Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Dad looked away, his eyes settling on the couch. “I think I pushed you away.”
I chose not to respond to that, although it was more appealing than the familiar critiques of my character.
“I just want to say that I’m glad you’re back, and if you want a job at the lumberyard, there’s one waiting for you.”
He was offering me a job. I desperately needed something to pay the bills and start saving if I ever wanted to get out of this town again. When I’d left, my dad was working there as a manager. He had encouraged me to apply for a position, hauling logs and sweeping floors. I hadn’t been interested then, and I wasn’t sure if I was interested now. Then again, it seemed more appealing than sitting home alone with my own thoughts.
“You still work at the lumberyard?” I asked, completely ignoring his first statement. If he was really glad to have me back, he was going to have to prove it. One kind remark wasn’t enough to combat eight years of neglect.
“I own it,” Dad answered. “I bought it four years ago. Porter runs it for me, and I’m sure we can find a job that’ll work around your injury.”
I paused. Gina hadn’t mentioned this at all. It was an honest offer. Plenty of rich kids got all the good things in life by working for their parents. I wasn’t interested in a yacht or a Harvard education, but some food in my pantry would be nice. I could potentially go to work for my dad, save up enough to get a fresh start, and leave Singer’s Ridge behind for good.
“I’ll think about it,” I said.
“Okay.” Dad finished his coffee and stood up. “If you ever want to come by for supper or any other reason, my door’s always open.”
“Same house?” I asked, because there was always the chance that he had moved.
“Same house,” he confirmed. “Go easy on Mrs. Washington.”
I nodded. The last thing I wanted to do was berate an old lady for talking to my dad. It seemed like that was the only way we learned anything about each other—if someone told on me. Whether it was Gina, the Army, or my landlady, other people were conspiring to mend our fences. But it would take more than family, the government, and well-meaning townsfolk to bring Dad and me back together again. I would consider his offer of employment just as a means to an end. I wasn’t going to be stopping by for supper or for any other reason.
He let himself out and shut the door. I sat for a long time, staring at the chair he had been sitting in. For years, I had wondered what our next encounter would be like. Would we fight again? Would he apologize? The reality had been less dramatic than I had expected. Nobody threw anything or raised their voice. It seemed like nothing had been resolved either, and even though we had finally seen each other’s faces, we weren’t any closer than we had been when I was thousands of miles away.
4
ALY
In the week since I had learned that Lincoln was back in town, he hadn’t been far from my mind. It was stupid really, a high school crush that had just never died. Most people left town when they graduated. They went on to bigger and better things in places like Nashville, Texas, or New York. I stayed because where else was I going to go?
Of all the people I had grown up with, Lincoln was the one regret I had. I had dated casually, even had one long-term boyfriend. Still, in the early hours when no one else was awake, I wondered about Lincoln. I had been too shy to talk to him back in high school, contenting myself with admiring him from afar. He hadn’t been into anyone or anything back then, and I remembered thinking that was refreshing.
Gina kept in touch with him a little bit. She had told us that he was in the Army and that he wasn’t very communicative. I used to imagine him sitting on his bunk, surrounded by friends, playing cards. That was what they did in the Army according to the movies.
Did he have a girlfriend? Did he miss home? Would I ever see him again? I considered all of those questions and more throughout the years. I should have talked to him when I had the chance. We could have been friends—or maybe even more than friends.
That type of wallowing was getting me nowhere, but I couldn’t help myself. Rumor had it that Mr. Matthews had offered Lincoln a job. I wondered if he would take it and if we would see each other again. Would he even remember me? Probably not. It wasn’t as if we had known each other very well.