Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
PALMER
Why does he do this?” I growl at the computer. “He does this intentionally.”
Burt’s company credit card is on the screen. The charges are half-legit and half-bogus—I know Kirk didn’t authorize a one-hundred-dollar dinner at Texas Roadhouse.
I sit back in my chair and rub my eyes. I’m not sure if they burn from irritation or from staring at the computer all morning. Either way, they’re so dry that I think they might combust.
My gaze slips across Burt’s online statement. “Why do you do this?”
Sadly, I think I know the answer. I think he does it to see if he can get away with it. There’s a twisted part of the old man that I think gets off on costing me time and making me have to email him to explain the charges.
“Not today, buddy,” I say, scooting my chair up to the computer. “Today is the day I copy Kirk directly on the email.”
I should’ve done this before now. Instead of just handling it myself and clueing Kirk in later, I should’ve dragged Burt in front of our boss and let the truth be told. I yawn. I’m so done making do.
I’m about to open a new email and attach Burt’s statement when my cell phone buzzes on my desk. Jared’s name flashes on the screen.
My heart leaps in my chest, and I mentally calculate the time and Ethan’s location. It’s eleven in the morning. Ethan is at school.
“Hey, Kirk,” I call out. “Jared is calling. I’m going to take it outside, okay?”
“Go. I hope everything is okay.”
Me too.
“Hey, Jared,” I say, pushing the office door open. A blast of cool air smashes me in the face. “What’s happening?”
“Hi, Palm. What are you up to today?”
I roll my eyes. “I’m at work, like I am every other day of the week from six a.m. to five p.m.—except Saturdays.” But I often have to show up then too. “What are you doing? Why are you calling me?”
“Easy there, Palm. You’re awful testy today.”
His laugh fuels my irritation.
“I’ve dealt with idiots all day long. Please do not add to the tally.”
“Cool. I’ll make it quick then.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m getting evicted. Well, I got evicted. I just made it easier on them and went ahead and left.”
All the oxygen rushes out of my body as I stare at the bright-blue sky. You’ve got to be kidding me.
A hundred thoughts cross my mind, but I boil them down to one.
“Why?” I ask, even though it’s really none of my business why he got kicked out of his house. The only part that’s any of my business is how it will affect Ethan.
“I got behind on my rent, and the landlord’s wife told me I would be okay if I just added a little cash each month to catch up. Well, the landlord apparently didn’t agree and wouldn’t honor the deal. He tacked a thirty-day notice to the door a couple of days ago. Nice, huh?”
“Honestly? I’m less concerned about their manners and more concerned about where you might be living when our son visits.” When you have him all of one day a month.
He takes a deep breath. “Well, here’s the thing . . .”
I don’t know where he’s going with this, but I know that I’m about to hate it.
“You know I don’t love it when you start sentences like that,” I say.
“Robbie got a job in Cleveland, and he was basically telling me that he can hook me up with something too. I know it’s a little far, but I could really turn shit around fast and be back down here in a new place. You know, it can all work out real easy.”
Are you fucking kidding me?
I struggle to keep my frustration with this man contained. He’s just moving to Cleveland like that? To work with Robbie, no less—a man who couldn’t make a legal living if he had to.
My throat pulls together. I march across the parking lot away from the office in case I need to scream.
Or cry. Who knows?
“You know, Jared, I’m not your mother and I’m not your girlfriend. But I am the mother of your child, which makes me somewhat inclined to not want to see you dead or end up in prison.”
“That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” he jokes.
I roll my eyes. “I’m reading between the lines here, and I’m not sure what you’re going to do up there, but it doesn’t feel like a great solution to the problem at hand.”
He breathes heavily into the phone. His frustration that I’m not rolling over and cheerleading his next bright idea pisses him off.
I brace myself for his retaliation—because there will be retaliation—but I can’t let this go.
“What do you suggest, then? Huh?” he asks. “Because that’s what you do, Palm. You’re so quick to point out fucking problems and never have a fucking solution.”