Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 82767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“Keegan?” she said, and I closed my eyes at the sound of her voice.
“Yes,” was all I could get out.
“I know you don’t want to hear this. But hear me out. I need to see you.” She sounded urgent; panicking, even.
Something was wrong, and try as I might, I couldn’t hang up. “What’s wrong?”
“Where are you?” she asked.
I looked around me at the open countryside and the surprising amount of horseshit I had just walked through. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“I would, Keegan, I would,” she sounded strange. “Tell me you didn’t do any of the things they are accusing you of, and I will believe you.”
“I shouldn’t have to,” I said, stubbornly.
“Why? Because I know you so well? Because I’m not supposed to question anything you say?” she said, and I had to admit she was right.
“Why are you calling me? I thought we had done this already,” I sighed.
“Because I have just handed your father a stack of paperwork that may well get you out of the shit, and may well land me in it. So you can tell me where the fuck you are, so that I can see you before they come and fucking arrest me too!” She was growling at me furiously; I had never heard her so worked up.
“You did what?” I said in disbelief.
“You heard me,” she seethed. “Now tell me where you are or get back here, because I am done with this!”
“Catch a train from North Station on the Newburyport/Rockport Line. I will send you a place and time to get off. I will pick you up,” I said, half afraid to antagonize her any further.
“Thank you,” she said, and there was a pause. “I am leaving right now.”
I looked up the train details and sent them through to her, making my way back to the house to get rid of the smell of horse manure before I picked her up. However, even the force of Freya’s rage could not alter the train schedule, and it was almost dark when I picked her up. She barely said a word as I handed her a helmet belonging to Chris, but she clambered onto the bike behind me. We hadn’t far to go, and she held onto the handle behind her rather than hold me. I felt strangely hurt by this.
When we got back to the house, she looked around nervously.
“What is this place?” she asked.
“Well, you can’t see much now, but it’s a farmhouse. A ranch, I suppose. It’s a horse farm.”
“Who owns it?”
“Well, half of it is mine, and in time, all of it will be.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Because…” I didn’t really know how to answer this. Because it was my dream, and I was afraid that telling someone made it real, and making it real meant that it wouldn’t happen? “Because I had to sell some shares in Clover House to buy it, and that’s not going to make me popular.”
“Are you allowed to do that?” she asked, boldly.
“They were mine to sell. I could still work for Clover House, and I could still meet my trust fund obligations, if that’s what you are asking. None of that matters now, but thank you for your continued interest in my financial affairs.”
“Is that what you think?” she said as we entered the kitchen and hung up the helmets. “That I give a shit about how rich you are?”
“I didn’t say that,” I answered. “But it does seem to keep cropping up…” I gestured to the couch for her to sit as I lit the cast iron stove. It wasn’t a cold night, but I needed something to do with my hands.
“You are being investigated for embezzlement; the subject of money is likely to come up a lot,” she replied, sitting down on the couch, and curling her legs under her the way I had seen her do so many times now. The familiarity of the movement would have made me smile, but the distance between us, the coldness, made it impossible.
“I didn’t know you were part of the investigative team,” I replied, and privately enjoyed the annoyance on her face. The fire was lit now, and I stood awkwardly in front of it.
“Will you sit down?” she asked, and I sat beside her on the edge of the couch, my head in my hands.
“Freya,” I said, suddenly tired. “I can’t do this. I don’t know why you are here, or what you meant about seeing my father, or how you are in trouble, or what I can do about it…”
She turned to me and took my hands so that I had to look at her. Her eyes were ringed with dark shadows, made deeper by the lamplight and the flickering of the fire in the stove.