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)
The two guests nod enthusiastically. “We do. Oh, we do.”
I could put up a little fight, but why bother when I can just lie? And anyway, it’s not even lying when you’re acting. And I am acting. Everything inside the tent grounds is fair game for acting. So I lean in towards our guests, which makes them lean in towards me in turn. “Amon and I were a thing, you see.”
“Oh, really?” One says.
“Yes. For a long time. He’s my true love, ya know? But he cheated on me.” The guests gasp and MaisieLee snorts. “When I was pregnant, of all times.”
“Oh, no!” Number Two says. “That’s terrible!”
“Isn’t it just?” I agree, giving MaisieLee a side-eye. “And that was twelve years ago. He left town for all that time, but now he’s back trying to make amends. So I’m not sure, ladies. I gave him my heart once and he stepped all over it. Why should I trust him with it again?”
Two says, “Once a cheater, always a cheater.”
And One says, “Never trust a man who leaves you high and dry.” Then she gives me a stern look, kinda shaking her finger at me, and for a moment I think I’m about to get scolded. But she says, “A man who can’t stand up is not a stand-up man.”
Which confuses me, but comes off with too much confidence and a little bit too poetic for me to ask questions about interpretation. And anyway, MaisieLee is sighing and rolling her eyes, because the guests are firmly on my side now and she’s not gonna get anything truthful out of me today about Amon. So I guess it doesn’t matter that the little quote didn’t make sense.
After that we chat about Revival things and an hour later, I’m done for the day. I go looking for Cross and find him with my brother, Pate, who is nearly ten years older than me and the oldest of all us Harlow kids. Cross is up on a scaffold holding a hammer and pounding away on something or another.
“Hey, kid!” I yell up to him. “You about ready to go home and change? My day’s over.”
“Oh, not yet, Ma,” Cross calls back. “Uncle Pate just finally trusted me to get on up here and fix this all by myself.”
I shoot Pate a look. “It’s a little bit early to have him climbing all over things doing repairs, don’t you think? He just started today.”
Pate shoots me a look right back. This one comes with low and lazy eyes that say I’m overreacting. “Rosie, you were five the first time I sent you up a scaffold to pound something.” He nods his head towards Cross. “He’s practically a grown man, for fuck’s sake. Stop babying him.”
I scoff. “I’m not babying him. And he’s twelve, Pate. That’s not grown.”
Cross calls down. “Alexander the Great was conquering the whole world at age twelve.”
I’m pretty sure this is not true, but I’m also a high-school dropout, so what do I know. I look at Pate, but he just grins. Which means he’s probably a hundred percent sure it’s not true, but isn’t gonna intervene on my behalf because he’s got Cross doin’ all his fixin’ work for him.
So I just sigh. “Whatever. Be home for dinner.”
“I will, Ma.” And then Cross goes back to his pounding.
But Cross doesn’t come home for dinner. At six-fifteen, he calls asking if he can have dinner at his friend’s house and then stay the night. They’re working on a car or something.
I want to say no. But I don’t. I force myself to smile, even though it’s just a phone call, and tell him yes and to call me in the morning.
Then I sit at the table and stare at the spaghetti and meatballs I made.
It’s probably gonna be a thing, this going out on Saturday nights. My boy is growing up whether I want him to or not.
I might need to get myself another part-time job.
Later that night, after I’ve cleaned up the kitchen, folded laundry, and mopped the floors, I change into my nightgown, get in bed, and grab my Lonely Hearts notebook out of the drawer. I’m just about to open it up and start writing when I remember Amon this morning during Revival. My heart is sad about Cross and how the fast-forward button seems to have been pushed on his growing up, but Amon’s little gesture this morning makes me smile.
Amon is nice-looking. He’s got that whole ‘blond hair, blue eyes’ thing goin’ for him. It made him more charming than he actually was as a troublemaking kid and definitely got him out of a detention or two if the adult authority was of the female persuasion.
I like Amon. I’ve always liked him. And we easily slip into a natural sort of banter when we bump into each other. And I like the idea of being courted, but is there room for a man in my life? All my recent boyfriends have been fictional. Like that Scar man MaisieLee mentioned. Fake. I make them up so people don’t pity me. These men always live out of town and come with names like Scar, which implies a certain thing about a man. Which implies a certain thing about me, to be honest. But I’d rather be known as the woman with poor taste in men than a spinster-in waiting.