Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“Nanpup!” Larkin screams, her voice filled with joy when I pull her from the car seat and place her feet on the ground.
The dog runs to her. I cringe thinking he’s going to knock her over, but he stops short and licks her face.
She squeals in delight, and I can’t help but stand there and watch the interaction.
It’s how Madison finds me when she steps out onto the front porch.
“She doesn’t get out much,” I say, half-joking when my little girl sits right in the middle of the porch and lets the excited dog run circles around her. “I should really have her in daycare so she isn’t so feral.”
Larkin squints her eyes as Nanuk’s wagging tail comes close to her face with every orbit he walks around her.
“She loves that dog,” Madison says rather than agreeing or disagreeing about my daycare comment.
I can only imagine what people will think when she goes to kindergarten in a few years.
“The boys don’t have many other kids to play with. That’s why we get so excited when Larkin can come play. Besides, there isn’t a daycare in Lindell.”
I knew this already. If I had to work three jobs to keep from having to go to Nora’s every day, I might just consider it if there was one in town.
Most folks are happy to help take care of the kids in town, and I know Nora loves spending time with Larkin. It’s me she’d rather not have to deal with.
“Actually, I was thinking about starting a home daycare.”
“Why would you torture yourself that way?” I ask, only half-joking.
She shrugs. “The boys need socialization, and I love kids.”
“You may be singing a different tune once you can no longer reach your toes,” I say, pointing to her baby bump.
“Maybe,” she says as she caresses her bump.
I would ask where she thinks she would find the time between two boys, a new husband, a design business, and from the scent coming from her home, her baking, but I keep my mouth closed. People are allowed to have dreams and do whatever they want. I don’t want people grilling me about my life choices, so I can’t turn around and do the same to others.
“I better go,” I say, still feeling guilty. “The sooner I get over there and get it all done, the sooner I can get back.”
“Of course.”
I turn and start to walk off the porch but she calls my name.
“Claire, if you ever decide you need a little separation from the Kennedys, keep me in mind. I’d love to have Larkin over here more often and I know the boys will too.”
Instead of arguing again, I give her a simple nod and head to my car.
Chapter 27
Walker
“Seriously?” I growl, scraping at the small grease stain on the front of my t-shirt as if my thumbnail will remove a stain that’s probably been there for years, and I’m only now noticing it.
I rip the thing over my head and toss it into the pile on the floor that includes the previous two shirts I tried on.
It’s not that I care how I look, but maybe Claire cares how I look. I haven’t tried on a single shirt that doesn’t have something wrong with it.
The fourth shirt is probably a size too small, but it clings to my pecs and maybe that might have her looking in my direction more often.
I pull it over my head and toss it to the floor with the others because the longer I looked at it the more douchey I felt.
A mixture of different kinds of hangers scrape across the rod in my closet as I try to find something that will work for today. I pull out an old Pink Floyd t-shirt and pull it over my head, leaving the room without even looking in the mirror. I’ve had this shirt for the better part of a decade, so I know there’s going to be some flaws on it. But I just can’t bear to put it in the trash with the others.
I walk past my dresser, giving the bottle of cologne there only a cursory glance before walking out of the room. I don’t even make it halfway down the hallway before turning right back around and spraying some on the front of my shirt.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m across town and waiting in the short line at the counter of The Brew and Chew so I can pick up my call-ahead order. I have to wonder if the food will be cold with how long I have to wait behind Mr. Hinkle as he complains to the business owner, Ruth, about how bad the road is off the highway. He threatens to call the sheriff because Cash Tucker, Lindell’s police chief, won’t take him seriously when he calls in to complain.