Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“For the record, you’re a fucking idiot,” Aurelio said, getting in his car, slamming the door, and pulling off before I could even process what he’d said.
I climbed in my own car numbly, pulling out of the lot, then out of the town, leaving Traveler further and further behind with each mile driven.
And that black hole in my chest?
It felt like it had swallowed me whole by the time I pulled into Navesink Bank.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Traveler
From the outside, it seemed like my life went right back to usual the following day.
If there was one thing you could say about my father, it was that the man could hustle.
Not only was one of my “uncles” at my house when we got there, but a patrol car was parked on the street as well.
And, apparently, guys were already down at my shop repairing all the glass, and installing a more rugged security system.
I should have cared that all of those things were being paid for with dirty money handed over from the very organizations that were tearing our community apart with drugs and violence.
But, honestly, for the first time in my entire life… I didn’t care.
I didn’t care about the criminals, the dirty money, the shop.
I didn’t care about anything.
“You alright, Travy?” my Uncle Chuck asked as I walked zombie-like through my house the following morning.
I hadn’t slept.
Just lay in my bed, staring at the TV screen, disassociating for hours on end, trying my damndest not to feel anything at all.
“I’m fine,” I said as I made a beeline for the coffee pot.
According to my father, I was opening my shop again this morning.
He informed rather than asked me.
And since I was desperately trying to keep my mind and body occupied, I didn’t even argue for once.
“Honey,” Uncle Chuck said, shaking his head at me, “if there is anything three marriages and divorces have taught me, it’s that a woman is never ‘fine,’” he said.
Of my “uncles,” Chuck was probably my favorite.
He, like my father, had an atrocious personal life. Three divorces, three alimonies, and a whole trunk full of baggage. Like my father, he also had one child. A son who was several years younger than me, and following in his father’s footsteps, working his way through the Academy.
Also like my father, he was tall and kept himself in shape, though he had more of a swimmer’s build. He had dark hair in a buzzcut style, light blue eyes, and a mustache that I normally would have hated, but I found charming on his face.
Unlike my father, though, Chuck was a lot more easy-going. And he was more apt to listen than just tell you what you should and shouldn’t do, think, or feel.
I had to assume that he was dirty too. That he accepted bribes to look the other way. Money he desperately needed to write those alimony checks every month. But he never flaunted fancy clothes, jewelry, or cars like my father did. His house was even really modest.
I’m never there. What do I need a big house for?
“You know those weeks that feel like they go on for months?” I asked.
“Sure,” he agreed, nodding.
“It’s been like that.”
I didn’t specify that it had actually been in a good way.
He would assume I meant the shop, my dad’s injuries, the drive-by, all the stress associated with those things.
There was no way to know that what I actually meant was that I’d had a week of ease and happiness. And now it was gone. And everything felt… shitty.
“Work will help,” he said, taking a coffee cup that I passed toward him.
That was the answer with men like my father and Chuck. They were workaholics. Which, arguably, caused a lot of the problems they were trying to overwork themselves to get through.
But I understood the desire to just… get lost in something. I’d been getting lost in my work for years.
Whether it was healthy or not, that was exactly what I planned to do now too.
“Know what I find, kiddo?” Uncle Chuck asked as we finished our coffee.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“That everything kind of… works out given enough time,” he said.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
I mean, that was probably true.
My heart felt like it had been crushed in my chest. But if I gave it a few weeks, months, even years if that was what it took, it would eventually not hurt as much.
It wasn’t necessarily that the pain got smaller, but life grew bigger around it. Until, eventually, the pain was just a very small part of a much bigger life.
At least, that was the hope.
I didn’t quite believe it as my uncle drove me down the street toward work.
I felt myself tensing as we made our way past the soup kitchen.
“Don’t worry. A few of us helped them clean up and repair,” he assured me.