Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25316 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 127(@200wpm)___ 101(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25316 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 127(@200wpm)___ 101(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
Then I see him.
Max.
It’s barely noon, and he’s already drunk off his gourd. I can tell just by how he’s walking, and the brown paper bag with him suggests that this is only the beginning.
“Stay close,” I repeat to Lily.
“I think if we were any closer, we’d be arrested for public indecency, Jack.”
I grunt, realizing that maybe she's right; I’m nearly crushing her against my side. In my defense, she feels really nice to be held up against.
On the other side of the square from Max is his daughter. Sarah walks up onto the stage, where an open mic awaits, already set up for the MC to come out and start the festival’s closing events.
“Is this thing on?” she says into it, her voice amplified. “Oh, good. That means I don’t have to shout.”
Everyone in the town square turns to her, including her father.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the good town of Greenbluff, I come to you this morning with not the best of news, but news that must be shared. News that is long overdue to be shared.”
There’s murmuring among the crowd. Everyone knows everything that happens in Greenbluff, so the idea of something happening under their noses is a novelty.
“I come to apologize for the many crimes of the Perry ranch, and more specifically, the ones of my father, Maxwell Perry.”
More chattering, but Sarah’s words get the attention of Max, who steps forward to yell at her: “The fuck are you doing, Sarah?”
“Don’t curse in public!” someone scolds him. “There are children here!”
Max grumbles.
“Dad, I can’t let this go on anymore. I’ve given you second chances. Third chances. Fourth chances. All in hopes you’d get your act together. But I’d written you off years ago. I hoped by inheriting the farm, I could just be rid of you. Send you off to drink yourself to death in a tiny apartment, and never really have to do anything about everything I know you’ve done.”
“Sarah, get off the stage right now, you ungrateful little brat! Be quiet, if you know what’s good for you.”
“No, I won't, Dad. I’ve been quiet for too long. I’m also confessing today for myself, because I knew this all was happening.”
“What was happening?” I hear the drawl of Sheriff Rogers yell. She’s got her arms crossed and her foot tapping.
“At least for the past ten years, likely more, my father has been responsible for countless crimes around this town.”
“Sarah, shut the hell up!” Max shouts, still not caring that there are children present.
“My father, out of desire for petty revenge, has done the following...” She pulls out a sheath of papers. She had prepared for this. “He’s the one responsible for setting fire to Mr. Darby’s tavern on Christmas Eve nine years ago. He said it was because he refused to open on Christmas for him.”
“Sarah, why are you spreading lies?” Max shouts. He starts to move to the stage, but I step in front of him. I want Sarah to keep talking. I’m not sure where she’s going with this, but if it is pissing off Max, it’s at the very least, accomplishing that.
“He let all of Ms. Reynolds’ pigs out of their pen, for, I have written here, ‘turning him down like the frigid bitch she is.’ I’ll remind everyone that losing all those pigs almost left Ms. Reynolds homeless.”
Ms. Reynolds is in the audience, and she glares at Max with homicidal intent.
“Lies, lies, this you trying to become a novelist, isn’t it, Sarah? With all this fiction you’re writing?” Max screams, trying to reason it all away.
“Say whatever you want, Dad. I’m going to keep going.” She flips a page. “This one I’m ashamed I kept quiet so long for. He killed Mr. Hill’s dog, Marilyn.”
Mr. Hill is also here, and I can see rage building within him.
“Mr. Hill’s slight against my father? Dad just thought he charged too much to fix his truck.”
“Sarah, what are you trying to prove? And where’s your proof of this?” Max says, looking guilty of everything he’s being accused of.
“I’ll tell you the latter first,” she states, and holds up the book she was reading from. “This is my personal diary. Where I wrote how much it pained me that my dad did something so heartless and cruel. But I’m supposed to love him, so I kept my mouth shut. Even as he ranted at me, and I kept silent there, too, because if I tried to do anything but agree with him, he’d take his anger out on me.”
“I never laid a hand on you!”
“You didn’t need to hit me to make my life miserable, Dad. Just make me afraid to speak up. To make me count the days until I could be free of you for good.”
“So you made up a bunch of lies and wrote them down?! Is that how you repay me for raising you?”