Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63445 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63445 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
He hadn’t said anything or done anything. He was just here. And for some reason, to her that was worse than saying or doing anything, even calling her a whore again or telling her she’d better never set foot in Rapid City. That would be something at least, something to argue about or agree with, since she had no plans to ever go back to South Dakota. Easy was just sitting there doing nothing at all.
So why did it feel like something?
Easy ate his meatloaf and mashed potatoes silently and thanked her loudly for the pie. Then he tipped her more than he should have- again. He waited for her to push in the chairs and sweep the floor. Then, after she folded her apron and stuffed it on the shelf behind the counter, he held the door open for her. She still managed to ignore him, while ducking her head and stepping outside. Once her boots hit the sidewalk, she turned to head home.
“Do you want a ride?” he asked her, gesturing to a bike she’d never seen before. It was beautiful, larger than the one he’d had before. She was half-tempted to say yes.
She blinked at him and then glanced around her, as if this was some kind of joke or a dream where she could manage to wake up. “No! I don’t want a ride home.” She passed by him, refusing to give him another glance. She nearly made it to the end of the block when she heard him coming up beside her. Before she could react, he grabbed her hand. His fingers threaded through hers and held her firmly. Daisy was too surprised to struggle.
“That’s okay,” he told her casually. “It’s a nice night. We’ll walk.”
She broke her stride for a moment, unsure what to do. She didn’t know what was going on, but she did know that she wanted desperately to get away from him. She gave a futile tug with her captured hand before giving up. In a daze, she put one foot in front of the other and crossed the street.
“I got a new prosthetic,” he told her casually. “Custom made. I’ve been walking a lot, breaking it in. This will be good for me.”
Once they arrived on the other side, Daisy faltered again as she looked up and saw the Reverend Wilcox and his wife headed their way. She gripped Easy’s hand tightly, though she wasn’t certain whether she was trying to hurt him or convince herself he was actually real. Daisy felt shame, or embarrassment, or panic rise up in her throat as the older couple stared at them. For the first time since she was a little girl, she ducked her head.
When they passed, furious whispers ensued behind them, and Daisy hung her head again. She was used to people in town talking about her. She didn’t know why it mattered to her this time. This was nothing new. As she turned the corner, she stopped in her tracks. Before them was the faded sign for the trailer court. The paint was peeling, and a large crack spidered up from one corner across the bottom half.
Over the years she’d gotten used to the people of Delay calling her trash. But suddenly she wasn’t comfortable with Easy saying it. She couldn’t stand him seeing it and confirming every bad thing he’d ever thought about her. She took a step back and tried to wrestle her hand from his, but he wouldn’t let her go.
“Come on,” he said, and half-pulled her forward. Daisy could do nothing but continue to move. “Have you ever been to New Orleans?” he asked her. Confused, Daisy shook her head. Her pace had slowed so much that it rivaled a snail’s, but he didn’t seem to mind. “I grew up in a row house,” he told her. “That’s New Orleans’ version of a trailer park. At least my neighborhood was.”
Daisy looked up at him and blinked.
“My mom works in the same cannery where she’s always worked since I was born. I guess you could say my old man’s retired now, or he gave up job hopping and called it retirement. He could never seem to hold onto a job for more than a year or two. When he was in between gigs, we didn’t have much, not that we had a lot when they both worked. But when he was on unemployment, sometimes the only meal I got was lunch at school.”
“Catholics are supposed to have a bunch of kids,” he told her. “That whole thing. But I think my mom realized more kids would just make things harder. Plus, she never really wanted me, so she wasn’t about to keep making the same mistake.”
They had reached her place and Daisy’s gaze skittered away from it and from him. She scraped the crushed gravel of the driveway with the heel of her boot. “This is me,” she said quietly, indicating the trailer.