Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“Bring them home for Christmas.” Her eyes dance between mine as she whispers, “Bring me home for Christmas.”
24
ANGEL
“Do you think he will keep his word?” Mrs. Roach’s “he” references our building owner’s promise more than Christian's, but I nod as if I have as much faith in Isaac as I do in Christian. “It is almost four. There won’t be enough time to cook a turkey now.”
“It’ll be okay,” I assure her, remembering the number of turkeys I helped load into the shelter’s kitchen.
I didn’t go to the hotel Christian organized. The number of tenants in my building has dwindled to eleven families over the past three years, so there was plenty of space at the shelter for me as well.
Christian didn’t lie when he said it’s flashy. I feel like I’m at the Ritz. This shelter has individual sleep quarters, and the rec room has all the latest gadgets. It even has ghastly Christmas decorations on almost every surface.
The Grinch attire I rocked up in last night doesn’t match the décor.
My head slings to the side when the shelter’s director enters the den. “Listen up, everyone. We have an update.” No one breathes. Not even Ms. Stephenson, who is known for her nasally gasps. Applause breaks out when Lauren says, “We’ve been given the all-clear. You can return to your residences. The bus is pulling up at the front as we speak.”
Mrs. Roach looks beside herself. I feel the same, but I am better at hiding my emotions, especially at this time of the year. “We can go home. We’ll be home for Christmas. We missed your mother’s famous Christmas Eve brunch, but she will be so happy we’re all still under the same roof.”
I squeeze her hand before offering to assist her onto the bus. She almost broke a hip yesterday when she chased down Christian to give him the horrid Christmas sweater she’d knitted for her husband.
I’m not going to lie. I am a bundle of nerves as the coach makes the short journey from the shelter to our apartment building. It is the same eerie feeling I felt when I switched my plane ticket for a rental car contract and commenced my long trip home.
I tried my parents’ landline numerous times during the seven-hour journey before switching my focus to my dad’s cell phone. No one picked up until two days later. It was an emergency freeway worker hoping to fix the compromised guardrail before the hectic New York New Year celebrations. He may not have spotted them if it weren’t for the faintest flicker of my father’s hazard lights.
The coroner said they died on impact. The only comfort I get from their instant departure is that they went together. My father would have never survived without my mother. She was why his eyes sparkled three hundred sixty-five days a year instead of solely over Christmas.
“Careful,” I plead when Mrs. Roach and a handful of her bridge partners practically leap out of the bus.
The building on the outside looks the same. The foyer is gleaming with pricy marble and designer furniture. The elevator has the same annoying Christmas tune booming from the speakers. It doesn’t look like any work has been done… until I enter my apartment.
The dining table is stacked with a feast fit for a Viking. A turkey is the centerpiece, and it is surrounded by every dish you can imagine. Mashed potatoes. Stuffing. Gravy. And scrumptious-looking beans.
“I asked them to hold back on the sesame seeds.”
I sling my head to the side so fast that my muscles scream in disgust. Christian shifts nervously from foot to foot. I understand why. He’s wearing his infamous upside-down Santa tie and a wary smile.
He takes a moment to relish my eye roll about his hideous tie before advising, “All the apartments are set up the same way.” He steps closer, sending my heart into a frenzy. “A handful have some added accessories.” He smiles when my eyes dart to the steel plank-like construction set up in the corner of my living room. “You’re the only one lucky enough to have that.”
I return his smile while asking, “Is it safe?”
He knows who I am concerned about. It isn’t hard when my eyes lift to the ceiling. “For now, yes.” He flattens his hand on my back before guiding me deeper into the living room. “The foundations of old girls like this are remarkably strong. They will stand until they have no other option but to fall. The stabilizers ensure she has options.”
I can’t believe I am about to admit this, but his admiration when he talks about my building makes me jealous as fuck.
It is lucky I am a skilled actor.
“So this”—I wave my hand at the mess taking up half of my living room—“is temporary.”
“Very much so.” I laugh when he says, “Unless you dig the construction look? It could be the next warehouse phase.”