Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 106839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Collin and I look at each other and roll our eyes. But he gives the go-ahead. Because the whole ‘shoring up with steel’ thing actually makes sense.
“Step back,” he says. To us, but also all the guys behind us.
So we retreat all the way back the way we came and give him the go head. Ten minutes later there’s a boom and whoop on the radio.
Collin chuckles. “I guess that means he didn’t die.”
“And got the door open.” I chuckle back.
“Oh, my fuckin’ God!” Ryan yells through the talkie. “Guys! Get in here!”
We go all the way back in and make our way back to the door. Ryan’s head pops out, and he’s smiling like he just found his very own Goonies treasure. “You’re not gonna believe what I found.”
Amon leaves after I push him away and lock him out. And, of course, this is expected because that’s what I told him to do. Leave me alone. So that’s what he does.
But it’s not what I want. What I want is someone to tell me it’s gonna be OK. That everything is gonna work out, and Cross will come home, and Erol will go back to where he disappeared to, and my life will pick back up with Amon and I falling in love and living happily ever after.
The problem is, if I let Amon stay, he would say all those things. He would make all the promises. And then I would start to believe him because… well, he’s Amon Parrish. He’s just got that vibe about him. The kind of vibe that comes off as competence. Which, in turn, lends itself to being believed.
But competent as he is, this really isn’t about Amon and me. So solving it won’t depend on something as simple as competence because Erol Cross is… well, I’m not sure what he is, but he’s not a nobody, that I understand. And he’s not simple, either. He’s complicated and part of something big, and secretive, and mysterious. I mean, if I’m being honest, he comes off as one of those super-soldier spy thriller protagonists. Like he’s ten steps ahead of everyone else and the plot only exists so he can play his part in it.
It’s the puzzles, I think. What a creepy, yet creative, way to get the attention of the woman you walked out on twelve years ago just as she was about to give birth to your child.
And this is the problem. My child is the whole point of everything at the moment.
Of course Erol was spying on us. He had to be. Because he knew what was on Cross’s mind. He understood his longing to grow up and be a part of something important. And then he used it against me.
I don’t know how he actually snatched him up or how he got Cross to agree to go with him last night, but it doesn’t matter. The timer is a-tickin’.
You’ve got twenty-four hours, Rosie. That’s what he said.
And if I say no? That’s what I said.
You’re not gonna say no.
This is the part that really kinda pisses me off. This assumption that this man is anything but a stranger to me. That he knows me.
He doesn’t know me.
Sure, maybe he’s been watching. And he knows where I work. All my different jobs. So good for him, I guess. Following me around must’ve been an eye-opener.
But it don’t mean nothin’, these facts that he now possesses. Because the actual jobs, or the location thereof, aren’t the point of doing them. It’s not even the costume. It’s not even the fantasy.
See, you put that costume on and you turn into something else. Lots of people like doing this. I mean, they have that damn Confederate reenactment going on all over the South every single fuckin’ year. There are whole conventions where people dress up and don’t even get me started on Hollywood. That town is nothing but pretend.
It’s not the costume, or the implied fantasy that comes with it. Not in my mind, anyway. I can’t speak for anyone else who likes to play dress-up, of course.
But for me, it’s the story I’m after.
My life is a story—as is everyone’s. But I take this storytelling a little more literal than most. That’s why I run that stupid printing press every week. Though it’s only stupid in an affectionate way, obviously, since I love it. That’s why I work in the diner dressed up like Flo from that vintage TV show. That’s why I stuck around this town when they all wanted to shame me out.
My life is a story and I’m the writer, and the narrator, and the main character. And Erol Cross can’t just follow me around for a few weeks and claim to know my story. Because he doesn’t.
And that’s what he did. He claimed to know my story. You’re not gonna say no. We both know that.