Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 132321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
It’s perfect for an outdoor wedding, though.
I carry my heels down the three flights of stairs to the main floor of our home and meet my father in the parlor where he’s leaving Paul instructions for the afternoon. Death doesn’t care about plans or weddings. The grim reaper loves to show up at the most inconvenient times. I’ll be surprised if we even make it to the wedding and are able to stay through the whole event.
Paul smiles when he sees me. “You look pretty.”
“Thanks.”
My father gives me a more critical once-over, as if there’s a slim chance he might ask me to go upstairs and change.
“That’s lovely, Margot,” he finally says.
“Thank you.” If I had a mom or an aunt to gush about clothing with, I’d show off that the dress has pockets. But I don’t, so I have to be content with patting my right pocket, holding a tube of lip balm, and the left one with a tiny tin of mints.
“Let’s go. I’m not quite sure where the place is, and I don’t want to get lost in Empire County.”
I already pulled up the map on my phone earlier. It is way out of the city limits. At Teller’s house.
An hour later, I spot dozens of teal and silver balloons sticking out in the lush, green foliage.
I point ahead and to the left. “I think that’s it, Dad.”
He slows the Cadillac. “Thank you.”
I squint at the giant black iron rooster-shaped mailbox the balloons are attached to. Two stone pillars on either side of the driveway look like they were recently installed.
The long, wide gravel driveway is flanked by neatly trimmed grass and trees. Cars, trucks, and motorcycles are parked on either side of the driveway. It looks like they tried to keep the parking orderly for a while but then people just started leaving vehicles wherever they wanted. A white chicken squawks and flaps its wings, running in front of the car.
A tall, slender man in one of the black vests identifying him as a Lost King holds out a hand to slow us.
My father rolls down his window and the man sticks his head in, searching the car like he’s looking for a bomb. “Name?”
“Cedarwood.”
“Welcome, Mr. Cedarwood.” The man flicks his gaze to me and beams. “You must be Margot?”
Surprised, my cheeks warm and I fiddle with my dress. “That’s me.”
“My name’s Sparky.” He flashes a lazy smile. “If you need refreshments, I’m your guy.”
Refreshments? Right now, he seems to be directing traffic.
“Where can I park in case I get a call and need to leave early?” my father asks.
Sparky nods solemnly. “Death waits for no man, right?”
My father’s head jerks in surprise, but he nods slowly, appreciating Sparky’s understanding. “Unfortunately.”
Sparky taps his hand on the roof. “Let’s put you near the exit. You can park in front of my bike. I’m not leaving any time soon.”
“Thank you.”
Through a series of hand waves, gestures and shouts, Sparky guides my father into a spot right next to one of the stone pillars marking the driveway. There’s no way for anyone to block us in unless they block the entire driveway.
We step out and my father tries to hand Sparky a tip.
Sparky chuckles and holds his hand in front of him like a crossing guard slowing traffic. “No, I’m the one giving out favors.” He hands us two cellophane bags that appear to have a small brownie in each. “My gift to Teller and Charlotte’s guests.”
“Thank you,” I say, smiling brightly to make up for my father’s hesitation to take his bag.
We’re a few steps away from Sparky when my father hands me his brownie. “Take mine. You know I can’t eat that.”
“Sure.” Dad may need to avoid sugar, but I love brownies. I stick both bags in my purse for later.
“Are you okay to walk in those?” My father points to my shoes.
I glance at the gravel driveway and sigh. We just had to park as far away as possible. “I’ll be fine.”
I end up walking in the grass when I can. The closer we get to the house, the louder things are. Different groups of people are milling around the yard. Anxiety snakes its way through my chest as we follow the path between the side of the old farmhouse and several barn-like outbuildings to the backyard.
Days’ worth of decorating must’ve been done to transform the backyard into a wedding wonderland. Rows of chairs are lined up in front of a beautiful floral arch. Behind that, the natural landscape of forest stretching up the side of a long, steep hill creates a beautiful backdrop.
I scan the crowd, searching for Jigsaw, trying not to be obvious about it. He’s probably here with someone. Or even worse, what if he’s married?
My father and I take seats in the last row. We don’t actually know anyone here. At least I don’t.