Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Elaina nods. “That sounds smart. He’ll definitely be in the mood to fuck all night by then. Funerals are inspirational that way. I always leave wanting to prove that I’m still alive and making the most of my one, precious life.”
I frown. “Really? I just leave feeling sad.”
“That’s because you’ve only been to the funerals of people you truly loved. I don’t think Weaver loved his brother, do you?”
I shake my head, feeling a little sad for him. But it’s not his fault. The Tripp family has more than its fair share of bad eggs, and Rodger was the worst of the batch. “I doubt he even liked him,” I say. “No one else did. Not even Mark. He was scared of him and maybe wanted to be like him a little bit, when it came to the money and power, but he didn’t like his dad.”
We have that in common, I add silently to myself.
I love my dad—I can’t seem to help it, no matter how much he’s hurt me or let me down—but I don’t like him very much.
Which reminds me…
“I have to head back to town,” I say, my bones feeling heavier now that I’ve remembered the task ahead. I can’t believe I forgot today was the third Saturday of the month, but then…I’ve been a little busy. “I have to run groceries by my dad’s place and grab his trash to add to ours before Gramps makes the dump run tomorrow.”
Elaina puts her arm around my shoulders. “You’re a good daughter. And a good friend. Don’t feel bad about lying about Felix, okay? Seriously, I get it. I lied about my first time, too. It wasn’t actually good. Not at all, really. It hurt, and I ended up with a bruised ovary.”
“Wow,” I say. “How does that happen?”
“Teddy had a giant schlong and no idea what to do with it. Two virgins hopping into bed together was a bad idea. You made a much smarter choice.”
I don’t know about that, but there’s no going back now.
There’s only forward and what I’m guessing is going to be a very uncomfortable conversation with the only man who’s ever seen me naked.
chapter 8
WEAVER
The visitation at the funeral home is packed. There’s barely enough room to stand sipping a drink without bumping against one of the other people here to mourn the late Rodger Tripp.
Though “mourn” is far too strong a word.
Rodger wasn’t a kind or good man. He was a bully. Most of his family members weren’t sad to see him go, let alone the rest of the town. These people are here because they’re afraid not to be—the Tripps can make your life difficult if we feel you’ve disrespected our clan.
And I’m sure the free food and drink were a decent draw. Mark and the younger Tripps insisted on an open bar, and I didn’t fight them. No one wanted to face this night sober, least of all me.
I haven’t spoken to most of the Tripps in years. To say I’m not close with my family might be the understatement of the decade. I’ve forgotten several of their names, in fact, and had no idea my cousin Samantha now has four children or that Uncle Frederick’s hair implants finally took root after decades of fighting male pattern baldness.
Now, thanks to being corned by Frederick in line for the bar, I know more about hair plugs and his triumph over a bad case of gout than I ever hoped to.
Desperate for something to make the time pass more quickly, I do a lap of the room, fetching fresh drinks for the older set and holding the door for the caterer as he swaps out a keg. I help a tiny Tripp in a ridiculous little black suit clean cake off his shoe and fetch him another slice, settling him at one of the tables at the back of the room with half a dozen other sugar-smeared children.
I’m headed for the lobby afterwards, intending to hide in the bathroom and check my email for at least fifteen minutes, when Laura waylays me not far from the door.
“Oh, there you are, Weaver,” she says, her red-rimmed eyes shining in her puffy face. She pats her hairspray-sticky updo, though I haven’t seen her blond helmet shift a centimeter since I arrived. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. We should talk. Before the funeral tomorrow.”
“Of course,” I say, about to suggest we step outside when she grips my arm with surprising strength and drags me to a couch not far from Rodger’s body.
At least she elected for a closed casket. If I’d had to stare down Rodger’s pale, doughy corpse while people sipped wine and snacked on canapés all around me, I doubt I would have lasted more than five minutes.
Still, I avert my eyes from the flower laden casket as I settle beside Laura. I don’t want to think about my brother lying dead a few feet away. I didn’t love him or respect him, but he has always been there, a fixture in my life. The fact that he’s gone, forever, is…jarring.