Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“What would I chew your ass about?” I hold the door open for Michael, then enter myself. “Are you, I don’t know, implying that I would think you had a hand in getting us all up here?”
Dad smirks from his old, rust-colored recliner. “I’d hope not.”
“Here.” I take the cooler from Michael and toss it into Dad’s lap. “Did you even need this?”
“I don’t know. I might’ve. You never know when you’re gonna need extra insulin.”
I roll my eyes.
“It’s hell gettin’ old, ya know?” he says, rocking back in the chair.
“Wouldn’t know anything about that. I’m still young,” I say. “You want to open some windows? It’s musty in here.”
He runs a wrinkled hand through the air. “Ah, it smells all right to me. Don’t you have other stuff to do than worry about my windows?”
I make my way into his kitchen, taking in the thin layer of dust on the cabinets and table. The drop cloths that covered the living room furniture are lying in a heap in front of the sink.
As I pass the doorframe, I notice how faded the lines are that Mom marked on the wood every summer to see how much I’d grown. I also can’t help but notice her red apron hanging on the hook by the refrigerator. It looks like she could walk right back in, sling it over her neck, and whip up a batch of her famous fried chicken.
God, I miss her.
“We were only going to stay a few days,” I say, working to open the window over the sink. “Did you bring enough clothes and medicine to stay two weeks?”
“Do you think this is my first rodeo?” Dad asks. “I swear to ya, Michael, I don’t know how this man has made it this far in life.”
Michael chuckles. “He struggles from time to time.”
“Must’ve gotten that from your grandma’s side of the family,” Dad says.
Finally, the window raises. “Michael, open the window in the living room. Let’s air this place out.”
“Oh, for crying out loud, Jack. Leave things be,” Dad fusses.
I look at him and sigh.
As much as Michael is me twenty-six years ago, Dad is me, thirty-five years from now.
The three of us share the same dark hair. Dad’s is spattered with gray. We have the same widow’s peak and the same slight bow to our legs that Dad has always said makes us run faster. Our work ethic is unmatched. And, most of all, we’re hardheaded.
I sigh again.
“You can’t just come in here and take over,” Dad protests, mostly to be a pain in the ass. “This is my house. You wanna act like you own the place? Go over yonder to the place you actually own.”
“Don’t send him to my house, Harvey.” Lauren’s voice rings through the room like a breath of fresh air. “I thought maybe he’d bunk over here with you.”
She walks in the room with the poise of a woman who isn’t considering a divorce. Her face is bright, a smile painted across her pink lips.
“Hell no,” Harvey says, sitting up. “But you can stay over here if you want.”
Lauren kisses Dad on the cheek. “Nice job teaching the kids to be deviants—lying to their parents and all.”
“Me?” Dad looks up at Lauren like she hung the moon. “That wasn’t me. That was your son over there. The little rapscallion.”
“Oh no, Pops. Don’t blame this on me. This was you and Maddie.”
We all laugh. Lauren, meanwhile, moves toward me with enough hesitation that I notice. I want to reach for her, pull her against my side, and assure her everything will be fine.
But I don’t. I’m not a liar.
“I just looked at the food you all packed,” she says, stopping a few feet from me. “It looks like a couple of teenagers picked the menu.”
“Um, that’s because we did,” Michael says.
“What were you going to eat, Harvey? You can’t survive on nuts and Twizzlers.”
“I had it covered. I had someone bring me a charcuterie board and some groceries tonight.”
Lauren points at Dad, making us laugh again. “I’ll go to the Cupboard and see what they have, food wise. One of us might have to make a trip into town, though, for more supplies.”
Dad leans back. “Not me. I’m here to relax. You two can do the runnin’.”
“Gee, thanks,” I say. “Can we do anything else for you while we’re here?”
“Yeah. You can stop openin’ all my damn windows. The mosquitoes will get in here as soon as the sun goes down, and I’ll be itchin’ all night.”
“Not if you close them,” I say.
He rolls his eyes, grumbling.
“I’ll come over tomorrow and get this place cleaned up,” Lauren says. “And I don’t want to hear a word about it.”
Dad smiles. “Okay.”
I throw my hands up.
“What?” Dad asks, grinning.
“Nothing. Not a damn thing.”
“I don’t argue with her. She’s prettier than you,” he says.