Grace
I really thought I'd be motivated, but as soon as Charles left me alone with the books, that deep sense of resistance hit me again. I pulled the open book back toward me. It was a huge, thick thing. There were no diagrams, no charts, just pages and pages of words. My head was starting to hurt, and I rubbed my eyes.
This was ridiculous. I was thirty years old, and here I was, acting like I was in high school, hating my English homework all over again. I pouted, listening to the sound of Eason and George coming back. Eason was laughing, his voice carrying down the hallway. He sounded happier than I think I had ever heard him. He came down the hallway.
"Still at it?" Eason asked.
I waved him off. "I'll get it done."
"I know," Eason said. "Want anything from the kitchen?"
I shook m
