Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Opening the first drawer, I immediately locate a pair of pajamas. This is perfect because I’m not in the mood to go snooping for much longer. I tug out the pants and hold them up to my waist. They’re a bit too big, but I don’t think anyone will care. After all we’ve been through, seeing me in ill-fitting pajamas isn’t even going to be a blip on their radars.
I step into the pajama bottoms and pull on the top. The waist is way too big, so I have to hold onto it with one hand. The legs fall over my feet, so I stop in Frankie’s living room to sit down and roll up the cuffs. Looking ridiculous, but feeling ten times better, I let myself out of Frankie’s suite and into the hallway.
There’s no one around, so I go to check the bathroom. I just want to satisfy my curiosity about my clothes. The bathroom is spotless; obviously, someone came in to clean after I was done. The bloodstained clothing is gone, which makes me feel like the whole thing was some kind of horrific dream.
I walk downstairs, having never experienced breakfast in this household before. I’m shocked to find several strange men hanging about. They don’t pay any attention to me though, so I don’t have to explain my strange attire.
I walk into the kitchen to find Marlena in front of the stove. She looks up and smiles, her eyes giving me a once over that is more friendly than critical.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I should have given you something to wear.”
“It’s okay,” I respond. “I just want a cup of coffee.”
“Over here,” Marlena says, pointing to the coffee pot. “I can’t drink coffee anymore.”
“That’s so sad,” I commiserate.
Marlena sighs wistfully. “I only have a few more years.”
I reach for a cup from one of the cabinets, holding my pants up with my free hand. “A few more years?” I ask.
“I don’t want the coffee to affect the baby while I’m breastfeeding either,” she explains.
“Hmm,” I reply, not sure how I feel about that. “Maybe you can have just a little bit.”
“No,” she exclaims, “I’ll be fine. Other people deal with worse things all the time.”
“You mean like being shot at?” I guess.
“Yes,” she agrees.
“How do you do it?” I wonder. “I mean, how are you so calm about being Mrs. Francisco Corello?”
“Francisco is wonderful,” Marlena says with a sigh. “And I admit, it did take some getting used to.”
I set the mug down on the counter so that I can reach for the coffee pot without flashing everyone. Pouring myself a strong cup, I forego any kind of additives. Black coffee will work fine. I want that strong bite of caffeine to bring me back to life, and cream and sugar seems like too much trouble now.
I take a seat at the breakfast table but jump up a moment later to help Marlena. I’m handicapped with one hand attached to my pants, but I do what I can. Together, we manage to transfer the eggs she’s been cooking to two plates and walk them back to the table.
We sit down and begin to eat in silence. I’m starving, and I haven’t realized it until just now. The moment the eggs hit my tongue, I’m overwhelmed by the flavor. It’s almost better than sex, and considering the night I had, that’s saying a lot.
Marlena fills me in on some of her story. She has a brother in college, but not much of a family. Until Francisco introduced her to her Italian relatives, she thought she was pretty much an orphan.
“Oh, my gosh!” I shout, thinking about my own parents for the first time. “I have to call my mom.”
“Just a minute,” Marlena suggests. “It’s still pretty early.”
I glance at the clock on the stove and see that she’s right. There’s a lot I need to tell them, but I’m okay. I don’t need to worry them by calling at the crack of dawn. I finish my eggs, expressing my gratitude multiple times.
“Kyle!” Marlena shouts out when we’re through.
A burly-looking twenty-something-year-old pokes his head into the kitchen. He’s dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with a gun strapped to his hip.
“Can you find Sofia something to wear?” Marlena asks.
“Sure thing,” he says.
“It’s no trouble,” I attempt to argue, but Kyle doesn’t listen. Clearly, there’s a ranking system in the household, and Marlena trumps me.
A moment later, Kyle returns with a folded piece of fabric. I accept it with a smile and shake it out so I can see what I’m dealing with. The dress is made of an expensive poly-blend that feels light and comfortable. I walk to the downstairs bathroom to put it on, finally able to release my hold on the pajama bottoms.
I take Frankie’s clothes back to the kitchen, where I fold them and set them aside. I’m much more presentable now, and I have Marlena to thank for it.