Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73817 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73817 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Just a family thing.
I’ve really got this stupid story nailed down, huh? Said it so many times, I almost believe it.
I’m not sure he does, though. Still, after studying my face for a while, he slowly nods. “Dad sounds like a dick.”
You don’t know the half of it. “Total dick.”
“Well …” He considers his tea for a second. “I’ve got to handle a few errands today. Stuff for the bar. I should be back in a few hours. Are you gonna be okay here on your own for a little bit?”
Wait. He’s going to let me stay here? While he’s off in town doing things?
“Y-Yeah,” I finally manage to say. “I’ll be okay.”
“I can stick around a little longer, if you want. Or you could come with, but … I figured you’d prefer to stay put for a bit, relax, and just take it easy for a few days.”
Cooper must be an intuitive man, or else I’m an opened book. “I can hang here.”
“There’s food in the kitchen if you get hungry, though I don’t think I should be gone that long.”
“Okay.”
He studies me for a moment longer, then finally takes our empty plates and heads back into the house, leaving me on the porch. I glance over my shoulder through the glass door, watching him as he takes the plates to the sink, then disappears down the hall. After he changes, I watch him leave through the front door. From here, I can hear the soft motor of his car, before it fades into the distance, and then I know I’m alone again.
I settle back in my seat, staring ahead at the beach.
My heart starts to race.
The peace of everything unsettles me for some reason. As if I can’t trust the calmness when I’m by myself. Is this what I felt last night when I was trying to fall asleep on the couch after he left me alone?
My foot’s bouncing in place again.
I can’t just sit here. I have to keep busy.
I’m back in the house with his mug of half-drank tea and my empty juice glass. I go to the sink to find our plates there where he brought them, unclean. A glass sits on the counter, too, right by a small saucer full of crumbs.
The silence of the empty house pierces me.
The next minute, the faucet’s running as I scrub the plates, then set them in the dish drainer. Glasses, too. Then the saucer. Soon, that activity turns into me scrubbing the countertop itself, then the faucet, and then all around the sink. I notice a smudge on the side of the fridge, which the wet washcloth only succeeds in smearing. My curiosity has me peeking in the cabinets under the sink. Suddenly, I have gloves on, a sponge in hand, and a spray bottle of lemon-scented cleaning fluid with its label torn off.
That’s when the madness begins.
Everything in the house is suddenly an unfinished task. Every surface, from the coffee table, to the windows, to the sliding glass door, to the TV screen, to the lampshades, is subjected to my crazed cleaning frenzy. I pull off the sheets from the couch, since I sure as hell won’t be sleeping out here, and neatly fold them up. Some kind of frantic music plays in my head as I undo the couch-bed, turning it back into a couch, then get to work cleaning and organizing every damned thing in sight.
I can’t stop moving.
Something has taken me over.
I even make Cooper’s bed. Then I dust off his desk and adjust the curtains next to them. I pick up some clothes he left by the closet, grab a laundry basket, and start gathering anything I can find, from my old clothes to the towels we used for our showers last night.
This process probably lasts for hours. But it goes by in a blink.
By the time Cooper returns, I’m in the kitchen pulling a couple of clean plates from the cupboard. I glance over my shoulder to find him stopped by the door, startled at what he sees. “Hey there, Coop,” I greet him, as if this is something totally normal that he comes home to every day. “Want some lunch? Found your bread and lunchmeat in the fridge. Figured you could go for a sandwich or two.”
His eyes scan the rest of the room, taking it in. “Uh …”
“Go ahead, kick off your shoes, relax. I’ll bring you a sandwich. Or do you want two?”
“Did you clean my house?”
I continue assembling the sandwiches and shrug. “Got a little bored, I guess.”
“A little bored …?” He comes into the living room like he doesn’t recognize anything. “My TV is … shiny.”
“You get all your errands done?” I ask, going for small talk. What else can I do? I can’t stop moving my hands. “I wasn’t sure where you do your laundry, since I guess you don’t have a washer or dryer, so I just put everything into a basket I left at the end of the hall.”