Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Mike stared in awe. “I had no idea it did that.”
I laughed.
Mike’s parents came back into the room, his mom carrying a tray with four mugs and a miniature milk pitcher. I hurried back to the couch, unable to stop the music from playing. Mike’s dad scooped me up into another one of his bear hugs. I laughed, nearly all of my anxiety forgotten.
“You found the music box,” Mrs. Newbury said.
I settled onto the couch beside Mike. “My grandmother had one when I was a child.”
“Chopin’s minute waltz,” Mrs. Newbury responded proudly. I wasn’t exactly sure what that meant but guessed she was naming the song.
“Where did you get it?” I asked to make conversation.
Mr. Newbury leaned forward to help himself to a cup. Mike followed, stiff and formal.
“My mother,” Mrs. Newbury answered.
There was a pause as we all sipped our coffee.
“How’s the cabin working out?” Mr. Newbury asked.
“Good,” both Mike and I said together. We broke out laughing. Something about the situation had us on the same page.
“Well, you two seem to be well suited,” Mike’s mom replied. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but her tone suggested that wasn’t exactly a compliment.
“Um, we put our computers in the basement,” Mike offered.
“Really?” his dad asked.
“Yeah.” I picked up the thread. “We don’t have the money for a pool table or another living room set yet.”
We finished our coffee in the parlor and moved to the dining room for dinner. Mike held me back as we walked through the house. “My mom’s pulling out all the stops. We never eat in the dining room.”
Again, I could see why. A massive chandelier descended from the ceiling to just a few feet above the center of the table. The table itself was a rectangular slab of oak, coated with so many layers of sealant that it reflected the light from above. A lace tablecloth was flung over the center, leaving a tasteful amount of the wood exposed. Four place settings adorned the head and sides of the table. Mike and I were destined to sit opposite each other, and it was difficult maneuvering into place because the room was much too small. On all sides, the table nearly brushed the walls, leaving precious little space to pull your chair out.
The whole scene left me with the impression that Mike’s mother very much aspired to be someone richer and more important than she was. Either that or she was stuck so far back in the past that people actually had formal dining rooms and parlors. It seemed like a lot of wasted living space in a house, but I kept my mouth shut.
She served meatloaf with tiny potatoes and boiled carrots. It was a good homecooked meal, and I made sure to compliment each component. Things were going fairly well. I thought I was getting through the ordeal and that Mike’s mom seemed to like me. The conversation took an abrupt turn when we had all finished.
“I made some pie.” Mrs. Newbury stood up to clear the plates.
“Let me help,” I said, scootching out of my chair.
“No, sit down.” Mike’s dad stood up.
“When I visited Mike in prison, he said he missed my apple pie.” Mrs. Newbury collected my plate from in front of me, seemingly oblivious to the bomb she had just dropped.
“Prison?” I asked.
Mike shot to his feet. “You promised!”
Mrs. Newbury set the plates back down on the table. “And you promised to tell her.”
“Tell me what?” I breathed in shock.
“Come on, Tammy.” Mike threw his napkin onto his plate and squeezed out of the room.
I stood up, unsure what was going on.
“We’re going!” Mike shouted from the freedom of the living room.
I popped free of the dining room, inching past Mike’s dad as he stood bewildered. “You didn’t tell her?” He turned, following us out.
“It’s my decision!” Mike snapped, livid beyond anything I had seen before.
“She deserves to know!” Mike’s mom appeared in the living room, chasing us to the door.
“It was nice meeting you.” I waved, trying to repair the situation, even though I knew it was hopeless.
“Give him a chance, Tammy,” Mike’s dad called out before the door slammed shut.
I followed Mike to the truck, my thoughts racing. Prison? So that’s what he had been hiding. And maybe Porter was involved somehow, like maybe they had served time together. That would explain all the pointed glances and things left unsaid. Now that I knew, I was surprised to discover that it didn’t really change anything. Yes, I was angry at him for keeping such a big secret, but I wasn’t afraid of him. Without knowing any of the specifics, I was sure his crime hadn’t been a horrible one. If he had been convicted of theft or getting carried away in a bar fight, it didn’t change my understanding of him as a gentle, caring man.