Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
With that, I walk out with my head held high, like I don’t have a care in the world. I wait until I’m three blocks away to pull over and scream. It’s one thing to know that I have to nix my interest in Tyler in the bud because of Rita. It’s a whole other thing to be subjected to that psychopath taunting me on the phone at my work. Answering the phone is part of my job, so it’s not like I can stop doing it. Rita knows that, and she’s determined to lob as much bullshit at me as possible. I need to do something, but at the moment, I don’t know what that something should be.
To top it all off, my manifesting books and apps aren’t helping right now. No matter how hard I try to focus, many of my visualizations involve Tyler. I’m still working on that though. It would be great if at some point my brain could stop picturing him as Mr. Right.
Maybe once I figure out how to properly deal with the Rita situation, things will get easier. Hopefully that happens soon, as in before I snap and tell her off, regardless of who’s listening—even if it’s Tyler.
_______________
“YOU’RE STILL SOUR with me for not divulging that Tyler had a dalliance with Rita, aren’t you?”
Setting my fork down on my half-finished plate of mashed potatoes, green beans, and pork chops with mushroom gravy, I hold my finger up to indicate I need a moment to finish chewing. After swallowing, I give Millie an exasperated look.
“Please stop worrying about that, Millie. I’ve told you at least a dozen times that I’m not upset with you. I can’t lie and say I wasn’t annoyed at first, but you know I’m not a grudge holder. I wanted out of Los Angeles, and you knew the job at the station would be a good place for me to land. For what it’s worth, I’m not sure if knowing the chief dated Rita would’ve affected my decision to take the job. He’s a good boss, my co-workers are amazing, and I like working with the public. The only downside is that awful woman.”
“She’s more than just awful,” Mr. Andover grumbles. “It’s too bad we don’t have the option to vote her off the island like they do on Survivor. Ninety-nine percent of the people living here would be thrilled to see her go.”
I love Mr. Andover. He’s on the quiet side, so one might assume he’s either not listening or doesn’t care. Both assumptions are wrong. Although he speaks a great deal less than his wife, at least to anyone who isn’t her, he’s far more plugged in than people think. Like my grandfather, Mr. Andover was born and raised here in the Cove. He started a construction company when he finished his stint in the military and since then has either been involved in building or remodeling most of the local-owned homes. Because of that, he knows everyone.
“Wait, what fools are you including in the one percent that would want her to stay?” Millie asks.
Mr. Andover grins at his wife. “Just her momma, and frankly, we’d all be happy to vote her off too.”
I snicker as I slice the last portion of my pork chop.
“They’d both get my vote for sure,” I admit.
I get about three more bites in before Millie clears her throat. “If you’re not sour with me, it means something else is on your mind. You’re not yourself tonight.”
Setting my fork and knife down, I reach out for my glass of milk and take a sip to give myself a few seconds to think. I’m a terrible liar, and even if I tried, under cross-examination—at which Millie is highly skilled—I’d fold. I wasn’t going to talk to anyone about this, at least not yet, but now that she’s straight out said I’m not myself, there’s no avoiding it.
After putting my glass back down on the bright yellow tablecloth, I let out a long breath. “Rita has been calling the station a lot, and when she does, she’s… well, it’s rough.”
Millie’s eyes narrow as she focuses on me like a laser. “Define rough.”
I rub my palms against my denim-covered legs beneath the table as I gather the words I need to say.
“Today, she said I sound fat on the phone. She then asked if I gargle with butter.”
The sound of both of the Andovers’s cutlery clattering down to their plates confirms what I already suspected. This revelation is going over like a fart in church.
“What else has she said to you, child?”
The way Millie asks the question pulls me up short. I’ve never seen her honest-to-God mad before, but judging by the look on her face and the tone of her voice, she’s seething.
“Her go-to is to call me fat and tell me how ugly I am. Oh, and stupid too. One time, she didn’t say words; she just made mooing noises. Most of the rest of what she’s said has been so inappropriate I can’t even repeat any of it,” I admit.