Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 91212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
"Is that selfish?" he asks. "I don't know that just going forward with my life, like going to class and making plans with friends is the best way to honor her."
I know exactly where he's coming from and the guilt he must be feeling. I feel it every time I wish Eddie was around.
"I think it's what we have to do," I say. "We can grieve her while still looking to the future."
I swallow down a ball of emotion as more tears threaten with an intense burn behind my eyes.
"You'll call me if you need anything?" I say, letting him know it's okay to keep on with life.
"Of course," he says as he walks closer and wraps his arms around me in a tight hug that I didn't know I needed until I was in the middle of it. "You'll do the same?"
I wrap my arms around his waist and squeeze him until he grunts with the pressure of holding him too tight.
"I will," I assure him, giving him the best smile I can manage when he takes a step back and looks down at me. "Let me know when you make it back, so I know you're safe."
He dips his head in agreement before shuffling away.
Not long after I hear the garage door opening so Chris can leave, Faye makes her way into the kitchen.
"Where's the boy?"
"He went back to school," I say, sad that it's only the two of us in the house again.
"He's much too old for school," she says, making me realize she's asking about Eddie, not Chris. I wonder, not for the first time, if her mind isn't growing as old as her poor body is.
"Mr. Yarrow had to return to work. He'll no longer be staying with us."
"And what is he going to do about you?"
She shuffles to the fridge, reaching for a bottle of whiskey despite the fact that it's before ten in the morning.
I don't say a word. Hell, the amber liquid in the glass looks like a perfect solution for how I'm feeling, but I don't ask for a drink when she pours her own.
"How will he tell you he loves you if he's not here?"
"I don't—That's not—" I stop arguing with her because it doesn't seem like she's paying me any attention to begin with.
"If you're not going to eat your breakfast, at least dispose of it properly," she says as she walks past, glancing at the sink.
"You made that breakfast for Chris," I argue, finding that I'm annoyed that she is accusing me of something I didn't do.
"I think I'd know if I saw your brother. He always put me in a bad mood, hateful thing that he is."
I tilt my head, further confused.
Maybe her mind is slipping. She doesn't remember making breakfast? She's getting William and sweet Christopher confused.
"I'll take care of it," I assure her just as she leaves the room with her morning glass of whiskey.
As I scrape the food into the garbage disposal and wash the plate and silverware, I wonder if it isn't time to seek out someone to come and help her. She seems to need someone here to look after her. I worry she'll end up hurting herself or possibly leaving the stove on and setting the house on fire, and isn't that just what this family needs, another tragedy?
Chapter 33
Ace
I knew by the time I made it back to Gatlinburg that I needed to take a breather. Showing up at the cabin in the middle of the night wasn't the best of plans in the first place, but it's also not easy coming to terms with what I'm struggling to accept.
I'm a compassionate person. I empathize with many of the people we work with. I feel bad for the women who have had to make the difficult choice to earn money using their bodies because they can't see a different way through a bad situation. I feel bad for the women who do it because they wholeheartedly believe they like it because they can't see the way they were groomed by people in their lives from a young age. Hell, I hate that the women who do get involved in the sex industry because they really want that in their lives, not because of the judgment they'll get from others who don't understand being able to disassociate sex from emotional feelings.
I was always in that camp. I could get physical with a woman and it just be a good time. I could walk away feeling good from the interaction and not have connected with them on an emotional level. I've lived my entire life that way.
Every woman, every encounter, was simply a way to relieve the pressure that builds up that only a good roll between the sheets can sate.
Until Cora fucking Preston.