Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 114211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
But none of these faces are Anthony’s. It’s like one minute, I’m running into him everywhere. Now, the guy is a fucking ghost.
Seriously, is he hiding?
That evening, after we enjoy a tasty chicken dinner cooked by Trey, Pete and Cody take off together to check out something in town. (I told them to go without me; the two need their own time together.) Soon after they leave, I shrug on my denim jacket and join Trey out front by the colorful flowerbed. He tells me his dad planted the flowers ten years ago after his wife, Trey’s mother, passed away. Now that his dad moved out, it’s Trey’s responsibility to tend to them, though he often catches his father strolling past the house (he lives just down the road, anyway) and he’ll always stop to check on them. Once, Trey even caught his dad talking to the flowers. “I’m pretty sure he believes Mom’s spirit is in there somewhere, dancing in those tulips,” explains Trey thoughtfully. “Looking at the breathtaking colors, I think I believe it, too.”
I gaze at the white cross standing in the center of them with a new appreciation.
“I think he’s at the church,” says Trey.
I’m still gazing at the cross. “Your father?”
“Anthony.” I turn to him, confused. Trey shrugs. “Just in case you thought you might take an evening stroll, since Cody and Pete are off doing their thing, and maybe my company is a bit boring.”
“Why would I—?”
“Anthony had his moments recently, moments of turning himself around. We’ve talked a lot. Like, a lot. I kinda became his parents’ unofficial therapist, too, helping them with their marital issues. But Anthony, he’s a bit of a … one-step-forward, two-steps-back kinda guy. He has no anchor in his life.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“You always make up the couch so perfectly every morning before you go for your jog. I noticed.” Trey chuckles. “Must be that military discipline in you, huh?”
I’m still distracted by his volunteering all that info regarding Anthony. “I just like to … respect your space. Leave things better than how I found them. It’s what a guest should do.”
“You’re a great guy, Bridger. I wonder if you’ll leave this town better than how you found it, whenever you go.” He smiles at the flowers, and I wonder for a moment if he’s thinking of his mother. Then he reaches out and gently touches one of them, a red one in the front. “To be honest, I kinda hope you guys stay longer.”
“I would hate to overstay our welcome.”
“Nonsense. You’re welcome here as long as you guys want. Stay for a month if you like. Stay for two.” He pulls back his hand and hugs his knees, crouched next to me. “I think he might be all by himself up there, assuming choir’s finished up their Tuesday night rehearsals by now.”
Is he talking about Anthony again? “You want me to go and see him or something? Is that it? So he can try to choke me again?”
“Ah, I suspected it wasn’t such an accident as you made it out to be.” I freeze. Did Trey just catch me in a trap? “Anyway, I think I’m gonna head inside and read a book. My dad got me into this series he used to read about a princess, a cute sorcerer’s apprentice, and a marble dragon … won’t bore you with the details … but I will say, isn’t it mighty convenient how close we live to the church? Barely a stroll down the street.”
With a smile, Trey gives me a pat on the shoulder, then slowly saunters up the walkway back to the house. I remain there awhile longer, crouching in front of the flowers, eyes on the cross.
Fucking hell, if I’m not the hungry fish, and Anthony, the bait squirming tastily on a sharp, painful hook.
Just as I approach the church, the doors open, and out walk two men, one of them I recognize as Jeremiah from just last night. “Evenin’, Bridger,” he greets me, then nudges the other guy. “Hey, remember the friend-of-a-friend-of-Trey’s-husband I mentioned? This is him. Bridger, this is Robby, also sings in the choir. Probably heard him Sunday morning.” I give the men a nod, surprised—and totally not surprised—that I was enough of a subject of interest to have been talked about. “Did you come by to listen to us rehearse? Sorry we just finished up, last to leave.”
“Well,” mutters Robby, glancing back over his shoulder. “Not quite the last to leave.”
I glance past them toward the church, its front doors left open like an unspoken invitation with its soft, dim light spilling out.
Jeremiah nods at me. “You wanna join us? We’re meeting with some others at Pepperoni Pirate, our post-rehearsal Tuesday night thing. This one’s not-so-secret girlfriend Nessie will be there, too.”