Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 130307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
The house my matriarchy shared was just right for them. Nestled into a vibrant senior community complete with a golf course, swimming pool, and club house that hosted Bingo weekly, their home was a three-bedroom, one-story ranch house with the classic Floridian flare. The outside was painted a bright turquoise blue, the barrel-tiled roof a rustic brick color, and palm trees framed the driveway and sidewalk up to the house.
Inside, both personalities shone through. My mother was a tidy woman, minimalistic without the urge to hold onto much. The house was always spotless, even if she wasn’t expecting me, and each piece of furniture was carefully selected and decorated with sparsity in mind. The entire house had the feel of a model home, like anyone could walk into it and live there for a month without feeling out of place.
My grandmother’s personality showed with the kitchen being the only messy space allowed in the house. She was always in there baking or cooking or rolling out bread dough, and she had so many gadgets from the TV buy-on-demand programs that there was hardly any counter space left.
There were only a dozen pictures on the walls, and all of them were of us. My school photos. Our girls’ trips. Holidays throughout the years.
None of them showed my father or grandfather.
“Let’s play Rummy now and eat cake later,” Grandma declared, putting the cake in the kitchen. She stopped long enough to pour us three glasses of lemonade before she led the way to the dining room table already set up with cards. “We have so much to catch up on.”
“Yes, like how your grandmother here has a new enemy at water aerobics.”
“Worse than Genevieve, if you can believe it,” Grandma mumbled.
“No one is worse than Genevieve,” Mom argued.
Grandma snapped her fingers as she took her seat. “Oh, you need to tell her about the Bingo drama, too.”
“Lord, that’ll take all afternoon. And besides, I want to hear about my daughter,” Mom said, beaming at me as Grandma started shuffling and dealing the cards. “It’s been so long. Too long. Tell us everything. How’s school?”
“How’s that sweet little girl you’re nannying for?” Grandma asked.
I waited a beat, arching a brow, because I knew one of them would ask what they really wanted to.
Grandma didn’t take her eyes off the cards, but her expression was prim. “And is that father of hers behaving himself?”
There it is.
“I was wondering how long it’d take you to spit it out,” I teased.
Grandma rolled a shoulder noncommittally, almost like she didn’t really care. But the way she peered over her glasses at me told me otherwise.
“Well? Is he?” Mom probed.
I sighed. “Just like I told you two when I first moved in, Mr. Perry is a professional. He is respectful of me in every way.”
Except when he has me on my knees gagging for him, but they didn’t need to know that.
“And this opportunity has been life changing.”
In more ways than you two will ever know or need to know.
“Life changing.” Grandma snorted. “How so?”
Wordlessly, I slipped one hand into the cross-body bag I’d sewed from scrap fabric and retrieved a check. I set it right in the middle of the table.
Mom snatched it before Grandma had the chance, and her eyes nearly bulged out of her head. “Chloe May,” she breathed. “What have you done?”
Grandma took the check from her hands and gasped. Her eyes snapped to me in a narrowed accusation. “What is this? Is he making you sell drugs?” Her face went ashen. “Oh, God. Are you… are you his whore?”
I choked on my lemonade, wiping my mouth with the back of my wrist as I gaped at her. “Grandma!”
I hoped she couldn’t see through the blush furiously shading my neck right now, because while it wasn’t what she thought, Will had called me his little whore the other night.
And I’d loved it so much I’d come on command.
“Well, how else do you explain this?!” She held up the check and waved it around like a piece of evidence.
A check for thirty-thousand dollars.
“He pays me five-thousand dollars a week,” I explained.
It was their turn to choke.
“What in the—”
“How?!”
“He’s the starting goalie for one of the best hockey teams in the league,” I reminded them, picking up my cards like it wasn’t a big deal.
Like I didn’t still have a panic attack every time that money hit my account on Friday.
“Like I said, he respects me — more than the school system ever will. He recognizes how difficult being a nanny is and he just happens to be in the position to pay me well. Very well.”
“Outrageously well,” Mom stated, plucking the check from Grandma in disbelief. “Why are you giving this to us?”
“Because I don’t need much,” I said quietly. “And you two have done so much for me, sacrificed your entire lives. I thought this could set you up for a while. I thought… maybe this could pay off my student loans.”