Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“Teaching?” I ask. I didn’t know she taught.
“Yeah… she and her parents set up a weekend arts program at the VFW where they give free lessons to anyone who wants to try their hand. Of course, she does it on her own now that they’ve passed, but it’s really important to her.”
I knew painting was her passion, but I didn’t know she taught others or that it’s such a significant part of her life. While conversation is easier with Tillie than it’s been with anyone since the crash, we haven’t gone that deep. I think we’re both afraid we might stumble into territory that would cause angry feelings—namely that fucking easement.
“It’s why she’s building the art studio,” he continues, grabbing another fry. “She used the life insurance money from her parents to buy that property. Started a nonprofit and is going to bring in other artists to visit and offer free lessons.”
I stare at Hank, unable to formulate a word. Tillie has never mentioned any of this. I thought she was just opening a gallery to sell her work, which again, more power to her.
But a nonprofit? To give free lessons?
I shake my head, dispelling the notion that it should make a difference to me.
It doesn’t.
It’s still traffic running through my property. It still impedes on my new life.
Hank picks up his glass and drains the rest of his Coke. Pushing up from the bar, he pulls out his wallet and throws down some cash. “Gotta get back to work. Let me know when you want to go fishing.”
“Yeah, man… thanks.”
Hank claps me on the shoulder and leaves me to finish my beer.
I pull out my phone and check my messages. The first one from Tillie makes me smile. I feel like grilling hamburgers. Want to eat with me tonight?
We’ve shared a few meals together, even though it’s still only about the sex.
Mostly about the sex.
It’s always been at her house, though.
I text back, Hamburgers it is. I’m in town and will grab stuff. Be at my house at six. Bring your pillow as you’re staying the night.
Smiling to myself, I read my next message. It’s from my Realtor—my condo listing goes live Monday. She anticipates a fast sale, and I’m going to have to get back there to retrieve the rest of my stuff.
I have mixed emotions about that. On one hand, I’m glad this is going to be quick and not a lot of work. On the other, it severs my last tie to Pittsburgh. An unexpected flash of regret hits me hard.
I push it away. No room for doubts.
Except, a flood of unease sweeps through me. It’s one thing to hole up in a cabin over the summer, but it’s another thing altogether to break the final tie to Pittsburgh.
It’s just a fucking condo. I didn’t even like it, to be honest, but it was convenient to get to the arena.
It’s not like the cabin. I’ve come to love that place. The peace and serenity. My own little chipmunk I feed by hand. The shaded trails I can run and now see the sculptures that I helped Tillie anchor along the way.
I find it amusing that we have this wall between us regarding the easement, but we share the trails. We’ve determined that they most likely crisscross over each other’s property lines or that the boundaries curve in such a way it’s hard to tell who owns what.
But it’s just not an issue.
Only the line of trees separating me from the rest of the world, and it doesn’t take a psychologist to figure out that it represents a metaphorical wall.
It’s a wall I’m not ready to let go of. Not sure I ever will be. I can meet Tillie at her house, at my house, on the trails, or in town. But I want that strand of trees between us because it allows me to stay removed when I need to be.
I’m well aware the original game plan was to stay removed from everyone all the time.
Tillie’s changed that, no doubt.
But I’m not sure I can go all in with her. Not sure I can go all in with any sort of normal life again.
Luckily, it’s a decision I don’t have to make right now. As for Tillie, the court will decide, and that’s a lot like rolling the dice with her.
Still seems safer than putting myself out there and potentially making the wrong decision.
CHAPTER 20
Tillie
This feels weird… going to Coen’s house. I’ve never been inside his place.
I’m familiar with the back of his house from the easement border all the way up to his deck, which I covered with peanuts and birdseed almost three weeks ago.
That was under cover of night, though, so I didn’t get many details. I’ve been on his front porch and had a close-up view of that, as well as the front door when he slammed it in my face.