Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
“It sure is. I think the next-door neighbor might have a self-propelled push lawn mower for sale. I’ll head over to his house this week and see if it’s available. If it is, you can pay me back. We’ll load it up in the truck and make the trek down here in a week or so,” Dad offers. I raise my eyebrows in suspicion.
“Don’t look at your father like that. You know men and their power tools, yard stuff, and vehicles. They like to upgrade when the wind blows. Take them up on their offer, say thank you, and count the dollars in your bank account you’ll be saving,” Mom interjects.
“Fine, you’re right. I can make the trip to you all, too. The lawn mower and weed eater should fit in the back of my SUV,” I offer even though it’s going to be a bitch to off-load, never mind getting the smell of grass, dirt, and gasoline out of my precious SUV.
“Nah. Keep Mrs. Betty pristine while you can. I can toss it in the back of the truck.” Dad opens the door for each of us to step out onto the front porch. I’m already envisioning a few hanging plants, some colorful pots, and a chair or two with a small table set in between to start my morning or end my evening. “Door all locked up?” he asks as the key slides the deadbolt into the locked position.
“Yep, good to go.” I pull the key out and try the handle, making sure it is.
“Alright, see you soon, JoJo,” Dad says.
“I love you. Call for any reason at all. Don’t hesitate,” Mom adds.
“See you soon, and I’ll call or text later tonight.” They walk toward Dad’s truck while I head to Mrs. Betty. My white SUV, a purchase I made last year, luxurious in a used sort of way, garage kept vehicle that only had one owner, has low mileage, and purrs like a kitten on the highway. I wave at them over the hood of my car. My parents wait until I’m safely inside before Dad starts the engine and they head in one direction while I head in the other.
2
TRACE
“This is Trace,” I answer the phone. I’ve only been home long enough to kick off my work boots, discard my shirt, grab a beer, and hit the back deck of the house. After a long-as-fuck day, the cold glass bottle in my hand along with the mountain view off in the distance is exactly what I need.
“Hey, Trace, this is Daniel. You have a minute?”
“Daniel, man, yeah, I’ve got a few minutes.” I don’t add on that all I fucking have is time. My boy is currently engaged, my company is thriving, and when you’re self-employed and a small business owner, you can choose the clients who fit best between one another. “How ya been?” Daniel has sent clients my way in the past. The connections he makes as one of the main realtors here in the small town of Blue Valley, Tennessee helps me out during my slower times.
“Been good. You know the Miller house in Whispering Pines finally sold. The woman who bought the place, her father is a realtor as well as a friend of mine. Do you mind if I pass along your contact info?” he asks. I take a sip of my beer. That fucking house in the small town adjacent to Blue Valley should have been torn down. Blue Valley is rural area, branching off into smaller towns, and Whispering Pines is one of them. The last contractor who worked on it did a shit job. The bank had to bring it up to code in order to off-load it, doing the bare minimum of what should have been done before it was put on the market.
“Yeah, that’s fine. Did the woman at least get a home inspection?” I already know the answer to my question. If her dad is a realtor and any good, he sure enough would.
“They did. From what Tony Preston said, it still needs a shit ton work. The daughter is living there as we speak, has been for a few days now. Figure it won’t be too long until she’ll need help.” Preston. The last name has me sitting up from my reclined state on the outdoor couch, feet planted firmly on the ground. I abandon my beer and head back into the house. The last time I was around someone with the last name of Preston was eleven years ago. My mouth waters at the thought.
“Alright, give him my contact info,” I shut this shit down. Getting off the couch was a no-brainer, I’m heading toward the house Daniel is talking about to see if my gut is correct on who this woman could be. “You got an age on this woman by chance?” I ask, pumping him for information, not that what he says would make a difference. I’m already walking through the house, picking up my discarded shirt, and placing the call on speaker in order to slide the shirt over my head.