Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
I hit dial.
She picks up after the second ring, her voice coming off as a long-distance hug. “Grizz?”
“You’ll never believe what I’m standing in front of right now.”
A pause. “What?”
“Where did Mom always dream of going? And why?”
There’s a quiet laugh on the other end, soft and sad. “You’re in Paris, in front of the Eiffel Tower?”
I look up at the neon tower flickering above me. “Halfway correct.”
Eliza laughs. “That’s right… you’re in Vegas to play the Spades.”
“Yeah.”
“She would’ve loved that,” Eliza says finally, sharing with me the grief that remains after losing her. “Remember how she used to talk about the lights? Said she wanted to see the world shine at night.”
I swallow hard. “Yeah. I remember.”
The silence that follows isn’t empty, it’s full. Of memory. Of everything we don’t say.
“I miss her,” she says quietly.
“Me too.”
I turn away from the tower, watching the tourists take selfies in front of fake Paris, all smiling. You’d think they were in front of the real one. I head back toward the hotel. “How’s Dad?”
Eliza sighs. “Good days and bad,” she says. “You know how it is.”
I nod, though she can’t see it. “Yeah.”
Eliza is older than me by two years and we were as close as two siblings could be growing up. Where I got all of Dad’s enmity, she mostly got his apathy, as did our mother. We were a trio, and Eliza and my mom were my guiding lights in the hell my father created. Mom died two years ago of liver cancer.
“Wish I could be there to help out,” I say, always fighting off the guilt that Eliza is strapped with our father and I’m off living my life.
“Liar,” she teases softly. “But you do enough by paying for the part-time care to help me out, which is top-notch.”
Our dad insists on living in his home and Eliza has not been able to talk him out of it. He’s still functioning and able to take care of his own physical needs. While he only intermittently recognizes people to deep degrees, he’s able to shower and dress himself, cook meals and stick to a written schedule. But he does need more supervision than Eliza can handle with her full-time job as a dental hygienist, and so we have a paid companion who stays with him several hours a day to keep an eye on him. Even with that help, Eliza is still over there every day to make sure he remains safe and to ensure he’s not deteriorating.
My sister is an absolute saint.
“How are you doing?” she asks, voice singsong in that way that tells me she wants to gossip. “Are you staying out of trouble?”
“For the moment,” I assure her. “I can’t promise what that will look like in five minutes.”
“You’re going to get traded if you don’t settle down,” she chides, but that’s as far as her advice will go. She once tried to get into it with me and I quelled her well-intentioned wisdom, much the way I silenced Daisy the other night. Both women are clear; my demons take priority.
“I got a new PR rep Langley is insisting on,” I say, unsure why that popped out. It’s typically information that would be irrelevant to meaningful conversation with my sister since she knows I burn through them pretty quick.
Her attention is piqued. “Oh, do tell. What’s so special about this person that you’d mention… her?”
“Yeah, it’s a her.”
“Aah,” she drawls knowingly. “A girl.”
“Woman,” I correct. “Her name’s Daisy and she’s an investigative journalist who got fired from her last job and used some type of connection to land as my babysitter.”
Eliza is silent for a moment before she says, “I’m understanding the words, but the tone… you don’t sound bitter about it. What does that mean?”
“No fucking clue,” I admit, and then tell my sister an honest truth because she’s the only one who has earned my full trust. “There’s something about her I like.”
“Like?” she asks curiously. “Her methods, her delivery, her zest for life? Or… romantically?”
I snort a laugh. “Not romantic, and to answer your question, I just like her as a person.”
I don’t dare say that I think Daisy is gorgeous and sexy because Eliza would give me shit. I sure as hell won’t mention that I kissed her in a bar to get her to shut up. Besides, that’s not the issue. The problem is in her character and the fact I find her genuine is cause for concern. A woman like that could be a danger to my carefully erected walls.
“Well,” Eliza drawls dramatically, “sounds to me like you should enjoy working with this new PR person. And… if it just so happens to turn into something—”
“Goodbye, Eliza,” I say, cutting her off. I don’t want to hear about such things, especially when I’ve been thinking about that kiss Daisy and I had as much as how smoothly she absorbed the information about my father.