Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Today was going to suck.
Especially seeing as how I had to sit outside nearly most of the day to actually get to talk to a customer. Blakely, who now had to conduct all of her business outside, couldn’t move indoors without being forced to give me a customer to work with every now and then.
“No,” my dad agreed, filling his thermos up for work. “Guess I’m headed to work. Shout if y’all need anything.” He paused next to where Clem was pushing some applesauce around on her plate.
“For what it’s worth,” he spoke softly. “I think you should wear what I suggested. You never know what could happen on those streets. And you in that dress? Something is bound to happen. You just have to be able to control the situation.”
Before Clem could say anything more, my dad moved to me and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I’ll be home around eleven. If you need me when you’re there, just text or call.”
My dad knew me so well.
He also looked rough today.
Almost a year ago to the day, my brother had lost his life at an event he was working for a popular country singer. During that event, a bomb had exploded, taking my brother and nearly the country singer with it.
My dad was obviously devastated when news of Jasper’s death arrived, leaving us all to struggle a bit as my dad checked out. As in, checked out, checked out.
The only thing I’d seen that actually made him ‘participate’ in his life the last couple of months had been just last week when about twenty-five officers from the state highway patrol for Elliott County constables showed up in his parking lot thinking that he’d been shot.
It was only the last couple of weeks that I’d started to see slivers of the man that he used to be.
“Do you need any eggs?” Clem asked.
I blinked at her odd, random, off-the-wall question. “For what?”
Clem never ceased to surprise me.
“To donate,” she said. “I’m running by the women’s shelter on the way to the airport.” She paused and looked at me over her shoulder before leaning in and asking, “Are you sure that I’m fit enough to do this one?”
I had no clue what the hell she was talking about.
“Clem…” I started. “What are you talking about right now?”
“Sorry, I think I’m having half of this conversation in my head.” She paused again. “I want some of your eggs from your chickens to donate to my women’s shelter. Do you have any extra, not do you need any. Also, do you think I’m fit enough to do this marathon?”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course, you are. And yes, I have some eggs you can take. About six dozen that I wasn’t able to sell at the farmers’ market on Saturday. My girls should give me plenty more by Saturday morning.”
Clem did an exaggerated air fist pump, then stood up. “Go get them. I need to leave if I’m going to make my flight on time.”
I did as she asked, coming back out with not six, but five dozen.
She frowned at the pile. “Not six?”
I shook my head. “No, I’m going to take a dozen to your dad’s place since I’m going over there.”
Clem rolled her eyes. “You spoil him.”
“Giving him eggs is spoiling him?” I asked curiously.
She started walking toward her car, and I followed her at a slower pace, my bare feet already burning on the concrete of the driveway I’d learned to ride my bike on.
“Giving him as many eggs as you do, since he has an egg obsession, is spoiling him,” she corrected me. “I’ll text you when I get there. Bye, love you!”
I waved at her but moved over to the grass to do that, realizing rather quickly that I should’ve put on shoes to make the trip down with her.
When she was gone and I couldn’t see her car anymore, I used the edges of the grass that needed mowing about a week ago to walk back inside on.
Once inside, I packed my bag and then got ready for work. When I was done with that, I slipped my chicken boots on and walked outside to let the girls out.
They all came, flapping and excited, making me laugh.
“Y’all are going to have to go up on your own tonight,” I said as I fed them. “Because you know that Dad won’t bother counting all of you to make sure you’re inside. Capiche?”
They didn’t answer me, too busy enjoying their food to give a fuck about the state of their lives later when my dad would shut the coop for me.
My dad just last year built it for me with Haggard, after I’d all but begged him to let me have chickens.
He hadn’t wanted them. But eventually he’d given in with Haggard teasing him about being afraid of birds.