Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 117820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
This heat is not helping. I’m sweating bullets and so is he. It was nicer in my Jag with the air-con blasting out a frosty breeze.
“You’re here!” Poppy screams, racing from the diner with her arms wide open.
I catch her before we both hit the gravelly deck and apart from a slight maturing of her face, she looks exactly the same. She still smells the same too.
“I can’t believe it’s you,” she whispers and I share that very sentiment.
And just like that, when West, Felicia, Ren, and Poppy’s mother Patrice all greet us too, it’s like no time has gone by at all.
Soon the diner is full of old schoolfriends desperate to catch a glimpse of me. I don’t remember ever being this popular back in the day though being with Kane sure brought me some infamy in school.
I just can’t believe all these people are here.
“Why did you do this?” I ask Kane, feeling overwhelmed and emotional.
“Just reminding you that you haven’t been forgotten,” he whispers in my ear and kisses my temple. “Lot of bad memories in Faceless. But there are some fucking good ones too. This room is full of them.”
He’s right and slowly I allow myself to open up to receive the joy they’re putting out. I guess I just let how shit life was at times overshadow how amazing it was too.
We push tables together and drink shakes, coffee, soda, whatever we want. We all catch up and I find myself getting emotional hearing about everybody’s lives. Selma has a kid! A little girl who is five. She wants me to meet her but I typically tend to stay away from children, they’re a trigger for me. A lot of things are a trigger for me.
Ren failed to mention that he got married and divorced all in the same year.
Poppy doesn’t live in Faceless anymore.
Patrice is now manager like she always wanted.
They all have achieved so much in the time I’ve been gone and it’s lovely to see and experience. But it’s also emotionally draining. Even though they don’t blame me outright for leaving, they also don’t understand and eventually we are going to have to have that conversation, but not tonight. It can wait until after my mee-maw’s reading.
Seeing Matthew for the first time since Righteous Hill is another trigger. I discover this when he walks through the door of the lawyer’s office, utters my name with eyes swimming with tears like he has a right to feel sad and I swing a chair at his head.
Absolutely one of my finer moments. Especially when it hits his arm and he hits the wall. I mean my brother is all muscle now, because apparently betraying me and his niece, and getting sober after years inside has been good for him.
I fly at him, unable to stop myself. I claw at him, bite him, kick, punch and hit him over and over again. I lose my shit on an epic scale and even Kane struggles to hold me back.
My mother sobs like the drama bitch she is. The lawyer just begs us to watch his statue of a naked woman sitting with a donkey. I almost pick it up and beat my brother with that too. I could probably kill him right now and only regret it a little but eventually I simmer down and Kane drags me away as I scream profanities at my brother.
My throat is sore, my fists are sore, I broke a nail and my hair is no longer as neat as it was.
“That went well,” Kane comments when we reach the hall and my hysterical crying become hysterical laughter.
We head out for an hour for a long walk to chill me out and the nostalgia hits me like a ton of bricks. I forgot how everyone knows everyone, so I’m stopped constantly, and people are so nice. Most say sorry for my loss and only one person brings up my loving eulogy to my grandmother at her funeral.
I expected worse.
We return and head inside. My temper has regulated itself now so I don’t feel like I might kill my brother again. Though the visible damage on Matthew sure makes me feel a little better about being in the same room as him. He has a black eye, a bruise on his jaw and scratches down his neck.
He didn’t even try to defend himself because he knew he deserved it.
“I’m sorry,” he mouths when I sneer at him as the lawyer drones on and on about something but no amount of apologies can fix what he has done to me. I’ll never forgive him but I’ve said everything I needed to say.
“For Matthew Gabriel Hardy,” the lawyer continues though I wasn’t listening, “I leave what my husband asked me to leave to him and not a penny more, the amount of five-thousand dollars.” He’s reading from a handwritten sheet of paper. “For Mary Hardy, my daughter, I leave my belongings and jewelry, there is a detailed itinerary in Mr. Procter’s care.”