Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 139147 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139147 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Dad was watching me.
Cap put his hand on mine where it was resting on the arm of my chair.
I was silent.
“I know, it’s a stupid idea,” Deb mumbled, looking away.
“No, I think it’s great,” I told her. “I’m just trying really hard not to burst out crying.”
Deb brightened up so vividly, I fought squinting.
Dad cleared his throat and became enthralled with one of Patsy’s planters.
“Really?” she asked. “I mean, not you crying. That you think it’s a good idea.”
“I’d love that so much,” I said, my voice husky.
“Oh, Raye,” Deb said, her voice now also husky.
“Honey,” Dad murmured, and I didn’t know if it was to Deb or me.
But Cap muttering, “Baby,” I knew was for me, and I knew that even without the hand squeeze he gave me.
“Can you get time off?” Dad asked, and that was to me.
I drew in a deep breath to control my emotion, turned my hand so Cap could link his fingers in mine (that did it), and answered Dad, “Definitely. When were you thinking?”
“Christmas,” Dad and Deb said simultaneously.
Cap chuckled at their deviousness.
I burst out laughing.
Martha dragged a chair to our table, a bottle of beer in her hand, and with no greeting or request to join us, she sat down and declared, “Waited what seemed like a year for you to finish your chow. You all are the slowest eaters on the planet.”
Deb was staring at her in shock.
Cap was looking at his lap, but his shoulders were shaking.
Dad, understandably, considering his last run-in with Martha, didn’t seem surprised.
“Did you hear we’re going to be cultivating garbage?” she asked me.
“It’s called composting, Martha,” I informed her.
“I know what it’s called, Raye. It’s still gonna smell up the joint,” she shot back.
“Where are the bins?” I queried curiously.
“In the trash chute rooms,” Martha said. “I guess we’re all gonna get a little bucket, and the new garbage people are going to dump what we dump in the big containers they installed on the northeast corner of the parking lot. And Patsy’s gonna go in and turn the piles with a shovel or something. It’s positively barbaric.”
“It’s natural. It’s been happening since the big bang,” I returned.
She sat back and glugged some beer before she said, “Well, I’m not gonna save my egg shells and tea bags in a separate bucket.”
“Don’t tell me, tell Patsy. She’d love to hear all about you denying her your egg shells and tea bags,” I retorted.
Cap scooted closer to me, because Linda was pulling up a chair.
Much like Martha, that was to say, without an invitation, she sat and asked, “Is Martha on about the compost?”
All of this was not rude, normally.
It was the unwritten rule of the courtyard: if you were in it, you were fair game.
Actually, I was surprised they waited for us to finish dinner.
Though, I worried about what Dad and Deb would think of it.
However, at a glance, I saw Deb appeared fascinated.
And Dad?
Well, Dad looked completely content.
I couldn’t let myself linger too much on that look. My father being happy I’d found a safe place to land with good people around me, coming at me right on the heels of them inviting me to the renewal of their vows was too much.
So I set it aside in a cozy, warm place in my internal Oasis, shifted my attention to Linda, and answered, “Yes.”
Linda looked to Martha. “You’re going to compost like all the rest of us.”
“Not gonna,” Martha mumbled obstinately.
Zach strolled up, sans Bill (for once, those two really needed to get engaged, I didn’t know what the holdup was, but I figured I might need to have a Jacob-style come to Jesus with them soon). “Are you guys talking about the mural?”
“No. Martha’s complaining about the compost again,” Linda told him.
Zach rolled his eyes before he aimed them to Martha. “My God, Martha, it isn’t that big of a deal.”
“Tell me that in a month when your little bucket gets slimy and smells up your kitchen,” Martha shot back.
“You line it with a liner made of compostable plastic so it won’t get slimy,” Zach retorted.
“I’m not adding that to my budget,” Martha returned.
“They cost maybe ten bucks for fifty of them. That’ll last you a year,” Zach stated.
“Can I just interrupt to introduce you all to my dad and stepmom, Charlie and Deb,” I said.
“Heya,” Zach replied.
“Nice to formally meet you.” Linda smiled.
“Do you compost?” Martha asked.
“We live in a condominium, and no, they don’t offer composting, unfortunately,” Deb said.
“We should talk to the board about adding that amenity,” Dad noted.
“We should,” Deb agreed.
“I’m surrounded by weirdos,” Martha groused.
“What about the mural?” I asked Zach.
He turned excited eyes to me. “The artist has the outline done, and it looks like it’s going to be absolutely insane, with palm fronds and hibiscus flowers coming from the long, flowing skirt of a woman walking toward the southeast corner. We’re going to have the coolest complex in Phoenix,” Zach told me.