Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112449 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 562(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112449 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 562(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
“Did she! Oh my goodness, I heard so much about the exploits of that randy goat, I started getting jealous. He had a better sex life than mine.”
“We could not figure out how he was getting in the pen.” I cracked up. “The girls kept getting pregnant, and when Gran found him in there, she’d chase him through the fields, shrieking about turning him into a plate of curry goat. We finally found out he was getting in because Ivy was leaving the gate open when she snuck out.”
“That’s the de Souza women for you. You gals do what you want, when you want. I hope your gran remembered that when she found out about Ivy’s late-night adventures. Lord knows Abigail wasn’t shy about hopping out a window to meet Joseph Deerfield. She was head over heels for that boy.”
“Oooh, who’s Joseph Deerfield?”
“Your real grandfather.”
I gaped at her. Frankie saw my face and howled.
“I’m just kidding, sweetie. She gave their baby up for adoption long before your father came along.”
“Frankie!”
The woman laughed so hard she nearly crashed the bus.
We spent the rest of the drive swapping old stories and laughing about the good times.
“I loved living on that farm with Gran and Ivy.” I rested my cheek against the cool glass. “Mom and Dad died when I was little. I never got a chance to know them, but Gran didn’t let us be sad. Life was movie nights, camping under the stars, archery lessons, and randy goats. I loved every minute of it.” My smile faded. “And now they’re both gone.”
“You still have your sister.”
“Ivy never comes home.”
“Your grandmother’s death was hard for both of you.” Frankie rolled to a stop beside our busted-up, faded sign. “Maybe it’s too difficult for her to be here. Too many memories.”
“Maybe.”
Frankie stopped me on the top step, grabbing my hand. “Are you sure about this, dear? Technically, you shouldn’t be on the property at all, but that aside, what good is it you sitting in that empty place all alone? Why not stay with me? I know you’re tired of that dreary motel. I have a spare room that’s yours until you find an apartment in town.”
“That’s nice of you, Frankie. Truly, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, and for Gran. You’re a kind, loving person, and one day you’ll find someone that appreciates just being with you is better than an affair with a thousand leggy yoga instructors.”
“Thank you, Rainey,” she said softly.
“It’s sweet of you to let me stay, but I’ve lost Gran, Ivy’s gone, and I was kicked out of the farm. There’s only one of those I can do something about. Tonight, I want to be home.”
She nodded. “Go, love, and fuck those jerks for making you leave in the first place. Your name is on that damn sign. That’s all I need to know about who owns it.”
Waving bye, I set off from the bus, down the long drive to the farm. The main gate was chained shut, I climbed over the thing and kept going.
Yes, I was kicked out of the family farm. Six generations of de Souzas on this patch of land, and the one to lose it, was me. Well, it wasn’t all on me. When Gran died without a will and a farm in deep with the bank, they told me and Ivy to get our grown asses off the property. They were selling it to developers and there was nothing we could do about it.
Ivy and I tried to fight, but in every story where the poor orphan girls fight against the corporation, how many times did the orphan girls win?
We were removed—forcibly in Ivy’s case. The animals were sold and the crops harvested by whoever was willing to pay the bank for the privilege. I lost my grandmother and home in a day. Shortly after, Ivy left Bedlam.
Like I told Paris, anyone who asks about my life apologizes a dozen times before the conversation is over.
I wandered up the gravel path. The farm rose out of the hill, drawing me home to fresh-baked cookies and Ivy playing her music too loud upstairs. I broke the lock on the front door and met with musty damp and silence. Sometimes, I didn’t know what was worse. Being this miserable or the memories of being happy. If I had a terrible childhood, at least I couldn’t count how many steps I hit on the way down.
Shutting the door behind me, I made my way in the dark. It’s been years and no one’s bought the farm, leaving it sitting empty for my constant visits. They had yet to put a lock on this place that I couldn’t break into. I wasn’t above breaking the windows either.
Down in the basement, I turned on the old generator. I only had a few things in the kitchen and living room hooked up, but it was enough for a relatively comfortable night out of the motel and in my home.