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)
I went back up to the soft glow from Gran’s favorite porcelain lamp, rescued from the estate sale, and a sweeping breeze from the tiny floor fan by the fireplace. Closing my eyes, it all came back to me.
The rocking chair and worn leather couch took their place by the front door. Rolling out from the wall, a plush brown rug covered the aged hardwood. Ivy’s two-seater plopped down by the fireplace. She stretched out, legs kicking over the side, sipping iced tea through a straw. Light and warmth spread through the space, anticipating her arrival.
“Ivy, sit like a lady.”
“Like this?” She flung her legs open, touching the wall and floor at the same time.
Gran laughed. “Looks right to me.”
She carried the tea tray from the kitchen, setting it on the coffee table. “Rainey Day? Why are you standing there, love? Come join us. The only civilized way to end the day—”
“—is with good company and a cup of tea,” I finished.
I stretched out on the rug, grabbing my throw off the armchair on the way. Snuggling the imagined threads around me, I saw Gran like she was truly there, pouring out chamomile tea and dropping two sugars for me. A spoonful of honey for Ivy.
“What’s wrong, love?” she asked me. “You’ve got your stormy face on.”
“Am I going to get these rain and weather puns for the rest of my life?”
“Fraid so.” I felt the ghost of her kiss on my forehead. “Tell me, sweets. What’s wrong?”
“Everything’s wrong, Gran.” Tears spilled down my cheeks. “You died.”
“Died? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Ivy left.”
“Sitting right here,” my sister sang.
“I’m alone.”
“You’re never alone, baby.” Sixty years and most of them doing farm work, Gran wasn’t a delicate senior gently wrinkling in an armchair. Her skin was tough and leathery from years under the beating sun. Hard labor toughened her arms, making her squeeze the jelly out of me when we hugged. Even so, I saw the traces of the young beauty she used to be. I saw the kind eyes she gave my father, then me.
“The thing about family is you can always make more.”
“What will my family think of me after what I’ve done?” I rasped. “I had to do something terrible, Gran. Does it matter that it was for the right reason?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“How many innocent people were hurt?”
A vision flashed of me stealing Cairo’s wallet while I kissed him, and stuffing it beneath the sand.
“I should’ve faced the consequences, but I couldn’t resist trying to hurt him one last time.” My anger swelled, bringing my perfect scene under haze. “I’ll never forgive the sheriff for what he did. This time, the son pays for the sins of the father.”
“That’s not how it works, Rainey Day.”
I laughed harshly. “Isn’t it? That explains why I feel so guilty I can barely breathe. Cairo’s bad, Gran. He’s rotten straight to his core. But what does it say about me that I let someone else face the punishment I was too scared to? I’ve been running from this ever since I got the first letter. Even after releasing that arrow, I’m still running.”
“It’s never too late to make it right. Pay penance.”
“How?”
She smiled, soft and sad. “We don’t get to decide, Rain. The chance will come to right your wrongs. It always does. For those who truly want to make amends, they won’t miss it.”
“I know what you mean,” I whispered as they faded. “This is my chance, Gran. I won’t miss it.”
I stayed for a while—lying on the floor, imagining I heard the old sounds of this place. Fridge humming. Ivy banging around upstairs, dancing. Gran in the kitchen, mumbling to herself as she totaled the bills.
The microwave was hooked to the generator. It popped my popcorn to perfection and filled the space with warm butter—soothing as I watched a few episodes of Special A.
I laughed a few times. Felt like the last few days—the last two years—washed away.
When I finished, I left my things inside and headed out the back door. The entrance to the old chicken coop swung on rusty hinges. The eee, eee, eee followed me out in the field. It was still echoing through the night as I disappeared through the tree line.
My feet carried me over roots and around dips expertly. I knew these woods better than the critters who called it home. As I passed, I collected flowers. Little weed-like buds, but pretty in the way they were determined to survive.
Moonlight peeked past the trees, daring me to come out and enjoy its full attention.
Black Widow Hill wasn’t really a hill so much as a slope. It wasn’t truly dubbed after a spider, so much as it was named for the shiver that crawled up your spine as you crept near the cliff edge. This place wasn’t a sweet scenic spot for couples.