Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
“In that case, shorten the stalking time to casing her house, put a bunch of hidden cameras in, and—”
“Thank you for the advice, Mrs. Sanderson, but I think that might be just a touch illegal.” Good jolly jelly, I hope it’s a true crime kick that this woman is on and not anything else.
“I’ve been reading these spicy dark romances, and they’re just full of great ideas like that. Masked men, hidden cameras, stalkers!” She shivers violently, sighing loudly. “I think you’d like them. Would you like me to order the box set to your house?”
“That’d be great.” I mean…no. Shit. I didn’t mean that. I’m just in a hurry to get my car keys and get to the airport.
“Speaking of ordering a package, you have a very nice one. My compliments.”
Holy living fuckity fuck.
I race inside, waving again so I’m not that rude neighbor, just the neighbor who runs out and full suns and moons everyone. I careen straight for the garage, twinging hip be damned, but then stop just inside.
Mrs. Sanderson said Ephemeral left hours ago.
Even if I managed to stop the jet, which I now realize is long gone, would that be the right thing to do? The note sounded very clear. She made a decision, and it has far more to do with her life than it does with mine. The classic it’s not you, it’s me.
But it is me too.
What can I offer her to change her mind except promises that I can be different? That I’ll work less, call my family, and find meaning that doesn’t have to do with clawing my way up in a never-ending trajectory in the hopes of someday buying satisfaction, if not real happiness.
All of it will be little more than words.
I’m smart enough to know real change takes intelligence, and real intelligence comes from change. It doesn’t come from vague promises about a future.
I glance at the car. I’m only a few feet away.
Even if I got on the jet and went to Ephemeral as soon as it touched back down, I couldn’t just tell her that what we had last night was more than just a deep conversation and a moment of temporary insanity. That it was so much more than attraction.
This is something I have no experience in, and I would never utter empty words.
I might be a tool, but I’m not the right tool for the job.
She was right about that.
Stalk her. Put hidden cameras in her house. Buy a mask.
I actually chuckle and shake my head at Mrs. Sanderson’s eager words. I know for a fact that she lives all alone in that huge house. Her husband passed last year. One morning months ago, when I saw her outside, I asked if she was getting on okay, and she said she was, but even then, she seemed lonely. I took that at face value and continued backing out of the garage, putting it out of my mind.
For years, I thought the only thing I could do to make things right with my family was to keep on providing for them, even after my mom wrote to the company—she didn’t have my home address—to ask that I stop because they had more than enough and didn’t need anything else. I saw that as a challenge. Five thousand dollars a month for rent, bills, groceries, payments, and my brothers’ tuition wasn’t enough, so I started sending ten. When the extra money was returned by a bank draft in a registered envelope I had to sign for, I sent twenty. The response? Just a typed letter I had to sign for again, thanking me and saying the extra would be divided and placed into accounts for my brothers and one for a charity they would decide on together and donate to bi-annually.
I now realize that I was only assuaging my own conscience. I was providing because I always provided, but even after I had more than enough money for all of us to retire and live good lives, I was empty. I knew what I needed was them, but giving money and looking after them from a distance was far easier than risking their rejection of me again.
I didn’t go back even when I realized there was no betrayal and rejection.
What the fuck was wrong with me?
What the fuck is wrong with me currently?
I’m certainly not going to go into full-blown stalker mode, but I could start paying attention to the people in my life. From my employees to my family to old friends and possibly new ones that I could make if I stop working every hour of the day and holding myself to an impossible standard. I could check in on my neighbor who is so clearly and obviously lonely. I could call my mom and brothers and ask them if they’ll be open to meeting with me. I could go back to therapy and be one hundred percent honest about where I’m at this time.