Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24648 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24648 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
I’m about to protest again, but Patricia puts one hand up, cutting me off. “And Hadley, for your sake, I hope that we won’t have to explore other options because it’s not going to be pretty. I hope you can get yourself together while staying on the farm because arson and murder are serious offenses. The wheel’s still turning for you, but at some point, it’s going to screech to a halt.”
With that, Patricia stalks out of the room, leaving me to sit in stunned silence. WTF just happened? Am I really being banished to the remote countryside where I can do no harm? I snort because everything about this situation is stupid and unfair, and this whole thing has been blown way out of proportion. Again, it wasn’t really arson, and I had no idea they were going to kill that guy. But there’s no arguing with my mom, that much is obvious. Unfortunately, without any cash coming in, I have to do as Pat says, and that means Missouri and this shady Uncle Frank figure are the next items on my to-do list.
3
FRANK
Two weeks later.
It’s dawn by the time I’m finally able to stagger out of the barn and head back to the house. After spending the entire night tending to my best cow, Bessie, the expected has finally happened: Bess now has a calf who came out big-eyed, spindly-legged, and who’s nursing hungrily at her mother’s teat at the moment. All’s well that ends well, but now, I’m totally beat and want nothing more than to climb into bed and to pass out unconscious for as long as possible. Even a chainsaw wouldn’t be able to wake me up, I’m that far gone. God, I can’t wait to hit the mattress and be completely dead to the world for the foreseeable future.
But when I near the farmhouse, there’s someone standing on the front porch and I begin to curse under my breath. It better not be that fuck-up McIntyre from over by the creek. He says my irrigations methods have destroyed some of his crops, but I don’t buy it. It’s more that that insipid idiot knows nothing about farming, and has completely fucked up his own corn.
But as I draw close, I see that it’s clearly not Buddy McIntyre because the figure is too curvy. In fact, she’s got lush hips, a pinched-in waist, and a big bottom from where I stand. Who the hell is this?
After all, here in Parson, Missouri, there aren’t too many people. In fact, there are probably more animals than humans, and we like it that way. Nor do I have any close neighbors, and unannounced visits are out of the norm. Folks tend to keep to themselves around Parson, and again, I can confidently say that I know every person that lives in our little town, which begs the question of the stranger on my porch. I can’t recognize her, even as I squint while drawing close.
Suddenly, my heart crashes when I see a fall of long blonde hair. Oh fuck. I forgot about that conversation I had with my sister weeks ago. She’d mentioned something about sending her daughter to come stay with me, but I plumb forgot about it. Fuck fuck fuck. This must be my niece, Hadley.
Well, sort-of niece. After all, I was adopted by the Renfrew family when I was fifteen years old. My older sister, Patricia, was seventeen at the time, and she was nice enough. She wasn’t unkind to a boy who was scared, lonely, and as shy as a mouse, so we got along fine. Besides, she left for school soon after my arrival, so we hardly got to know each other.
But after Patricia took off, I was left with our parents, Morton and Sally Renfrew. They were decent-enough people, but hardly loving. It’s just the country way sometimes. There were a lot of rules and discipline, and I suppose that’s necessary on a farm, which is a 24/7 operation.
Unfortunately, Mort and Sally fell sick soon after, and to everyone’s shock, they passed away one after the other just a year or two after I arrived. Suddenly, I went from being a homeless foster child to the manager of a family farm, complete with unrelenting duties and a round-the-clock job. I consulted with Patricia, but my older sister was ensconced in her studies, and never saw herself as a country girl anyways. As a result, I was left to the livestock and to the land, and for the next few decades, I stuck with it. Now, Renfrew Acres is a major producer of a variety of crops, including wheat, oats, and quinoa, as well as a selection of fresh fruits and vegetables. But it’s corn that’s our mainstay, and I consider myself a connoisseur of corn at bottom. It’s backbreaking work, but also very rewarding, and I like my life in this rural area. Until now, that is.