Total pages in book: 180
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
I don’t know why. Something about them being doorways or some other such supernatural nonsense. Hawke knows. He studies all the urban legends. There’s another one Weston and Shelburne Falls share, as well. Pay to pass. Throwing a coin—an offering—over the bridge between our two towns. I don’t know where that tradition came from, either.
There are others, none of them ever concerning me. I’ve leaned into mirrors and crossed bridges without paying, and maybe been followed by a car with its headlights off here or there… It’s just fun to think it’s real.
Well, not fun, maybe.
Comforting. We need our traditions. It adds hope that the world still has mystery.
But it doesn’t. That’s why we have books. And movies and theater and video games to escape into. Many people between our two towns love distractions like that.
Like racing. Around and around and they’re never going anywhere. What’s the point? I just want to go forward.
The scent of pizza fills the shop, and I prop open the front door to let fresh air in. Grabbing two more empty platters from the case, I throw a glance at the mirror again, smiling at the idea of tempting fate some night and seeing how long I can lean before I scare myself and run. Maybe I believe a little.
Pushing through the kitchen door, I hear dishes clank and look over, seeing my mom at the sink with one of my aprons on.
“Mom, what are you doing?” I drop the empty trays on the worktable.
My mother stands with her hands in dishwater because she thinks it’s faster than using the machine and wastes less water. Which it doesn’t. I know what I’m doing.
“How else am I going to see you?” She looks over at me, taking the faucet hose and spraying one plate after another clean. “You get home after dinner—sometimes not even until I’m in bed—and then you’re gone before I wake up.”
I come to her side and shut off the faucet. I tuck a piece of her dark brown hair back up into the clip she used to pin up the rest.
“I’ll get into a groove.” I hand her a dry towel for her hands. “Things will slow down.”
“When?” she fires back. “January?”
I pause, instantly seeing the flinch on her face. She knows the last thing that would be helpful is making it sound like I’m disappointing her. I’ll just think I need to work harder.
Finally, she smiles, blinking a slow apology, and I’m almost irritated by how fast she can switch gears. By the time she became Katherine Caruthers, though, she knew how to handle my father, three teenage boys, and addiction. I kind of wish I’d gotten more inexperienced parents, but they knew all the tricks by the time I arrived. They were home for dinner every night and pancakes on Sundays. And while they took my phone at night to force a good night’s sleep on me, they pretended they didn’t know that I had a tablet and a laptop.
She takes a plate, using the towel to dry dishes, instead.
“Are you complaining that people like my bakery?” I ask, but don’t wait for a reply. “I’m busy. This is a good thing.”
Yes, I’m busier than I would like, and I’d love to manage time for maybe a social life—and sleep—but I’m handling it. We knew this would take time to figure out.
“It is a good thing,” she says. “I’m so proud of you.”
“I can do this on my own.” I gently take her towel and dry the dishes myself. “I have a staff.”
She lowers her gaze, her warm eyes filled with worry and things unspoken. Things she still feels guilt over with my brother.
“I know you’re there if I need you,” I tell her.
It’s the best I can do to ease her mind. I know she’s there, even though she wasn’t for Jared.
We’re quiet, and I dry some more plates and put them away as I feel her attention on me.
I glance at her, seeing her mouth slightly open like she wants to say more. “What?” I ask.
She doesn’t seem to breathe for a moment, finally shaking her head. “Can you be free Saturday after two? For the rest of the day?”
“Why?”
“Madoc and Fallon are having everyone over.” She takes more plates from me, stacking them on the shelf. “Lucas’s flight is late. They’ll have a cookout, some fireworks…”
I unplug the sink, not hearing the water drain over the sound of my heart in my ears.
He barely stayed.
Once he sells the house, there’ll be no reason for him to return. Ever.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’ll try.”
If he’s leaving, then I don’t think I want to see him. What’s the point? Giving him a whole evening when he’ll never spare five minutes for us again?
My mother moves behind me, starting to leave, but she stops and turns.