Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 106797 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106797 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
“So,” I said, pulling a small couch pillow over my lap. I was more than a little self-conscious about the shorts I was still wearing. “Have you ever thought about going to culinary school?”
“Of course I have.”
“And?”
“And I don’t have the money for it,” he clipped, but he wasn’t upset. He was just being honest.
“You can take out a loan.”
“It’s not that easy, Bug. There are things that still tie me to Poxton Beach… some things that need to be resolved.”
I took another sip of my wine, the bitter sweetness tingling on my tongue. “Your sister?”
Rhodes swallowed hard and took a long pull from his own glass. I immediately regretted bringing her up again and cursed under my breath.
“I’m sorry. It’s not my business.”
“It’s fine,” he breathed, but I noted the way he gripped the glass tighter. “I don’t want to not talk about her. She deserves to be talked about.” He paused, eyes on his hands. “And yes, she’s the biggest reason why I can’t leave yet.”
I chewed my lip. “Do you think she’d want you to stay?”
“Fuck no.” He said the words with absolute certainty. “She’d probably kick my ass if she knew I was still here, especially if she knew what I’ve done since she disappeared.” His eyes caught mine for a moment and he looked back down at his lap. He was thinking about the drugs, the women, and embarrassment shaded his cheeks. “She’d tell me to get the hell out of here and go live my life. But I can’t do that yet.” He shook his head, lifting his eyes to mine again. “She wasn’t just my sister, she was my twin — we’re tied together in ways that other siblings just aren’t. And something inside me tells me if I look long enough, if I try hard enough, I can figure out what happened to her. And I owe that to her.” He paused. “I can’t leave without answers, Natalie.”
“And if they never come?”
His shoulders lifted slightly and he drained the rest of his glass even though I still had over half of mine left. “Then maybe I never leave.” Setting his glass on the coffee table, he stood and looked around the room, effectively ending the conversation. But I let him, because I knew with Rhodes I was lucky to get everything I had already.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so rude,” I said, quickly standing to join him. “My mother would murder me if she knew I hadn’t given you the tour yet.”
“That’s a little extreme,” Rhodes said, a hint of a smile playing at his lips.
“Well, she’s an extreme woman,” I said. “Come on.”
We toured the bottom floor first, everything from Dale’s office to the four car garage. I led him upstairs next and watched him closely as we went from room to room. His eyes were wide, but he didn’t say much. He just took in everything I told him about each room and sipped slowly on the second glass of wine I’d poured him before bringing him up. When we reached my room, he walked the walls slowly, his eyes scanning the photographs lining every inch of the soft, mint-colored paint. My room was small for the house, but gigantic in comparison to his. Mom hated that I covered the walls with photos but she knew there was no way to stop me. Photography was the one thing in the world I was unapologetically passionate about.
“So this is why you always have that damn camera with you.”
Every wall was filled with memories. Some of my family, some of my friends, and some of just Poxton Beach scenery. One of my walls was dedicated completely to places I’d traveled with Dale and Mom. My favorites were of Mykonos, an island in Greece we traveled to last summer. Rhodes traced his finger over the bright blue water in a shot I’d taken on the beach, the beautiful Grecian architecture lining the horizon in the background.
“Stunning, isn’t it? It’s even better in person.”
“It’s beautiful,” he said, shaking his head. “I can’t even imagine seeing a place like this.”
“Maybe you will one day.”
A short, soft laugh escaped his lips. When his fingers lightly brushed the newest addition to the wall — one of the photos from the night of the fair — he paused, and I wondered if maybe he realized it was so much better seeing it in real life the same way I did. We were both quiet for a long moment.
“What are you afraid of, Rhodes?” I asked softly, moving a little closer to him. He kept his back turned, his fingers still lightly on the photo, and for a moment I thought he might not answer.
“Starving.” He just barely whispered the word, but it was loud enough to knock every other thought from my mind. “I know what it feels like to be hungry. In many aspects.” He turned to me then, his eyes slightly glossed over, like he wasn’t quite there anymore. “Nothing scares me more than the possibility that I may never cure that hunger.”