Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
I headed to the living room, sat down, and propped my feet on the coffee table. Flipping through the television channels, nothing held my interest. I considered working out or taking Ruby for another walk but just wasn’t feeling it. She obviously wasn’t either because she’d plopped down by my feet and snored contentedly.
I finally settled on a home-improvement show Rebecca had enjoyed watching. It was how she’d gotten the idea about the kitchen. She loved looking at all the different tiles and countertops, whereas I always noticed the shoddy electrical work.
Grant had apparently abandoned his computer game because he was suddenly in the room, holding the plate of goodies he’d brought home.
Settling down beside me, he handed me a cookie. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
It was a peace offering, and hell if I wouldn’t take the opportunity to connect with him like this.
“I’m sorry too,” I said after nibbling the edge of the cookie. “I’ll work on not hovering so much.”
“I know you mean well…” He sighed. “Sometimes I get frustrated about, well, everything.”
His confession made my stomach tighten. I wanted to remind him to speak to his therapist about those feelings but didn’t want to rock the boat. Besides, he was becoming more self-sufficient and didn’t need any reminders from me. That was more obvious than ever.
“Suppose we both got stuff to work on,” I murmured, and he nodded.
We watched and chewed as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And in some ways it was…except the cookie part.
“Not bad,” I said, trying not to cringe at the sweetness of the raisins. Who in the hell thought this combination was a good idea?
He smirked, then burst into a full-on chuckle. “Yes, they are.”
His laughter was contagious and felt so good, loosening my chest.
I held up what was left of my cookie and clanged it against his half-eaten one. “To Mom.”
“To Mom,” he replied before taking one more bite, then setting the unfinished portion on the plate.
I popped the last bite into my mouth and quickly chewed it down. “It sort of grows on you.”
“Whatever you say.” He cringed, then glanced back at the television. “Is this the show Mom always liked?”
“Yup.” I stretched my arm behind his shoulder, and we settled in to watch. As he relaxed against me, I briefly buried my nose in his hair, memorizing his scent.
2
Marcus
“I put your hose away, Ma,” I said through the screen door. “Thanks for dinner. Gonna head home.”
She’d washed dishes while I watered her grass and pulled weeds from her flower beds. The summer heat wreaked havoc on our lawns, and if you didn’t keep up with it, the grass would turn yellow. I used to care more about my own yard, but now I just went through the motions, pretty much like everything else the last two-plus years since Carmen died.
“Appreciate the help.” Mom wiped her hands on a towel, her gaze softening like it always did lately. That same question hung from her lips, about how I was coming along, but she refrained from asking it too many days in a row.
I waved goodbye as I walked toward the sidewalk, then headed around the corner to my house. It was the reason we’d moved to Euclid, an east-side suburb of Cleveland, fifteen years ago. Well, one of the reasons. We wanted to be closer to my family—Mom’s amazing cooking didn’t hurt—but also to have a house we could afford. Even if it wasn’t my dream home, nor Carmen’s.
I stopped to help an elderly neighbor roll his garbage cans to the curb before going home and jumping in the shower. I’d admit to feeling stir-crazy all day, but I’d refrained from heading into work lest my mother get on my case about not relaxing enough. Instead, I ran errands, did two loads of laundry, and accepted her dinner invitation. Especially since it involved the fresh perch she’d pulled from the freezer. She loved driving down to the 55th Street pier in the early morning hours for some city fishing, they called it. My grandfather—Mom’s father—used to join her before he got too ill to get out of bed most days.
“Make sure you have a hobby,” he used to tell me, “or you’ll spend your whole life working.”
But fishing was not my thing—all the sitting and waiting. Believe me, I tried.
Instead, I liked being more physical. I worked out with free weights and ran on the treadmill or in the Metropark most days of the week. But that didn’t seem to do the trick today.
Once I was in a fresh pair of cotton shorts, I grabbed a beer from the fridge and headed to the porch, hoping to take advantage of the cool breeze coming off the lake. The kids across the street were running through the sprinkler, and I smiled to myself, remembering my own childhood. The local fire department would flush the hydrants, and the kids would take turns getting sopping wet in the flood of water they produced.