Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Until Soledad.
And just as I mustered the nerve to brush off my game and at least talk to her, I discovered she’s married to the man I was already in the process of bringing down. I blow out a heavy breath, determined to forget what stirred in me at the Christmas party and again yesterday afternoon. She’s married to an asshole, yes, but she’s married.
Besides, I’ve got my own shit to deal with. I don’t need to be any more entrenched in the drama of this embezzlement than I already am. She thinks not accessing her bank account is bad. She has no idea how bad it’s about to get. CalPot won’t care that she and her daughters are a casualty of their war with Edward.
But I do.
“You can psychoanalyze me later,” I tell Tremaine. “Let me get in this shower since my commute just doubled.”
“Sorry! I’ll make it up to you.”
“Hmmm. I may have to cash in on that favor. A lot of shit popping off at work. I might be asking you to take up my slack some over the next few weeks.”
“Is it that embezzlement case?”
“Yeah. It’s a mess, and of course, your boy is left holding the mop.”
“I saw it on the news. I know that guy’s wife vaguely, at least by sight. She’s at Harrington all the time, but her daughters are younger than Adam.”
I stop by the shower, naked and needing to get off the phone, but unable to shake the image of Soledad two days ago, trying to hide the trembling of her hands from me, blinking so her tears wouldn’t fall, lines of worry etched around the vulnerable curves of her mouth.
“I better go,” Tremaine says, pulling me back into the conversation. “Thanks again.”
By the time the three of us are all showered and changed, have eaten, and are out the door, I’m cutting it really close. Harrington’s out of the way. Aaron will probably be late for school, and I may be late for my first meeting.
“Will Ms. Coleman still be picking me up?” Adam asks from the passenger seat while we wait in Harrington’s drop-off line. A thread of anxiety runs through his voice, which is just starting to deepen now that he’s turned fifteen. He thrives on predictability, in some ways even more than Aaron. Sometimes the slightest change in his routine can trigger a meltdown. It doesn’t happen as often as it did when he was younger, but I still want to reassure him so his whole day isn’t wrecked.
“Ms. Coleman will pick you up,” I say, holding up my index finger. “She’ll take you to your social group after school.” I hold up another finger to count off the second step. “And then she’ll take you home and cook dinner.” I hold up a third finger.
He nods and releases a slow breath through his nose. “Okay.”
Ms. Coleman is a godsend. She started as a respite worker to offer Tremaine and me some occasional relief, but she’s so much more than that now. Practically a part of our family.
“You got your stuff?” I ask.
His “stuff,” as he likes to call it, is a collection of fidget toys and stress balls he carries in his backpack. Both boys keep their tools of choice close at hand to help them manage.
“Got ’em,” he says, patting the backpack in his lap and grinning.
“Okay.” I reach over and cup his head. “Love you. Have a good day.”
He hops out and strides determinedly toward the building, not looking left or right. My mom says I walked just like that when I was his age. I wasn’t supersocial as a kid. Hell, I’m still not the friendliest guy. I haven’t expanded much beyond the same small circle of friends I made in high school and college. It’s hard for me to trust new people.
We’re waiting for the line to move forward, and two girls climb out of a silver Range Rover a few cars ahead. Both have long dark hair and lightly tanned skin. One is a little taller than the other. When they’re almost at the school entrance, one of them turns back toward the car, her face puckered into a frown like she’s trying to understand or hear. The driver’s-side door flies open, and a woman jumps out carrying a backpack and runs it to the older girl.
It’s a jolt seeing Soledad in a place I didn’t expect to. Tremaine did say she sometimes sees her here at Harrington, but I didn’t anticipate seeing her today. She’s wearing slim-fitting jeans that hug her curvy figure. Small breasts, narrow waist flaring into thicker hips and butt. Oversized sunglasses hide her eyes. She smiles tightly at the teacher monitoring the carpool line but rushes back to her car. Harrington is north of Skyland, but the embezzlement case has made Atlanta news. I’m sure everyone knows, and it’s probably a challenge for her even showing her face here today.