Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
“I know it’s probably bringing you great enjoyment to find me on your front porch like a stray cat, but I just took a nine-hour Greyhound bus ride and got dropped off in the middle of nowhere and had to hitchhike another ride from a complete stranger who also happened to be the world’s grouchiest man, which ended in me walking here from the center of town, and I’d really like to just sit down. And maybe…you know…drink some water to stave off a hospital stay for dehydration.” My voice breaks on an almost-cry, but I suck the urge back down into the depths of my throat. “Could you find it somewhere in your apparently cold, dead heart to let me come inside first before we get into all the tragic details of the current state of my life?”
Josie stares at me, considering. It’s the last straw on my delicate hold.
“Please?” I beg, a tear breaking loose. “Show your sister some mercy?”
“It’s not bringing me enjoyment to see you cry,” she eventually consoles. “Not at all, but it’s been over five years, Norah, and it’s not like you were the nicest person to me the last time I saw you. Actually, you were a total bitch.” She’s referring to our grandmother’s funeral, and I know she’s right. I was my mother’s soldier that day, doling out all the things that brought our relationship to this point. I’m not proud of my behavior back then, but in my defense, I was only twenty-one and still naïve about our mother.
“Josie, you have to admit that you weren’t being nice either. You told Mom to ‘get the fuck out’ in the middle of a funeral. Actually, you screamed it. In front of everyone. It was quite the scene, if I recall.”
“It’s not my fault that Eleanor decided to show up somewhere she was definitely not welcome.”
“Josie.” My eyes go wide as old habits of defending our mother die hard. “It was Grandma Rose’s funeral. Pretty sure that wasn’t the time or place to go off on our mother.”
“I think it was the perfect time,” she refutes with two hands to her hips. “After Dad died, Mom treated Grandma Rose like shit. For years. The last person she would’ve wanted at her funeral was Eleanor. You and I both know that. Not to mention all the other evil shit she’s done.”
The last person I want to continue to defend right now is our mother, but today, mentally, I am spent. I don’t know how to restructure a lifetime way of thinking and keep myself upright and uncrying. Everything inside me breaks, and my whole body hiccups with tears.
“Josie, I know we have a lot to talk through. I know there are a lot of unsaid things that need to be said and apologies to be made. But I’ve just had the worst week of my life, and I have nowhere else to go. Do you think you could find it in you to show me some temporary compassion and let me come inside?”
When she doesn’t respond or make any move to let me step into the cottage, I go for broke and use guilt as my tactic. “You know if Grandma Rose were still alive, she’d let me come in.”
“You play dirty,” Josie mutters on a sigh. She looks me up and down one more time, but ultimately, she steps out of the doorway and gestures for me to come inside. “Fine.”
Hallelujah! I’d do a tap dance on her front porch if I had the energy, but instead, I settle for, “Thank you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she mutters with a roll of her eyes. “You can stay here, but don’t think I’m agreeing to this being some kind of permanent roommate situation,” she adds over her shoulder as she heads down the main hallway that leads into the kitchen.
I step inside, dragging my now-dusty suitcase behind me, and follow her.
This isn’t exactly being welcomed with open arms, but it’s not being kicked out on the street either. Silver lining?
5
Bennett
I pull up to the alleyway behind The Country Club, and Clay is already standing there, waiting for me with a pissed-off scowl on his face.
I’m not surprised. He’s been expecting me to deliver the three kegs in the bed of my truck, and all thanks to a chatty woman named Norah, I’m over an hour late.
“Hi, honey,” I greet with a smirk as I shut the driver’s door. “I’m home.”
“What the hell, man?” He ignores my cheeky greeting and lays right into the nuts and bolts of his irritation. “What took you so long?”
“Relax.” I open the tailgate, and Clay helps me roll out the first keg from the bed. “I had to make a few pit stops.”
“Pit stops? You said you’d be here over an hour ago,” he complains, and we each take one end of the keg and start carrying it toward the back door of his bar.