Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 101398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Friday, I didn’t break anything, but I forgot to put the lid on the trash cans behind the building, and we came in this morning to an alley full of raccoons chomping on leftover muffins and expired fruit.
Which is why I’m currently cleaning up soggy trash.
I blow my hair out of my face and pick up the final scraps of mangled fruit. I toss them into the third trash bag I’ve filled since Josie put me on cleanup duty, set the bag in the garbage, and secure the lid. You know, like I should have done last night.
As I head through the back doors, I snap off the elbow-high yellow rubber gloves and toss them into the sink to clean later. Once I give my hands a good wash and scrub, I make my way to the front of the coffee shop and find Josie rearranging the glass cabinet with fresh cookies and muffins.
“Do you need me to do anything?”
Her answer comes quicker than a sprinter out of the blocks. “Nope.”
It doesn’t take a genius to deduce why less and less is being required of me as minutes tick by. I’ve tried to make myself useful by placing small Gerbera daisy centerpieces on the tables and switching the lightbulbs out to create a warmer glow, but I’m getting the overwhelming sense that while not annoying to my sister per se, these actions still feel like an encroachment on her personal space. Which I get. Working together all day and living together at night is not for the faint of heart.
Needless to say, I’m going to need to find a job soon. One that pays me actual money so I can contribute to living costs and, eventually, find my own place.
I haven’t heard from Thomas since he left town—thank God—and I’m hoping with the help of the protection order against him, it’ll stay that way. I also got a new phone number and plan at the only cell provider in town—keeping the same phone because help me, I’m poor—and at some point, in the distant future, I’m hoping I might actually go long enough without causing a disaster that I can make some friends.
Lord knows, at this point, my sister and I both are emotionally locked up tighter than a billionaire’s vault. I need someone to gab and share feelings with.
Josie comes over by me, putting some tip money in the tip slot of the cash drawer and closing it up, clearly intending to get back to the real work. But something about the moment makes me blurt out words I’ve been wanting to say since Tuesday night.
“All right, I have to know. How do you know that bartender Clay?”
The exhale she lets out could be its own wind turbine and power half the town. “He’s the owner, actually, of The Country Club. Before last week, I hadn’t been there in a long-ass time.”
“Okay…but how do you know him?” I push with a teasing lilt. “Ex-lovers?”
She sighs. Looks over at me before her eyes become fixated on the floor, and another sigh escapes her lungs. “He’s my ex-husband.”
A bomb may as well have exploded above us.
“What? He’s your ex-husband?” The shock I feel is so consuming that I slap both of my hands down on the cash register, and it starts flipping out. Ringing and clinking and even spinning the numbers on its old-fashioned dial.
With wide eyes, I step back with my hands up, and Josie jumps in, slapping the noisy thing like it’s an angry alligator.
“I’m sorry!” I shout over the chaos, feeling so small you could fit me in your pocket. When am I going to stop messing crap up?
Still…this is huge!
“Are you telling me you were married?” I scream, just as the cash register stops wigging out and shuts up completely.
Camilla and Todd both suck their lips into their mouths and tiptoe into the kitchen and away from us.
“Yes,” Josie answers, her patience for me already depleted. “I was married. And now I’m divorced. Can we move on?”
My brain wants to self-implode.
“You. Got. Married?” My voice rises with each word. “You got married?” I gesticulate my hands wildly in front of me, and Josie puts herself between me and the glass counter defensively. “My sister got married, and then she went through a divorce, and I didn’t know anything about it? Why, Josie? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know, Norah.” She places two hands on her hips. “Probably for the same reasons I don’t know anything about your ex other than his propensity for bleeding. In fact, why are you in Red Bridge at all? Why did he come looking for you? What exactly is going on?”
Well, shit. This conversation took a hard left into a place I am not equipped to handle.
“You know what? I’m going to run down to Earl’s for a bit. I’ll be back shortly,” I redirect, taking off my apron and trying not to get trapped in Josie’s now smugger-than-smug smile.