Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Regardless, I was there now and needed to get this thing done. I quickened my pace, and my mind raced through the list of things I needed: milk, bread, eggs, noodles, and a few other essentials. Just enough to get through the next day or so.
The fluorescent lights overhead started to flicker, and I knew I needed to hurry it up. The people around me seemed to feel the same sense of urgency as they rushed down the various aisles. I quickly grabbed what we needed and rushed to the checkout lane.
Minutes later, I was rushing back out to the car and throwing my bags into the backseat. The sky was growing darker by the second, so I wasted no time getting in the car and racing home. Sadly, I hadn’t gotten far when the first fat drops of rain started splattering on the windshield.
The wind howled. The thunder rolled. And the lightning danced across the sky. I pulled into the driveway, and after grabbing the bags, I darted inside. I slammed the door shut behind me and rushed over to the kitchen counter and dropped the bags. “Holy mackerel.”
“Getting rough, huh?” Wes called out from the living room.
“Yeah, you could say that.”
I put everything away, and my pulse quickened with every rumble of thunder. I was tempted to just go lock myself in the basement, but there were no sirens or any indications that this was anything other than a simple thunderstorm. I stepped over to the doorway of the living room as I asked, “What’s the weather saying?”
“Looks like the worst of it is above us.”
“Is it going to stay that way?”
“Certainly hope so.” Wes studied me for a moment, then asked, “Hey, you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“Just a little nervous. I don’t like storms.”
“Ah, the girl who tries to play the tough guy is scared,” he taunted.
“Shut up. I’m not scared.”
A bolt of lightning struck and was immediately followed by a loud rumble of thunder, causing me to jump with a start. Weston chuckled as he mumbled, “Um-hmm. Whatever you say, boss.”
“Okay. I’m a little scared,” I admitted. “It’s a childhood thing that I’ve never been able to shake.”
“Something happen?”
“It was nothing, really.” I walked over to the window and watched as the raindrops bounced on the slats of the porch. “I was six or seven when my parents went out and left me with a babysitter. Everything went great for the first half of the night. We ate and played games, and I was having a really good time until the storms rolled in.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing, really. There was lots of lightning and thunder, and the lights went out.” Weston’s little smirk faded as I added, “There were no tornados or anything like that. Just a lot of rattling and rolling, but the sitter was scared, which made me scared.”
“Ah, that’s not good.”
“Yeah, and the longer my parents were gone, the more scared we both got.” I shook my head. “And, of course, I couldn’t just pack that fear away and let it go. That would be too easy.”
“I get it. That kind of thing can stick to ya.”
“Oh, definitely, and I made it even worse by watching a bunch of YouTube videos on storms and tornados.”
“We have a lot of those around here.”
The words had barely left his mouth when the lights went out, leaving us engulfed in darkness. Panicked, I gasped, “Wes.”
“It’s all good.” He started wheeling himself towards the kitchen as he asked, “What’d you do with the batteries?”
“They’re on the counter.”
Lightning struck, lighting up the house momentarily and giving me a chance to spot Wes as he grabbed a couple of flashlights from the drawer. I could hear him tear open the batteries, and seconds later, a beam of light illuminated the room. “Now, we’re cooking.”
“Great.”
While I felt better knowing we had light, I was still feeling a little uneasy about the storm. Weston wheeled back over to me as he said, “Let’s go wait this out on the sofa.”
I nodded, then followed him as he eased past me. He locked the wheels, then entirely on his own, stood and shuffled over to the sofa. “Whoa! When did that happen?”
“What?”
“You just...” I motioned my hand between his chair and the sofa, “on your own.”
“The rehab’s finally paying off.”
“But you never said anything.”
“It was a couple of feet,” he scoffed. “That’s nothing to call home about.”
“You wouldn’t have said that a month ago.”
“No, I don’t guess I would.”
Weston’s flashlight cast a soft glow between us, which might’ve been romantic if the storm wasn’t raging so intensely. It was relentless. Each gust of wind would rattle the windows like someone was trying to get in. Rain hammered against the roof, and the occasional flash of lightning lit up the room ever so briefly.
I tried to keep my mind off the storm and on Weston and his progress. “You’ve worked very hard, and it has to mean a lot to you to finally see it pay off.”