Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
No. More than that.
Something malevolent.
I shudder, and he grins.
Silas’s hand tightens on mine, and I feel aggression build inside him, tension coiling his muscles. I look up at him, shake my head subtly. He draws me closer and glares at Chandler.
I turn my attention to the man I came to see.
Gordon Carlisle-Bent, my grandfather, is seated in a wheelchair in the center of the room. An oxygen tank hangs off the back of the chair, and a mask is hooked over one armrest.
He’s tall. I can see that even while he’s seated. He’s dressed in a three-piece tweed suit that’s a little too big on his frame. I wonder if he used to fill it out. His hands rest on the arms of the chair, and he’s wearing a gold wedding band. He has wisps of dark gray hair sticking straight up all over his head, and his skin is marked by age. His face is clean shaven and he’s not quite smiling. He looks inquisitive. His eyes are a pale shade of blue, bright, and alert on me. He raises his hand and one of the male nurses rushes over.
“Help me stand,” my grandfather says.
I press myself against Silas, who squeezes my hand.
The nurse fumbles, not working quickly enough apparently because my grandfather mutters a curse. “Just get my feet off these stupid things! Is it too much to ask for that little bit of competence?”
“Almost there, sir,” the man says and bends to set my grandfather’s feet on the floor before helping him to stand. I notice his expensive shoes are polished to a high shine.
“Well,” he says finally, and I’m right. He’s tall, taller than Chandler, and almost comes up to Silas’s height. “Ophelia,” he says like he’s just said the name for the first time ever in his life. “Claire’s girl.” He walks toward us, never taking his eyes from me, searching my face. I wonder if he’s looking for signs of his daughter in me.
“You’ll scare the girl, old man,” Chandler says from his place at the wall.
“Shut up, boy.” My grandfather turns to look at Chandler. “In fact, get out. Our business is finished.”
I’m surprised when Chandler tucks that stupid fake cigarette into his pocket and does as he’s told. He gives me a hateful glance before moving past Silas and I and calling the elevator. No one speaks until he’s gone.
“I’d prefer he used the balcony and made a final exit, but no such luck,” my grandfather says, making Silas and I glance at each other, surprised. That sickly smell, it’s medicine, covering or covered by a layer of cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes. “You look like her.” He finally says, then snaps his fingers. The nurse who helped him out of the chair helps him back in and puts an oxygen mask to his mouth and nose. My grandfather holds it with shaking fingers and draws deeply.
I exhale, not realizing I’d been holding my own breath.
“Bring my granddaughter and her…” he pauses, raising his eyebrows at Silas.
“Husband,” he fills in.
“Husband then. Fox’s boy?”
I look at Silas to see his jaw tighten. I wonder if my grandfather sees the resemblance or if Sly had told him Ethan and I were going to be married and he thinks Silas is Ethan.
Silas nods tightly.
“Not the right one, though,” the old man says with a wide smile. He then begins to cough and has to breathe from the oxygen mask again. “Get us a drink,” he tells the nurse once he’s recovered. “She looks like she needs one. You two. Sit.” He points to the couch as the nurse rolls him into the living room.
Silas and I exchange a look, and when one of the nurses asks what we’d like, Silas requests whiskey for both of us. It’s early but if I’ve ever needed a whiskey, it’s now, so I take it.
I notice they bring a very small one to my grandfather who looks inside the glass and gives the nurse a hateful glance. It’s kind of funny because it’s a look a two-year-old might give his mom when he’s expecting candy and gets handed broccoli.
“I hardly think an absence of whiskey will lengthen what is left of my life. Hell, maybe the opposite. If you pour heavy, maybe you’ll hasten my demise and get rid of me once and for all. I’d think you’d want that. Now get me a proper glass.”
“Sir—”
“Now.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And while you’re at it, bring me a goddamned cigarette!”
“Mr. Carlisle-Bent, you know I can’t—”
“I’m kidding. Christ. Can’t kid anymore. No one can take a goddamned joke these days.”
The man hurries off to do as he’s told, and Silas snorts.
My grandfather turns to him. “A sense of humor. Good. Now.” He looks at me again. “Ophelia. I am very happy to finally meet you. For a very long time I wasn’t sure if you were even alive. If Claire… Well.” He shifts his gaze over my shoulder, and I see sadness in his watery eyes. I’m not sure why it surprises me. He loved her. I see that much. “Did you know your mother?” he asks.