Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
She’s been directing me all morning. According to Sarah, they normally have five or six stops, but this week the entire back seat of the truck is packed with brown paper bags, and two coolers in the truck bed hold the overflow.
We’ve already made nine stops. Four houses had visits from kind neighbors with snowblowers, leaving me to shovel paths to five front doors so Sarah could politely chat with the local elderly before handing off their meals. They’ve all greeted her with a smile and me with wary curiosity.
Every one of them has mentioned that Cold River Post article.
“No, this is going to take until well after lunch.” Sarah’s still arguing with Jon while I crank up the heat. “Are you nuts? I am not bringing Carson with us!”
I shake my head to second that idea before turning into the gas station.
She doesn’t acknowledge me, too busy glowering at the dashboard. “So, ask my mother to watch Egan for an hour. Or, hey, crazy idea, take him with you. You can handle it. I have complete faith in you.” She ends the call. “I swear to God, if I didn’t love him so much, I would murder him!” She smooths her palm over her rapidly growing belly. “And of course, Jon won’t get any details from the principal. He’ll just nod and agree and expect me to figure it all out later.”
“Take a breath or two. You need to keep those things cookin’ inside you till spring.”
She follows my advice, inhaling deeply.
I pull up to a pump and cut the engine. “What’s going on with Carson?”
“They’ve suspended him for throwing a snowball.”
My eyebrows pop as I give my sister an “Are you kidding me?” look. “For a snowball?”
“Tightly packed, at another boy’s face, close range. There was blood,” she elaborates.
“Well, that changes things,” I concede.
“It’s not the first time. There’s usually a reason. I’ll bet it was that little shit, Alex Tippins. He’s always saying things about our family to rile Carson up.”
A memory strikes me then. “Remember when Jay made snowballs and sprayed water on them so they’d harden?” A few fine layers of mist, patience, and freezing temperatures made those things deadly.
“And then he threw one at the Shepherds’ truck as they were driving by? Dented the hell out of it. Vince was so startled, he almost went into the ditch. Yeah, I remember. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Dad so angry.” She shakes her head. “Sometimes Carson reminds me of how Jay was at this age. He doesn’t think or care about consequences.”
I sense Sarah’s mood darkening as her worry grows. “Do you want to go to the school after we’ve filled up?” She’s not going to be able to focus on much of anything else.
She considers it a beat. “It’s too far to drive him all the way home and then come back. We’d have to bring him with us.”
“He can squeeze up here. And I’ve got rope and a gag to keep him quiet.”
She bursts with laughter. “God, why did I think this was a good idea?” She gestures at her stomach. “I’m forty years old, I’m exhausted, and my husband is useless when it comes to raising the five children we already have.”
“He knows his bison, though.”
“They can have his offspring from now on.” She hands me the Landry corporate credit card before reaching for her phone, I assume, to tell Jon to stay put.
I slide out of the driver’s side and set to filling the tank, the cold metal of the pump biting into my bare hands. This is the most time Sarah and I have spent together since I was released, and the first time it’s been just the two of us. We’re not much closer than strangers anymore, even though we share so much.
But slowly, we’re getting to know each other again. These versions of us. Like, Sarah’s learning quickly that I don’t give a shit about gossip, I don’t talk much, and I reveal even less, much to her annoyance. I’m learning that Sarah will complain about Jon’s lack of child-rearing abilities, but she thrives on being in the thick of everything where her children are involved. She complains that she’s exhausted, and yet she’s called my mom three times since we left with last-minute ideas to boost sales around the holidays—sleigh rides, daytime firepits with hot chocolate—all things that add work to her own plate.
For the first time in forever, I feel hope for my sister and me to repair what I broke.
“Fancy meetin’ you here.”
My body instantly tenses as Hank Murphy appears.
There goes a good morning …
Strolling in, he leans against the back of our truck, peeling the cellophane wrap off a pack of cigarettes before letting it fall to the ground. “Thought any more about my question?”