Total pages in book: 227
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
“I’ve got you,” he says quietly, taking me toward the table. Fury jumps up and pulls out a chair. Then looks around the room, frowns, dashes off, and everyone watches him go, the big beast of a man moving fast. He appears a few moments later with a cushion from the TV room. Puts it on the chair. Pats it.
“I haven’t got piles, Fury,” I say, prompting a few snorts from the crowd that eases the atmosphere marginally. Brad helps me down to the chair next to Beau. She reaches for my hand and squeezes. Ella smiles weakly. Rose comes up behind me and hugs me gently around my shoulders. Esther places a cup of tea in my grasp and kisses my head before going back to the stove, dishing up a bowl and giving it to Tank. Danny flips me a wink. James nods mildly. Goldie, Ringo, and Otto all smile, more gently than their hard faces should allow. Even Zinnea and Quinton are here.
“All right, chick?” Mason asks.
I look to the corner of the room, where Mason is leaning against the counter, a beer in his hand. “All right.” I smile.
Then Leon and Jerry walk into the kitchen. “All done,” Leon says. “But the rug can’t be saved. Pearl, my girl.” He comes and gently hugs me from behind, and I peek at Brad. He rolls his eyes.
Jesus. Literally everyone.
“My darling,” Zinnea sings, shoving Leon aside and cupping my face, smiling. “We should meditate.”
“Zinnea,” Quinton sighs. “Let the girl breathe.”
“Are we done?” Brad asks the room, his face stern. And that’s that. Everyone gets back to themselves, eating, drinking, and talking. Not much laughing. No Nolan. No Anya. This is a lockdown. Because of me.
Brad seems vacant now, lost in thought, and I’m not sure I like where those thoughts are. “Hey,” I say gently, disturbing him. He blinks and gives me his attention. “Where were you?”
“Just . . . piecing a few things together.”
“Like . . .?”
“Like nothing for you to worry yourself with.” He dips and kisses my forehead, looking to Danny and James. This is the part when they disappear to plot.
“I’ll be back,” he says, leaving me at the table. Rose checks on Maggie in her crib—obviously not willing to let her out of her sight—and then lowers to a chair beside me, and Beau squeezes my hand again. How many times have they done this? Watched their men leave to make their battle plans? Watched their men leave and wonder if they’ll see them again.
“Am I invited?” a man asks. I recognize him. He’s been at the boatyard.
Brad laughs, not answering, and leaves.
“I guess I was never here, then,” he calls.
“You guess right,” Brad says over his shoulder. “Take care, Higham.”
“Who is that?” I ask, considering the suited guy as he watches all the men and Goldie file out. Even the Vikings, Mason, Leon, and Jerry go.
“That’s Agent Higham,” Beau says, so casually.
“What?” I squeak. “Police?”
“FBI.” Rose stands. “I’ll see you out, Harold.” She links arms with him and walks him out of the kitchen. “Always lovely to see you.”
I shake my head in wonder and lift my tea, sipping, checking Ella across the table. I don’t know her very well, but I hate how worried she seems. “Excuse me,” Beau says, standing and leaving, following the cop and Rose.
I stare at a packet of cigarettes on the table, wanting one so badly. To breathe normally, even if it’s polluted air. Long breaths. Not short, sharp, panicked ones.
Doc enters the room, his bushy eyebrows raising when he sees me. “You okay there, Pearl?”
“Brad carried me down,” I say, making sure he knows that.
“Of course he did. Here, try these. Much stronger.” He hands me two pills, and I waste no time knocking them back with some water. “Two every four hours,” he says, putting a pot on the table. “It should keep on top of the pain.”
“Thank you, Doc.”
“Stew, Doc?” Esther asks.
“Yes, please.” He rubs his tummy and settles next to Ella, checking her over as he does.
“Here.” Esther sets a bowl down, and Doc gasps, grabbing her hand.
“Well, would you look at that whopper.”
She blushes terribly and becomes flustered. “It still feels a little odd.”
“Congratulations, dear.”
“Thanks, Doc. You want some bread with that?” she asks, getting an enthusiastic nod. “I’ll get some.”
“Congratulations, Esther,” I say around a smile.
“Thank you, Pearl.”
“I think I’ll just get some fresh air,” I say, pushing myself to my feet. “Not too far.” I point to the door that leads to the garden from the kitchen.
“You want some help?” Zinnea asks, volunteering Quinton by pushing him forward.
“No, no, I’m okay.” I hold up my good hand.
“She can walk in short spurts,” Doc says, vouching for me.
“Tell that to Brad,” I mutter.
“I have.” He takes a big mouthful of stew and hums his happiness, and I take the moment he’s got his eyes closed to pick up the packet of Marlboros, taking small manageable steps to the door, forcing my face not to show my pain. I make it outside and sit on a low wall, lighting up.