Rose Petal Graves (The Lost Clan #1) Read Online Free Page B

makeup, the one with the quote written in rainbow colors that read, “Don’t count the days. Make the days count.” Bee had given me that mug for graduation because of the calendar I kept pinned to our fridge on which I would tick off the days until college. She knew how excited I was to leave home. I plucked stray hairs around my eyebrows, then dropped the tweezers back into the mug.
    “He knew there’d be a snowstorm,” Blake said. “He should’ve left your place earlier. He did it on purpose.”
    “Look, I got to go.”
    “Call me later?”
    Steam blurred my reflection in the mirror. “Sure, but don’t worry.”
    “I care about you, Cat. I cannot not worry,” he said, as I dragged my finger through the condensation.
    I’d drawn a heart. “I’ll be fine,” I said, wiping it off. Blake had feelings for me. He’d had feelings for me since the summer I’d turned thirteen and we’d kissed in his tree house. “I’ll call you later,” I said, and then disconnected.
    I placed my phone on the edge of the sink and stepped into the shower. The dried paint liquefied, and trickled off my skin in white rivulets. I scrubbed my body with the lavender-scented bar of soap Aylen cooked up in her kitchen. Making soap was her hobby; she was a naturopath by profession. Like Mom, she believed in the power of nature, which had led to heated conversations around the dinner table when I’d announced my desire to be a real doctor. Aylen had taken my comment to heart. Although she was quick to forgive me, she was also quick to point out the flaws in modern medicine.
    As I dried off, a plate broke in the kitchen. When I heard my dad swearing, I hurried to get dressed, pulling on a fresh pair of jeans and a red sweater. I hurtled down the stairs, just as a glass shattered. My father was crouched on the floor, scooping up the pieces of porcelain and glass with his bare hands.
    “Let me take care of that, Dad,” I said, helping him up. Both his palms were bleeding.
    “She’s not coming back, Cat. Never coming back,” he murmured. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot.
    I guided him toward the sink and ran cool water over his hands, then I blotted away the blood and water, sprayed antiseptic on the cuts, and plastered bandages that would probably not hold.
    “Am I interrupting?” Cruz asked from the doorway. He was holding a bottle of wine with a peeling, yellowy label.
    Dad sniffled. “No, no. Just clumsy, that’s all.”
    “I brought wine,” Cruz said.
    “That’s very kind of you,” he said softly.
    “The wine opener’s in the top right drawer,” I told Cruz, as I walked Dad to the living room and sat him down. I passed him the box of tissues and fluffed a pillow behind his back, then returned to the kitchen to clean up, but Cruz had already swept away the mess, which reminded me… “Did you clean the car?”
    “I did,” he said, twisting the screwpull into the cork.
    “Why?”
    “Do I need a reason to do something nice?”
    I bit my lip. “No.” The cork popped out. “Thanks.”
    “You’re welcome. Now where are your wine glasses?”
    “Over here,” I said, opening one of the cupboards. I took them out and brought them to the living room.
    “Should I be serving you alcohol?” Cruz asked, as he poured a glass for Dad. “Aren’t you a minor?”
    “I’m nineteen.”
    Dad snorted a laugh. “Good luck telling Cat what to do.” He took the glass from the table and sipped it. “This is very good. What is it? Pinot?”
    “It’s a 1973 Bordeaux.”
    Dad sputtered and some wine dribbled down his chin that was in dire need of a shave. “Nineteen seventy-three? It must be expensive.”
    “It is, but a good bottle should never be drunk alone.”
    “Don’t you have any friends?” I asked, swiping the second glass from the table.
    One side of his mouth perked up.
    “Catori,” Dad hissed. He only ever used my full name when he was angry. “That’s not nice.”
    “Well, do you?” I asked