Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 101398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
My bank account won’t dwindle to zero, I don’t have to disappoint customers at CAFFEINE, clean up cow shit, or shear sheep, and I’m going to be doing something that genuinely fills the cup where I keep my soul.
Sure, I don’t know what my actual duties or schedule look like and I’m going to be working with a giant grumpous every day, but for the sake of reality, beggars really can’t be choosers. I came here with nothing, because for my whole life, I’ve been a nothing. But from now on, I’m actually going to have something. Something that feels like me. Something I actively chose.
This is a good thing. I hope.
My head is still spinning like a top when I close the distance to Josie’s house, but the situation that’s currently playing out pulls all my attention in a flash.
Oh no. Of course, this had to happen today.
My sister stands on the front porch, her arms crossed over her chest and her mouth set in a tight line. Moving boxes surround her, and more moving boxes are being unloaded by two big guys from a truck that’s parked in her gravel driveway and has NY Moves emblazoned on the side.
Looks like Lil’s efforts have finally arrived.
I cringe, put the Civic in park, and hide my face behind the steering wheel.
“I can see you, Norah!” Josie’s voice is loud enough to break through the barrier of the window. “You can get out of the car now and explain what in the hell is going on!”
Slowly, oh-so slowly, I get out and make my way to the front porch. It’s not that I’m intentionally being slow. It’s more that I’m hoping by the time I get there, the moving truck will be gone, and Josie won’t look so pissed off.
Obviously, it doesn’t work.
“So, there’s a moving company here,” Josie announces the obvious. “And they’re unloading boxes for a Miss Norah Ellis. Evidently, this is her final destination.”
“That’s pretty wild,” I respond with a nervous laugh and avert my eyes from my sister and to the two men moving the boxes. Every dang box has Norah Ellis written on it, so it’s not like I can pretend there’s been a big mix-up.
“It is wild,” Josie retorts. “Because it looks like they’re moving a three-bedroom house for a family of five.”
“Um…”
“Norah.”
I force myself to meet her eyes. “See…uh…my best friend Lillian was able to get my stuff out of Thomas’s apartment, plus some of his, if I’m honest, and she had to send everything somewhere, and since I’m here…”
“You had her send it all to my house.”
“Precisely.” I cringe again. “I didn’t think it would be this much, but Lil wanted me to have options. For selling, bartering, whatever. I had no idea she was including the sofa!”
Josie shakes her head on a sigh. “There are already two others inside.”
“You’re kidding me!”
Josie’s expression says that she is very much not kidding me. Desperate, I search for a reason to flip the switch from hopeless to hopeful.
“Is now the right time to tell you that I got a job?” I question. “I mean, I can’t be sure, but that feels like good news right about now…”
She tilts her head to the side. “You got a job?”
“And it pays really well,” I explain through several nods of my head. “So, you know, me being your roomie might not have to be such a permanent thing.”
“Call me crazy, but I don’t remember ever agreeing to it being a permanent thing,” she comments on a laugh that is equal parts exasperated and amused. “So, what is it? I have a hard time believing Earl is giving more than minimum wage, and I know Melba Danser wasn’t even offering seven bucks an hour to work at her bakery. The only other opening I saw was shearing sheep with Tad, and he’s a tightwad if I’ve ever known one.”
“It’s a position I interviewed for last week.”
“What position?”
“An artist’s assistant position.”
“An artist’s assistant?” She looks puzzled at first, but then, she puts those puzzle pieces together. “Wait a minute!” she shouts so loud it startles one of the moving guys. “You’re going to work for Bennett Bishop?” she questions, and her eyes dance with too much information.
Clearly, I was the only Ellis who didn’t know who the artist in town was.
“Don’t even start.” I point one index finger at her. “Don’t say a damn thing. It’s just a job. That’s it.”
Her smile is mischievous. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Well, you were thinking it. It’s written all over your face.”
“How much is he paying you?” she challenges with a little slant of her head.
“Enough that I can save up money to rent an apartment and get out of your hair.”
“How much, Nore?”
“Eighty thousand a year,” I whisper. She hears me anyway.
“What. The. Hell? Eighty G’s?” Her jaw goes slack. “What exactly does Bennett plan to have you doing?”