Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 51122 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 204(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51122 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 204(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
My walk slowed, and I tilted my head to study her.
She was normally my cool, calm, and collected child.
She was not the one who lied or tried to hide things.
At least, not unless it came to her mother.
“Ummmmm,” she looked toward the back door. “I didn’t. What are you talking about?”
I passed her by and walked into the kitchen to peer out into the back yard, only to find my shed door standing wide open.
“Who’s in the shed?” I asked.
“Umm,” Mimi said. “Nobody?”
I rolled my eyes then yelled out, “Lenore!”
When no answer was forthcoming, I turned back to Mimi only to see her booking it outside.
“Abort! Abort!” she screamed as she ran toward the shed.
I followed behind her, hot on her heels.
When I made it to the shed door I came to a sudden, shocked halt.
“Oh, no,” Mimi said. “You’re caught, Mama!”
Lenore, who was busy holding up some baby chickens to her face, looked at me like I’d caught her red-handed.
“You did not get more chickens,” I said, looking at her, the chickens in the large horse trough, and then her again.
She swallowed hard.
“I didn’t?” she sucked her lip between her teeth.
“Lenore,” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “What in the holy hell? You already have like fifty!”
She pouted at me.
“But, Daddy,” Mimi picked one up. “Look how cute they are! They’re frizzles! Look at their crazy feathers! They turn out and not in!”
I wasn’t amused.
Nor did I think the thing was cute.
It was actually quite ugly.
I looked at her and narrowed my eyes. “This isn’t over.”
My wife had the audacity to freakin’ smile.
“Yes, honey.”
It was only as I was getting home later that night that I knew that there could’ve been worse things that she could be doing. Secretly hiding chickens in my shed wasn’t really all that bad in the grand scheme of things.
She met me at the door with a worried smile.
“You still mad at me?” she questioned me.
I pulled her roughly into my arms. “You’re in so much trouble.”
She batted her eyes. “Promise?”
I smacked her butt and walked into the house, closing and locking the doors behind me.
“Why’d you need more?” I questioned.
She gestured to the world beyond our home. “It’s total anarchy out there. If we didn’t have our own chickens, how would you get your eggs every morning?”
I had no answer for that, because she was right.
“I honestly thought about getting meat birds, too, but I didn’t think that I could stand butchering them,” she admitted.
My eye twitched. “Just promise me you won’t show up with goats or a cow or something because you don’t want to run out of milk.”
She looked at me wide-eyed. “I didn’t realize we could have those in the city limits!”
I was already shaking my head. “We can’t.”
But I could see that I’d planted the seed of an idea, and she would be seeing what she could accomplish, even if she had to hide the dang thing in our barn this time.
“Don’t,” I warned.
She gave me an innocent smile. “I would never.”
Book: Whiskey Neat
CHAPTER 7
What if you shows your friend a picture of me and they say, ‘as long as you’re happy, bro?’
-Text from Sawyer to Silas
SILAS
“You’re not going!” Sawyer screamed.
I narrowed my eyes.
“Sawyer,” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’m freakin’ out of beer. If I don’t get beer, I’ll die.”
Sawyer narrowed her eyes right back.
“You can order that crap online, Silas,” she argued.
She was right.
I could.
Louisiana had gone like Texas and started to deliver alcohol.
The only problem was, I was going stir crazy.
I needed to get out of the house for my mental sanity.
“You can come with me,” I suggested.
She was already shaking her head. “I can’t come with you.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Silas,” she said. “Your daughter is six months pregnant. Do you really want to be leaving the house, getting exposed to this virus, and then taking it back to her when you go see her tomorrow?”
When she put it like that…
“Fuck,” I grumbled.
“And what about your great-grandkids?” she pushed. “You don’t need that beer that badly. Order it. It gets here tomorrow. Drink that cheap beer that’s in the clubhouse until it gets here.”
I wrinkled my nose at that.
“The worst part is that I could really go for some chips and queso,” I grumbled. “And some beer. This freakin’ sucks.”
“We can order in,” she suggested.
That sounded like crap, too.
“So what are they going to do when I’m out of chips and need more? Are they gonna stop by with more hot chips and tortillas every fifteen minutes?” I crossed my arms over my chest.
“What happened to you going on a diet because you were losing your six-pack?” she asked.
I patted my belly.
All it seemed like I was doing lately was eating.
I got bored, I ate.
I needed a walk outside, better grab a cheese stick on the way.