Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
The idea of leaving makes my chest go tight. The idea of staying does too.
I look around the shop. At the cars in various stages of repair. At the oil stains on the concrete that I could mop with my eyes closed. At the workbench where I’ve sat so many nights, alone, with a beer and an engine block as company.
The walls feel closer than they used to.
Outside, beyond the big bay door, I can see the narrow strip of gravel that leads to the road. Beyond that, Salemburg stretches out in its familiar, small-town lines—one stoplight, a couple of churches, the diner, the gas station, the same houses I’ve driven past a thousand times. I know every crack in the pavement, every pothole that’ll rattle your teeth.
I also know something else: I’m tired.
Not just physically. Bone-deep.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe I do need to get gone for a bit. Clear my head before I make a mistake I can’t take back.
“Where exactly are you sending me?” I ask cautiously.
She smiles, a little secretive. “Let me worry about that. You just take your grumpy ass home and put some clean clothes in a bag. And maybe throw in that ratty old thermal shirt so you don’t freeze.”
“I got plenty of clothes,” I grumble. “And I’m not grumpy.”
She arches an eyebrow. I sigh.
“Fine,” I amend. “I’m a little grumpy.”
“A little,” she echoes, amused. Then she steps forward and rises on her toes to kiss my cheek. “Go, Pops. Before you change your mind.”
Her lips are warm. Her shampoo smells like vanilla. For a second, she’s five again, clutching my hand, asking if monsters are real.
I swallow past the sudden lump in my throat. “What about you? You gonna be okay with…” I jerk my chin toward the side door, where Smoke disappeared. “That situation?”
She rolls her eyes. “I’ve survived worse. You go de-stress. I’ll handle my mess.”
I don’t like it. Every instinct in me screams to stay, to watch, to make sure she doesn’t get hurt again. But I also know that hovering hasn’t helped. It’s just made her dig her heels in harder.
“You call me,” I say, pointing a finger at her, “if he steps even a toe out of line.”
She salutes. “Yes, sir.”
“I mean it, Honey. I don’t care if I’m halfway across the country, you call, and I’ll be on the road before you hang up.”
“I know.” Her eyes soften. “I always know that.”
We stand there for a moment, looking at each other. There’s worry in her gaze. There’s worry in mine. But there’s trust too. We’ve earned that the hard way.
Finally, I nod. “All right. One week. You got me for seven full days out of your hair.”
“Best early Christmas gift ever,” she teases.
“Watch it, girl,” I growl, but there’s no heat in it.
She laughs and heads toward the side door, wiping her hands on her jeans. “I’m gonna go talk to Smoke before he wears a hole in the porch,” she calls over her shoulder. “Seriously. Go home. Pack. I’ll swing by after dinner with the details.”
I watch her go, feeling that familiar mix of pride and fear twist in my gut.
Vacation … when was the last time I took one of these?
Three
Holley
The disconnect notice is bright, cheery yellow. Why do companies do this? Use stand-out colors as if I didn’t already know. I look around me as if to see if anyone can tell the notice in my hand. Yes, I know I’m behind on the bill, but damn do the neighbors need to see it like a beacon saying I don’t have my shit together?
Maybe to them it’s like a Post-It. note Like some harmless reminder. Like it’s not threatening to shut my entire life off at eleven fifty-nine pm next Tuesday. There is nothing harmless about this paper, at least where my mental health is concerned. Stress feeds my anxiety and anxiety feeds my stress. I’m on a hamster wheel of uncertainty that I can’t get off of.
I stand in the gravel driveway with my mail in one hand and that stupid yellow slip in the other, the cold mountain air biting my cheeks. The sky is that washed-out winter blue, the pines so dark they are almost black against it, and my breath puffs in front of me while I read the words again just to make sure I didn’t hallucinate them on the way up from town.
FINAL NOTICE – PAST DUE AMOUNT: $438.12
SERVICE DISCONNECT DATE: DECEMBER 9
“Of course,” I mutter to no one but the cold mountain air surrounding me.
Because why not.
Behind me, my cabin looks… fine. Cute, even. My new beginning isn’t this fresh start I hoped for.
The paint is a little faded, but the porch railings are solid. The wreath on the door is one I got at a second hand store and fluffed up with fake berries. If you squint, it looks like something from a catalog. Okay maybe it’s magazine picture perfect only in my mind.