The Reason I Stay Read Online Free PDF

Her filthy, sweaty, matted hair moves, making Sally puff out yet another heavy breath. “Stay here. I’ll go ask Fatima to cook you something.”
    We both watch—with similar relief in our faces—as Sally stands up and makes her way to the kitchen. A wicked gleam shines in Kodee’s eyes as she looks back at me. She folds her elbows over the table, and brings her body close to mine. “I’m in big trouble,” she tells me in a whispering voice, as if she’s telling me the biggest secret.
    “Yeah, whas tha?” I ask through my stuffed mouth.
    “I lied.” She brings a dirty index finger to her lips, makes a “shush” noise, and starts giggling. “My godmother gave me a sandwich. I just told Grandma she didn’t so she’d leave us alone. She can be a bit much, you know?”
    I don’t really get, or care, why that tiny lie would get her into trouble, but still the kid is funny, and she got rid of my morning annoyance, so I nod and lift my coffee cup in a salute. “Thank you.”
    She reaches to grab a piece of my sliced watermelon with her fingers. “So, what’s your story?”
    “Hey,” I reprimand her in the grumpiest tone I can muster, “I’d rather you didn’t, but if you’re gonna steal my food, use a fork. You have dirty soccer hands.”
    Yes, I’m thankful that she showed up and got rid of Darth Vader, but my head is still pounding, so having some quiet time would be awesome. Unfortunately she doesn’t seem to care about not being welcome, because she giggles, puts the watermelon in her mouth and licks her dirty fingers before grabbing a fork and digging in again.
    My face scrunches up in disgust. “That’s nasty, you know? You’ll end up with worms in your belly.”
    She waves the fork at me and speaks through a full mouth. “Your story . . .”
    We stare at each other for a few moments. Her hazel eyes—ones that seem too big for her face, and give her a cartoony look—are all wide with excitement, which makes me consider, if only for a second, telling my story to her. Luckily, in the next second I’m over it, so I stuff more egg in my mouth, and shake my head.
    “I don’t have a story.”
    Her lips press together in a pout. “Don’t be silly; everyone has a story. And I love stories. I ask all the stories of all the guests that stay here. And you look like someone with a good story. So c’mon, tell me your story, Mathew.” The words come out of her little mouth in a rush, and as soon as they do her brows pull together. She takes a deep breath and blinks twice. And once again, she’s laughing. I stare at her in confusion, and she just shakes her head, grabs my orange juice and takes a long gulp. “I get dizzy when I talk too fast,” she says, and drinks again.
    I look at the glass in her tiny little hands, and good mother of a holy person, I want to yell every cuss word I know at this kid. She’s cute and messy, but between the questions, putting dirty hands in my food and drinking my juice, she’s becoming just as annoying and overbearing as her grandmother.
    She holds my gaze for a few seconds, her eyes wide and begging for a story. She’s excited, and I’m annoyed. She giggles and I sigh, but I open my mouth anyway.
    “I’m on a road trip. I was kind of drunk and decided that the next song that played on the radio would decide my destination. ‘Sweet Home Alabama’ played, followed by Dolly Parton’s ‘ Jolene’. I typed that into my GPS and here I am.”
    “Wow . . . that’s kind of dumb.” She’s laughing once again. Apparently that’s all she does.
    Frustrated, I shake my head. “Tell me about it.” Her fork comes up and grabs the last of my greasy eggs. I look at her through narrowed yes. “Will you stop eating my food?”
    “You’re such a grump.” She suppresses a chuckle, as if it’s the funniest thing in the world. Even though I want to scream, I laugh at her honesty.
    Her smile widens. “You’re just traveling around?”
    “Yes.”
    “And you