Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Mrs. Davis appears moments later, looking very much like a walking, wrinkled old poodle. She’s in white, her poofy hair teased to an obscene height, her smile plastered in place by the finest surgeons in the region. “Tallie Sarkissian! Darling! What a lucky day!” Mrs. Davis frets over, hugging me, and it feels like I’m touching a literal bag of bones. “When Patricia told me it was you waiting down here, I almost didn’t believe her.”
“I’m sorry to drop in like this, Mrs. Davis.”
“Please! Nonsense! And call me Darla.” I almost gag. Darla Davis. “Sit down, sit down, can I have Patricia fetch some tea? No, don’t turn it down, the cookies are lovely and I have a very special blend. Patricia! PATRICIA.”
The young woman reappears, looking serene again. “Yes, miss?”
“The good tea and those cookies I like, please, darling.” Mrs. Davis’s smile suggests Patricia better hurry her ass up or else there will be nasty consequences. She turns back to me the moment Patricia is gone. Her hands fold in her lap and she sits very straight. “Now, darling, tell me how your mother’s doing?”
I clear my throat and stumble through the usual small talk. Araxie is fine, Mama is always wonderful, Papa takes such good care of her. And my siblings? They’re all perfect, especially Annie, oh yes Annie’s doing well, wasn’t her singing incredible? You should hear her at home, especially in the shower, the acoustics are divine, ha ha ha! Yes, yes, Sam’s good, Davit’s well, no I haven’t heard much from Hovik, and yes Miriam’s out in Boston, married to a doctor, imagine that!
Luckily, we’re interrupted when Patricia arrives with a tea set, cups, and a bowl of crumbly pale-yellow Italian cookies with big globs of crystalline sugar on the top. Patricia pours carefully and retreats once our cups are full.
Mrs. Davis’s gaze never leaves mine. It’s disturbing. “Now, darling, why did you show up on my doorstep this evening, hmm? Patricia mentioned something about Peter? That young boy is always such trouble. I do hope he hasn’t done anything… untoward.”
I look down at my cup, cradling it in both hands. The sides are warm, almost too hot. Mrs. Davis takes a loud, nasty sip as my shoulders slump.
“I hate coming here like this. I really do, but I don’t know where else to go. My father… you know him… he’s very conservative… and my family…”
I swear, her smile stretches to lizard-like proportions. “It’s okay, darling. You’re safe.” She puts her hand on my knee.
I almost gag. Yeah fucking right.
“Peter…”
“Yes? Go on?”
“Well, him and me…”
“It’s okay. You can say it.”
I let out an ugly sob and spill my tea on the floor. “He got me pregnant!”
Brenden
I vault the back fence and land heavily on top of a bush.
It’s not pretty. In my head, I’d swoop over like a professional and gracefully drop to my toes, head already on a swivel searching for enemies, but instead I have to roll awkwardly from a bunch of prickly branches. I come up cursing my bad luck and only belatedly scan the yard.
Same place as the garden party from what feels like forever ago. Now the folding tables and tents are gone, leaving behind a lot of open space between here and the house. I hesitate, mentally going over the map I made of the surrounding area, before slipping along the edge of the yard toward the back windows.
Tallie’s inside. I saw her go in before coming around. The Sarkissian thugs will be watching again very shortly if they keep to their usual pattern. I have maybe five minutes to get in before I risk being spotted. Problem is, I don’t know where the old bastards are right now.
Can’t hesitate. This is part of what it means to be a thief. All my planning, all my quiet, meticulous, careful thought and mapping and calculating, it all disappears on the day and I find myself improvising half this shit anyway.
What’s the old saying? Everyone’s got a plan until they get punched in the face? Consider my face fucking knocked out.
I reach the drain pipe I planned on scaling. It’s cast iron and bolted directly into the masonry, which is lucky for me, since it doesn’t make any noise when I get my fingers underneath. I drag myself up, going faster than is safe, but the back door opens and a woman steps out.
She’s ten feet below. My arms shake as I grip the drain pipe tightly. The woman’s got sandy blond hair and sighs as she lights a cigarette. “Fucking crazy bitch,” she mutters, taking several quick drags. “I swear to Christ, I’m going to kill them one day… and this new girl… can you believe it? Another stray cat… I wonder which of the nightmare grandsons hit this one…” She keeps smoking as I cling to the wall, praying for her to be finished. I didn’t plan on getting stuck here where anyone might see me. If she looks up… if she wants to gaze at the pretty sunset…