Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 68293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Wes seemed not to have considered that.
It turned out that the trough did fit, with some aggressive reorganizing of the seats and their body parts. Wes drove so that Gus could sit on Adam’s lap, squeezed into one corner of the back seat, the trough sitting diagonally across most of the back seat and the front passenger seat.
Adam attempted not to feel one hundred years old as his knees were crunched to his chest. Gus was in her glory, rubbing at the trough and smelling her fingers, declaring that it smelled “fresh and dirty.”
At the next estate sale they hit the Christmas lights jackpot, thank god, because Adam didn’t think he could spend much more time scrunched around the trough.
The house was prim and unappealing, with chintzy drapes swaddling every window and pastel wallpapers in every room. But it had clearly belonged to a family that celebrated Christmas with serious ceremony because an entire upstairs bedroom was packed with decorations. Everything from a faux gingerbread dollhouse to boxes of carefully packed collectible glass ornaments lined the walls.
Adam didn’t care about any of that. He was perfectly happy with their ornaments made of pine cones and bits of ribbon and Gus’ handprints in various sizes of salt dough over the years. But he snatched up the two paper bags of tangled lights and began plugging them in to see if any worked. A few didn’t, but most did.
Gus’ face lit up and Adam decided that actually, he could remain crunched in the car forever if it meant they found more lights and could make her vision come to life.
Wes had chosen to stay in the car, so while Gus poked at a train set, Adam quickly popped into the kitchen and opened the cabinets. There, at the bottom of a stack of Corningware, was a single Jeanette pie plate.
It was pumpkin pie, which Adam didn’t have, and he held it to his chest gleefully.
“Found another one, Grandma,” he whispered, feeling instantly embarrassed but not really caring. His grandmother had been a source of warmth and caring in a childhood that severely lacked both, and Adam resolved once again that he would learn to make pie in her honor.
Riding high on their success, they decided to hit one more sale, but there were no lights to be found, and they headed home.
Back on Knockbridge Lane, they freed the trough from the car and wrestled it down the stairs to Wes’ basement. Adam kept his eyes on Wes to ensure he didn’t accidentally come face-to-face with Bettie or one of the snakes or god knew what else that Wes had crawling around in there.
“Can we please hang the lights now?” Gus asked, the required please doing little to temper her impatience.
Adam smiled and nodded and tamped down the squirmy feeling in his stomach that signaled his impending separation from Wes.
Chapter Eleven
Wes
Wes didn’t want Adam to leave. It was a strange sensation for someone who generally craved solitude, but the evidence was right there, and Wes couldn’t discount evidence.
So when Gus said, “Do you wanna help?” Wes said yes with the same speed as he’d accepted her invitation this morning. Of course, he hadn’t realized when she’d offered treasure hunting that it would involve going to people’s houses, which contained, well, people. He’d assumed they would be going to the woods or something. Still, he’d made it work by sticking to outbuildings and waiting in the car.
At this assent, he saw Adam’s eyes widen but he thought it was simple surprise, not dislike. In fact, Adam moved a little closer to him.
Of course, that could simply have been his fear of spiders.
In Adam’s driveway, they discovered that a few of the strands of lights they’d found at the estate sale were able to be linked together, so Gus decided those should run from one side of the house around the front door and over to the other side.
It gave the impression of a gingerbread house, door outlined in light.
Some of the other strands were so short that once plugged in they barely reached the roof. Wes suspected this would be a persistent issue with older lights, and lights clearly designed for indoor use.
There was a better way. A more organized way that would take advantage of the shape of the roof, and Wes began mapping out how they could balance out the splash of illumination on the side of the house where the outlet was.
Then he stopped himself. This wasn’t an experiment. This was a little kid’s vision, and he didn’t want to ruin it.
Wes had never cared for Christmas. Growing up, it had been an excuse for his father to glad-hand and show off, and Wes had been one of the things on offer. As an adult, it became just one more occasion for large gatherings, small talk, idleness, and nonconsensual touching.