and I missed him.

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