Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 126840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
That said, I wasn’t a procrastinator.
So I queried, “What’s Dad done?”
“I think we should talk face-to-face.”
Holy shit.
“Is he…okay?”
“He’s fine. It’s your grandfather.”
All right then.
Zero interest.
None.
Zilch.
Dad was Dad because Granddad was Granddad.
Not to mention Grandma was Grandma, but in female solidarity, I had to note she lived in a different time, and it took a lot of strength to fight the fusillade of mental abuse and control a malignant narcissist unleashed.
But that was as fair as I got because she was bitchy, vindictive and bitter, she wallowed in all of it, and spread it around with glee.
“I care about this because…?” I prompted.
“Honey, he’s your grandfather and he’s your father’s father. It’s always hard to lose your dad.”
“I’m not sure when that time comes for me it’ll be very hard.”
“Hellen,” she said softly, disappointment in her tone.
That wasn’t the daughter she raised.
On the other hand, it was the daughter Dad created.
“He reached out to me,” Mom told me. “He misses you girls.”
Bullshit, I thought.
I said nothing, but I made a mental note of how deeply I was not a fan of him reaching out to Mom at all for anything.
“This is tough on him,” she pushed.
Mom, heart of gold. He’d done her dirty, he’d done us all dirty, and she didn’t put up with it forever, she didn’t lose herself to it, she got free and fought for herself and her daughters.
But she had a kind soul.
“Maybe he’s learned something these past couple of years he’s been out of your and Liane’s lives,” she suggested.
This idea was hopeful, yet ludicrous.
“We’ll talk at dinner. I’ll come over tomorrow if that’s cool.”
“Okay, sweetie.”
“You and Andy good?”
“Yes, honey. Just plugging along.”
There was something to be said about a low-key life. Work. Home shared with the man you loved. Two healthy daughters. TV and cooking and looking forward to a couple of vacations a year, planning what you’d do on holidays and looking forward to retirement.
That wasn’t the life I wanted, but it was the life Mom did, and I was glad she had it.
“Right, see you tomorrow,” I told her.
“Can’t wait. Love you.”
“Love you too, and my love to Andy and Li.”
We disconnected, and I realized I didn’t mention Eleanor or ask if she told Liane about Dad/Granddad.
Both could wait until dinner tomorrow.
But Dad getting in touch increased my irritation to vexation, and I homed in on Christos’s webpage tab.
I then clicked on the tab.
Whoever created it went full bore with a “history and about us page,” “what we’re looking for,” “projects we’re working on,” and “how to submit” pages, and their content was lucid and thorough.
There was also a “contact us” page with email, phone number, fax number and an address.
I stared at the address.
I opened another tab, typed in the address, and Google showed me the front of a building, offered me the option to go to a website or get directions, etc.
I clicked directions.
The address was real. It was a place, maybe a five-minute drive from my office.
I went back and hit the button for website.
It took me to Christos’s firm’s page.
I then opened another tab and typed in, How do you find out if a business is registered.
I clicked go and then followed through by checking the state registry.
I was feeling nothing would come of it since they covered their tracks so well, they’d surely register their company, even if it was bogus.
I sat up straighter when I saw they did not.
I did a deeper dive in how to find out if a company was registered and went to the national database. They’d only register nationally if there was some need, and they weren’t.
I then typed in, Can you do business in a state if you’re not registered.
At that, I learned you could, but only if you were like me, a small, one-woman show.
However, I was registered, and Christos’s gig was not a one-person show.
“Bingo, motherfucker. Gotcha,” I said to my laptop, closed it, grabbed my phone and my bag, and I took off.
5
LUNCH
Hellen
When I drove by Christos’s office building, I was unsurprised it looked vacant.
I found a place to park on the street a couple of buildings down, fed the meter, and experienced whiplash in the form of total surprise when I walked back to the location, and Core was standing at the front doors. He was leaning a shoulder against the glass, biker boots crossed at the ankle, arms crossed on his wide chest.
He had on his mirrored aviators, and they were trained on my approach.
I was experiencing the heretofore undiscovered sensation of weak knees, something I didn’t like, and a corresponding tingle at my clit, though that felt nice, obviously, just not why I was feeling it.
“What’d I say?” he asked when I stopped two feet from him.
Oh, hell no.
“Were you waiting for me to come here?” I demanded. “Or are you still following me?”