Total pages in book: 238
Estimated words: 231781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1159(@200wpm)___ 927(@250wpm)___ 773(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 231781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1159(@200wpm)___ 927(@250wpm)___ 773(@300wpm)
I can’t do this anymore.
Entering the village, I risk a drive past my old house, seeing newspapers scattered about the lawn, as well as the overgrown hedges and the garbage can laying on its side.
Does Martin still live there? There are no cars in the driveway.
After Grand-Mère passed a week ago, I emailed him and hoped for no response. He told me to the let him know what my plans were.
I didn’t.
I’ll let him know once I’m gone. Only then can he come and pay his respects. He hasn’t shown up in years to see her, thank goodness, so he isn’t crying his eyes out about her death. I know that much.
I keep driving, not knowing where I’m going, but when I see the Cove ahead, I veer into the parking lot. I heard they were getting ready to tear it down. Someone on the alumni committee sent me an invite to a Throwback Celebration a while back, but of course, I didn’t bother showing up.
Me, here, and near Devil’s Night---yeah, not happening.
I spot a couple of cars in the otherwise deserted lot and pull into a barely outlined space where the weeds push up through the concrete and the painted lines are chipped and faded.
Shutting off the car, I step out and stick the keys into the pocket of my jeans, looking around as I stroll along and find my way inside.
The sea lay beyond the Ferris wheel, and I can smell the salt in the air as I drift past the ticket booths and toward the pirate ship. The yellow and brown paint has chipped, and I can see the rusted bolts from here as it sits silent and still, an eerie death hanging over the park that chills my skin
I almost hear the carnival music from that night in my head as I walk closer and closer, seeing where he and I sat.
A fist squeezes my heart. I miss him. I didn’t realize back then how much this would hurt and how long it would stay with me.
“Well, of course, you’re not on board,” some guy gripes, “because as soon as you find out what I want, you decide you want the exact opposite.”
I jerk my head left and right, realizing I’m not alone.
“You’re such a liar,” she says. “That’s not true at all. This location makes no sense, and I’ve had the same talk with Kai.”
Kai?
Finally, I spot a trio walking by the bumper boats, and I slip behind a game booth, out of sight as I peer around it.
Michael Crist carries a rolled-up wad of papers, looking like they might be blueprints. He’s walking with two women, one with black hair and the other with brown.
I squint through my sunglasses. The black-haired one looks a little familiar, but I don’t think I know her.
“You can’t build a marina down there,” she spits back at Crist. “Guests won’t have access to a beach, either. It’s all rocks, remember? And when the nor’easters blow in, no one’s going to appreciate a front row seat to cyclone force winds, rain, and snow. The entire coastline is eroding, and it’s going to erode right up into your fucking golf course.”
I bite back my smile. I’ve never heard anyone talk to him like that.
I like her.
“That’ll take a thousand years,” he whines and then looks to the other woman. “Alex, a little help here?”
“Oh, no.” She taps away on her phone. “Don’t let me interrupt.”
He shakes his head, leading the way through the park and back toward the lot, wearing a black suit and looking even more handsome than he did in high school, unfortunately.
I haven’t followed his basketball career, but I know he still plays professionally.
Great. With him around, that means the rest of the crew is close.
Who are these women, though?
“I need to talk to Kai,” he grumbles.
“Yeah, run home to Daddy,” the black-haired one replies, “because I’m making too much sense for you.”
He rolls his eyes and keeps going, the ladies following him.
It looks like he’s planning to buy the property. And for a golf course? She also mentioned guests, which sounds like a hotel of some sort.
A feeling of loss creeps in, and I’m not sure why. I have no right.
It was just a great night, and as long as this place is here, it feels like maybe not everything has disappeared.
I wait there for another minute, looking past the Ferris wheel, toward Cold Point. I’m half-tempted to take a walk out there, but I already nearly got caught. It’s time to go.
I head out to the parking lot again, pulling out my phone to check the time, but as I approach my rental, I see someone sitting on the hood.
It was the brown-haired woman from inside, her white tank top too short to cover her stomach. She stared at me with her sunglasses resting on the bridge of her nose and pouty, plum-colored lips.