Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
I hiss. Etta gasps. The rest of the bar is a chorus of cusswords, obviously eavesdropping, too, despite Etta’s threat.
“Fuck, Chrissy. Okay, I take it back a teeny, tiny bit,” Etta says, sounding a little more understanding. “I’m sorry . . . that’s . . . wow. I knew Jed was a bastard, but that’s a new low, even for him. Is the baby his?”
A couple of months ago, Etta bought a karaoke machine, thinking a sing-along night at Puss N Boots would be fun. We managed to keep to the script for two whole weeks before it turned into a game of How Bad Can You Sing? with a “winner drinks free all night” prize. It made quite a few ears bleed.
But that machine came with a damn good microphone. I wish I knew where Etta stashed that thing right now because I’d prop it up next to the table so the whole bar could hear Chrissy’s answer firsthand.
“I don’t know. I ran out of there too fast to get any answers. But if I had to guess? Yeah, it’s his. He wouldn’t do that with someone who had some other man’s baby in her. Not because it’d be wrong, but because his ego wouldn’t take it.” Chrissy’s resignation to the situation makes us all feel a little sad for her.
“I think you’re right about that,” Etta agrees. “So the question’s the same. What’re you gonna do about it? You signing up to be a stepmama to a baby he’s having with another woman or what? I told you . . . you choose your life every day. What’re you gonna do with yours?”
Chrissy’s head drops, and she stares at her hands, picking at a manicure I don’t think I’ve ever seen look less than perfect. “I’m not like you, Etta. I can’t do this.” The condescension peeks through Chrissy’s distress, and I think she might actually go home, pretend she didn’t see anything at that hotel, and continue on with her life of luxury as Jed’s wife.
“This is something I’m damn proud of,” Etta says, her voice strong and sure. “I built this life day by day, just like I’m telling you to do. I’ve got friends, family, and my horse. That’s all I really need anyway. And if I decide I want a little more, I got fellas to warm my bed, enough money to go lay on a beach somewhere, and a pool table I can whip anybody in town on. I’m happy, Chrissy.” She pauses and adds, “You deserve to be too.”
Wow. I never would’ve thought I’d see the day Aunt Etta told Chrissy Ford that she deserves to be happy. Deserves to be caught up in a hailstorm in a convertible with the top stuck down? Probably. But happy? Nope, wouldn’t have put that on my bingo card.
“Thanks, Etta. I think I’ve got a lot of thinking to do,” Chrissy says, getting up.
When Etta stands, too, Chrissy makes a move like she’s going to hug her, and Etta steps back, obviously declining the friendly gesture. But she does offer, “Don’t make a habit out of it or anything, but if you truly need a place to hide out one day, you can sit in the corner over there. Charlene’ll getcha a beer, and Tayvious’ll make you a burger—” Louder, she calls out, “And not spit in it.”
Tayvious grumbles loud enough for the whole bar to hear, but doesn’t argue. He’s dead serious about his food anyway and wouldn’t taint it, not even for Chrissy Ford.
Chrissy smiles grimly at Etta and heads toward the door.
“Go get ’im, girl!”
“Give him the hell he deserves!”
“Cut off his dick!”
That last one is Charlene, who shrugs and adds, “Well, getting someone pregnant wouldn’t be an issue after that, and he’d only be able to use his fingers and tongue for her pleasure. Sounds like a fair punishment to me. No?”
She’s got a point, and everyone kinda shrugs along in agreement too.
Once Chrissy’s gone, the whole place lets out a collective breath I don’t think any of us realized we were holding.
“Get back to your Friday night beers’ing and cheers’ing,” Etta declares, knowing that everyone and their damn brother was listenin’ in. Hell, half of town probably knows by now. “My business ain’t none of yours, and Chrissy’s ain’t none of yours either.”
I try to approach her, but Aunt Etta just tells me wearily, “I’m fine. Think I’ll go home and check on Nala. She probably needs some fresh hay.”
Her horse is her baby and probably got fresh hay less than eight hours ago, but it’s her way of saying she’s going to deal with this on her own. I nod and step out of her way, letting her save a little face with her patrons too.
No less than two minutes after Etta disappears, the door bursts open again. “Where is she?”