Drinking Life (Keeper of the Water Book 1) by Kevin George

drawer. I’m nearly finished when I drop a stack and papers scatter across the floor. My sigh sounds more like a growl. Can this day get any worse?
    I wish I didn’t jinx myself. As I gather the papers, I come across my parents’ marriage certificate. I barely pay attention to it until my eye is drawn to the date. I stack more papers atop it when my brain suddenly registers a problem. I flip back through until I find the certificate again—I wasn’t seeing things, the year is wrong. It’s listed as two years after I was born even though my parents told me they were married the year before I was born. Maybe it’s just a typo or maybe my mother never wanted me to find out she got knocked up before she was married. I don’t want to embarrass her or my dad so I sneak it back into the stack.
    I’m even more shocked when I come across a set of forms with the phrases ‘Correctional Facility’ and ‘Release Statement.’ My father obviously wants these kept private but I can’t possibly put them away without reading more. My stomach sinks when I read that Dad served two years in prison for trespassing and assaulting a police officer. He’s such a kind man that I can’t imagine him ever getting into a fight, let alone one violent enough to land him in – My brain screeches to a halt when I see the years of his incarceration. The paper falls from my hand but I don’t care. I’m stunned and forget to breathe for the second time today. According to the papers, my father was in jail for the year before and after my birth.
    My father…
    I scoop the papers back together and throw them back in the box. I feel like a criminal hurrying to cover her tracks. I consider putting everything back in the boxes, pretending I was never in here, never saw any of this. But some books can’t be closed once opened. Why did I have to open this book? I rush out of his office, unable to stand the thought of being near those papers one moment longer. I pass several family photos, photos of my dad with his arm around me, his daughter . A burning sensation spreads through my sinuses and tears begin to well in my eyes. It’s the first time I ever remember crying. I run toward my room when a small picture on the coffee table makes me stop. The tears forming in my eyes suddenly clear.
    I’ve probably looked at this picture hundreds of times without ever truly seeing it the way I do now. My life has been turned upside-down but the sight of this photo brings a moment of unexpected clarity. In it, I’m probably about five years old and my family stands near the edge of the Grand Canyon. My father smiles as usual, my mom frowns in concern as usual, and my head is turned, more interested in looking at the canyon than posing for the picture. But we’re not alone in the picture.
    Celeste and Cassie are also in the picture, Cassie with her mouth wide open, screaming about something. The young version of Celeste in the picture can’t be more than a handful of years older than I am now. It’s amazing how I look much more like her than my mother at that time. Our resemblance always seemed coincidental but now I’m not so sure.
    And why do I feel such a dichotomy of emotions toward Cassie? She constantly annoys and angers me yet I’ve always felt such a strong desire to protect her. I assume this is how a lot of girls feel about their younger sisters…
    So many different thoughts run through my mind that it’s impossible to concentrate on just one. Despite how much I’m afraid of what the truth might be, I need to know. But my parents have lied to me for so long that I doubt they’ll give me answers. Good or bad, this is something I have to discover on my own.
    I walk into the kitchen, get an empty pitcher and a bunch of lemons. I squeeze the first lemon so hard that it explodes in my hand, shooting its acidic juices everywhere…
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    “Thirsty?” I ask my mother. She jumps as I walk into the trailer. Celeste isn’t the