Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73010 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73010 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
As I walk around an adult with a group of three teens, I think of Ms. Hart. Did she ever have acting aspirations? I never asked her, and I wish I had. Or maybe she always knew she wanted to teach, and with her love of theater, it was a good meshing of her interests. Sounds so simple and effortless. Not like this tight ball of tension in my gut, making me question everything.
I scroll to John’s number and consider texting him all my confusing thoughts. Is this what success is supposed to feel like? If so, why is it so anticlimactic? But it still feels too fresh and would only muddy the waters. Distance is good for us. And besides, he’ll hear about the divorce papers soon enough. When I get the courage to file them.
Needing to inhale more fresh air, I push to my feet and walk away from the crowded stores and restaurants. In the adjacent neighborhood, I spot a house for sale and take the time to imagine myself buying property of my own in the near future. That puts me in a better mood. Owning something in LA instead of renting a room. It sounds ridiculous since I just sold the property I inherited. But at least it gives me something to look forward to here, in the city I’ve lived in—existed in—for the better part of seven years.
That thought solidly in place, I call Chuck. He answers on the first ring. “I was just about to give you a jingle.”
“Great minds and all that,” I reply. “I was wondering when you think would be a good time to start looking for a place of my own down here.”
“Soon, if you can help me tie up a couple of loose ends with the paperwork.”
“Of course. Is there something we missed?”
“Do you know anything about the boundary dispute between your grandfather and his neighbor?”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, did that man say something about the property line again?”
“He did more than say something. He filed something.”
35
JOHN
A week after the purchase of the boat, I invite June and Jack to Sleepy Slip. The boat is still docked in slot number eighteen, and I watch as they maneuver their way around fishers and boaters to get to me. Neither looks particularly thrilled, but I appreciate the effort they make to meet me here.
I’ve planted myself midship as they approach, hoping to convince them that the structure is stable even as it gently sways.
“I still can’t believe you bought this,” Jack remarks as he takes in her weathered structure facing starboard.
“Let alone stand on it,” June adds.
I snicker. “I promise it’s not so bad.”
“Whatever you say,” Jack mutters.
“Hear me out. The boat is tied securely to the dock, and it’ll stay that way.” I motion to the picnic basket at my feet. “I brought a bottle of wine and some dinner for us to enjoy.”
June’s eyes widen when I open the lid. “Is that pie from Slice of Life?”
I wink. “Sure is.”
She scoffs. “You don’t play fair.”
I chuckle and hold out my hand for her to join me. She teeters a bit before finally taking hold of my fingers. She has a death grip on me as she carefully places her foot on the gangway to step down on the boat deck. I let go when I think she feels secure enough. “See, that’s not so bad.”
“It’s only because of the pie,” she teases.
I glance over her shoulder to Jack, who looks a bit green, and now I feel bad for even suggesting this outing. “You can bow out if it’s too much—”
“No, I’ll be good. Baby steps and all that. I just didn’t know how it would make me feel,” he admits.
June’s expression softens. “I think the idea is to help this sting less for all of us. Being together helps because it’s definitely hard.”
Suddenly Jack steps toward the gangway, gives a little hop, and then he’s standing in the boat as if he had to go for it or he’d chicken out. I don’t blame him for holding on to the grab bar as he gets his bearings.
“Okay?” I ask, and he nods.
“Let’s get more comfortable,” I suggest, motioning toward the cushioned bench. June sits beside me, and Jack plants himself right next to where he was standing.
Trying to keep things casual, I talk about adding a Halloween-themed party at the Witching Hour this coming fall as I unpack the picnic basket. June helps me with the pasta salad while I hand the bottle and opener to Jack to help distract him.
“It’ll be fun.” I eat a forkful of food. “You’re not required to dress up, but Seth suggested decking out the bar with spooky decorations.”
“Right up his alley,” Jack remarks as he pops the cork.
“Plus, you gotta capitalize on the name of the bar.” June holds out her plastic cup so Jack can fill it with wine. He pours ours next, and then I hand him a plate.