Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Besides, he saved me from the dangers of the forest. That alone will put him at the top of their book. Helping me escape the prison of matrimony? Well, that one I’m not so sure they’ll understand. I’m going to help them understand, though.
“You’re gonna love them,” I promise.
We pull into the driveway of my parents’ home, and I try to see it through Ben’s eyes. It’s nothing fancy, just a typical middle-class ranch house with red brick and ivory trim, about a week out from getting the lawn mowed. The bushes out front have tiny berries on them that attract birds, the light post in the yard hasn’t worked in years, and we’ve played more games of yard hockey out front than I can count. The driveway, which usually holds Dad’s work truck, Mom’s sedan, and my sensible Honda, is currently also occupied by Joy’s Mini Cooper. Shepherd’s stupidly jacked-up truck is parked on the street, literally with the passenger-side tires lifted up and onto the front curb area the way he always does. He says it’s to leave space in the street for cars to pass safely. Joy and I suspect it’s also so that the driver’s side is lower to the ground, because he basically has to hop out of the thing.
Yep, the gang’s all here.
“You ready?” Ben asks, his eyes checking out the neighborhood, the house, and then my face. If I said no, he’d pull out of here in a heartbeat, leaving twin smoking streaks of rubber on the pavement and taking the corner at the end of the street on two wheels. I can feel that level of reassurance radiating from him.
But I’m ready.
I need to explain what happened to Mom and Dad. They deserve that. And a good Dad hug would probably fix a lot of the turmoil inside me too. Besides, I can see everyone’s faces pressed to the front windows. There’s no turning back now.
In so many ways.
When we get out, the front door to the house bursts open almost instantly as my family dogpiles out like a herd of puppies fighting for breakfast to get at me first.
“Hope!” Mom shouts, nearly tackling me in a hug. She’s not a small or weak woman, and she loves big and hard. And I can only imagine how worried she’s been.
“Hey, Mom,” I say, hugging her back just as tightly. But then we’re both panting for air because Dad’s glommed on, wrapping his arms around us both to squeeze the stuffing out of us.
I was right: Dad hugs settle your spirit like nothing else can. But there’s a fresh sting in my eyes too. “I’m sorry, guys,” I sputter, but Mom and Dad both shush me, comforting me with soft murmurs.
“See, I told you she’s perfectly fine,” Joy says, feigning exasperation at our lovey-dovey display. “Maybe better than fine now that she’s finally got her head out of her ass.”
“Joy!” Dad warns, letting me loose. When I look at him, he’s got one eye on me and one on Ben, like he’s trying to decide what the hell’s going on in his front yard. And in his family. “Jim Barlowe,” he says, holding a hand out.
Ben shakes it firmly. “Benjamin Taylor. You can call me Ben.”
“Good to meet you. Joy tells me you helped my little girl. Thanks for that.” He tilts his head toward me, pointing with his left ear. In some ways, it’s a dismissal. Dad’s not being rude, but there’s some family business to take care of, and as far as he’s concerned, Ben’s an outsider in more than one way.
“She didn’t need help. Hope’s doing fine on her own,” Ben replies, smiling proudly at me. He’s not touching me, our hands are hanging at our sides, but I still feel his support and appreciate him being here. Unconsciously, I move a step his direction.
Those few inches change everything.
Dad looks from Ben to me again, new concern lighting his eyes. “Somebody needs to tell me what the hell’s going on, now.”
Mom puts a hand on Dad’s chest. “Jim, let’s go inside,” she says with a forced smile. “The whole neighborhood’s gonna be vacuuming their yards and mopping the driveways if we do this out here.”
“They’re all gonna know about it anyway,” Joy mumbles under her breath.
Their chatter has me looking over my shoulder at the house across the street. Yep, sure enough, the blinds jerk as someone releases them. Busted! The same thing happens at the house next to that, and even Mrs. Rellenos is on her porch, watering her fake dollar-store plants and leaning so far out to see us that I’m afraid she might fall right over the railing and into her prized mums, which would serve her right for being so nosy.
I swear there’s not a person in this town who knows how to be nonchalant. They’re all extra-chalant, all the time.