Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
I cover it quickly with my hand.
“Coffee burn,” I lie.
I have every reason to assume Ben only saw the tail end of my exchange with Patrick. He might not know what really happened, and I’m not going to fill in the blanks for him. The last thing I want is his handsome face contorting with pity for me. Besides, what’s he going to do to help? Threaten Patrick? Beat him up? Mess up those million-dollar hands for a girl he doesn’t even know?
Yeah right.
I push off the wall and try to move past him, but he steps smoothly in front of me, ever the agile athlete. I bet he’s good at blocking his opponents on the court.
“Do you want me to put a stop to it?” he asks simply.
I stare at his broad chest and mull over his question, wondering why it shocks me into silence, and then I realize it’s twofold. It’s the assured confidence that he knows he could absolutely put a stop to my issues with Patrick if only I gave him permission, mingled with the fact that he’s asking for consent. So many hotheads in this town would love to put on a good show on behalf of a woman if only to act like a Neanderthal. I’ll go kick his ass right now! Let me at him!
Not Ben.
He wants to know what I want.
“It’ll only make it worse,” I murmur.
He exhales a heavy breath as if he doesn’t like my answer, but he doesn’t push the subject.
He politely steps aside to let me past, and I scurry away from him like I’m scared he’ll try to block my escape again.
I inhale deeply once I’m out of the secluded hallway, making a decision right then and there to never put myself in that position with Patrick again. From now on, I’ll just hold my damn pee while I’m at work.
This is not the life I saw for myself: working two jobs, serving food and cleaning houses, scraping by with hourly pay most people wouldn’t get out of bed for. I’ve never known fatigue like this. I could fall asleep where I stand, but I still need to make it from Nan’s car to my trailer door.
I sit in the front seat, staring out at nothing in particular.
Nothing about my life is pretty at the moment. Not the dent in the side of my rented trailer. Not the debris piled up around it. I don’t even live in an official trailer park. I rent this hunk of tin from Sheriff Corbin. He’s parked it out on a forgotten edge of his land in his tractor graveyard and hasn’t touched it in years. When I moved in a few months ago, I tried my best to shine it up, but there was only so much I could do.
I sigh and let my head fall against the steering wheel, forgetting about the horn until it’s too late. It lets out a piddly ol’ hooooonk and some birds take flight outside, annoyed with me for disrupting the cicada-filled silence.
I need to get a move on. I have about an hour before I need to be in bed sleeping so I can wake up and do this all over again.
God, what’s the point?
I squeeze my eyes closed, replaying the conversation I had with the billing lady from Nan’s nursing home earlier. She wanted to remind me that I missed this month’s payment and have now accrued a hefty late fee. It actually makes me laugh. Late fees are some dark humor shit. They think I need them to slap on a late fee to get me to pay up? I’d fork over the money if I had it, believe me.
Nan’s nursing home costs so much it makes my chest burn to think about it. Good gravy. Who just has that amount of money lying around?
I know I could put an end to all this right now and put her in a state-run facility, a place where they pack them in like sardines and forget all about them, but Nan’s disease requires special circumstances. I’ve put her in the town’s only memory care facility, and it’s run by a private company which means Medicare won’t cover it. Her Social Security pays for half, and I make up the other half. Usually. I had a stomach bug last month so I had to call off work for a few days, which is why I’m behind on payments.
Those basketball boys helped me out today though. They left Christine and me a huge tip, and I didn’t for one second feel bad about pocketing it. I’ll be able to pay this month’s bill from Nan’s nursing home and get some groceries tomorrow. As it is, I have to make do with what’s in the trailer for tonight. It’s the thought of dinner that finally rouses me from my hopeless fatigue. Cook made me food when I left Dale’s after my shift, but that was eight hours ago and I’m starving.