Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Off to the left in the living room is a giant pile of stuff—statues, artwork, end tables, a couch shoved onto its side. The giant pile of stuff is so big that it looks like a mountain.
Rick drags a huge vase across the room and adds it to the pile. His grin is enough to straight-up give me a whole-body brain freeze. It’s so chilling. It’s not a nice grin. It’s all teeth and feral bite. He looks like a mean old dog who has never been gentled by soft pets or affection of any kind.
He does answer me though. “Remodeling.”
“Oh.” I suppose I can accept that. And if he didn’t look ninety percent feral, I could doubly accept it.
I stand on the far side of the room and watch him as he grabs the loveseat that matches the couch and heaves it up so it doesn’t scrape along the floor. I can’t imagine how heavy that thing is. It looks like it has some serious weight, and he lifts it like it’s nothing.
I can see the dark patches on his shirt after he gets it over to the pile and turns it onto its side like the couch so that it takes up less room. Beads of sweat glisten on his forehead and roll down his temples. The dark smudges under his eyes don’t look fresh. They look like they might have been there for a while. As in more than a few sleepless nights.
I’m surly when I don’t sleep too.
I get that the backyard is a sore spot, but Rick seems genuinely excited about the pool. It’s like a fire was lit under him yesterday. After I showered, I took one of his cars out to get groceries. He insisted that I return the rental and stay with him since wasting money I don’t have on both of those things when he has plenty of room and an extra vehicle was silly. He was right. Since I’m technically jobless, I took him up on it. His car probably cost a hundred grand. It was all shiny and black, and it had that ultra-luxury feel to it. It also had almost no miles on the odometer, which made me extra nervous about driving it. When I got back, I found Rick feverishly pacing the backyard with what appeared to be two different crews. There was a landscaping truck in front of the house, but the van was unmarked, so I figured they were likely the pool people.
I didn’t realize my interference in the backyard would wake him up in other ways.
Meaning in a destroying the interior of the house sort of way.
Although cleaning out the stuff he doesn’t like isn’t destroying anything.
“Rick?”
He acts like he doesn’t hear me. A huge painting comes off the wall, and he marches it across to the pile. The room is almost bare now.
“Rick!” His head snaps up, and he looks at me like he forgot I was even here. “You aren’t going to throw all that stuff out, are you?”
“No. I phoned a few charities. They’re coming to pick it up in an hour, so I want to make sure it’s ready to go for them.”
“You’re just donating it? That painting on top looks like it’s worth a lot of money.”
“Relax. I know this crap is worth a small fortune. I’m donating it to places that can sell it through auctions or fundraisers and use the money. I did some research last night. Believe me, I want to pitch all of them out, and slamming that chainsaw through the couch and dropping statues down from the top floor is incredibly tempting, but I’m behaving. It would be such a waste, and I can’t stand that. I lived through some lean years and it’s not right, however satisfying it might be.”
“Yes. You said that. Satisfying but childish.”
“The level of wrong would haunt me. It wouldn’t make up for the momentary satisfaction.”
“If you want to wreck something, I think there are places you can go where you can throw plates. Or axes. Or drive fast cars that you’ve rented.”
“Hmph.”
The painting on the far wall comes down next. He sets it in the pile and then rolls up the rug that was in the middle of the room.
“Are you going to order some other furniture?” I ask.
This time, the look he gives me is completely mystified and baffled. Like he hadn’t even considered it.
“The house might sell better if it’s furnished.”
His shrug is followed up with a humorless laugh. “Then I have time.”
“Do you have time to stop and have breakfast?”
“Nope.”
Now, I give him the same snort he gave me a few minutes ago. “I’ll wait until you’re finished then before I make us something.”
“Not hungry,” he grunts.
“Did you eat?”
“Nope.”
Now isn’t the time for a hunger strike. Or being too busy to eat or sleep properly. I’m still not convinced he does. Sleep, I mean.