Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
He nods and Mama stands. I do too.
I step into her for a hug, wanting her to know that even if she can’t support me, I still love her. It’s tight, brief, and perfumed with fabric softener that used to bring me comfort but now feels a bit odd.
“Be careful,” she says. It’s what she says when storms roll in or when I drive home after a visit, and I take it for the peace offering it is. She then turns and moves into the kitchen.
Dad stands and walks me to the door, claps my shoulder, and squeezes. It lands like approval and warning both. “Just so you know… I understand where you’re comin’ from, just as I understand where your mama is comin’ from. I’m trying to walk the line.”
“I know.”
“But… I am proud of you. I need you to know that.”
A lump forms in my throat, and I impulsively lean in for a quick backslap hug. He seems surprised, then returns a hard squeeze.
The air outside feels fresh, and I feel free. I have no clue where I stand with my family. I sit in my truck with my hands on the wheel and stare through the windshield until the pines stop being outlines and start being trees again.
On the way back through town, I pass Chesty’s. Pap’s in the doorway talking with Floyd, both of them laughing at something. There’s a fresh poster taped to the glass that reads Books and Bourbon.
“What the hell?” I murmur, pulling over to the curb in front of them. I roll down the window. “What you fellas up to?”
Pap smirks and Floyd’s eyes sparkle. “You’re going to host a reading of your new book, and Pap’s going to get everyone liquored up.”
“That right, huh?”
“That’s right,” Pap says. “And I’d like a case of your books to sell. You’re famous now, son, and you’re going to put Chesty’s on the map.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “All right.”
“Tomorrow… seven p.m.,” Floyd says, giving me a wink. “And you might want to pick one of the spicier scenes.”
“How do you know there are spicy scenes in there?”
“Your agent Derek gave me a copy. I’ve been reading it at the store when it’s slow. It’s some mighty fine writing.”
The weight melts off my shoulders. Somewhere between my parents’ porch and right now, the knot in my chest loosened a notch. I’m not naive enough to think one conversation fixed anything with my mama and daddy, but I can see change blowin’ from right here.
“I really appreciate your support,” I tell the men. “It means a lot.”
Floyd’s features harden just a bit. “You’re a son of Whynot. We’re proud of what you’ve accomplished, and I bet the town will ultimately come through for you. Just be patient.”
Seems I have no choice but to follow that advice. “See you tomorrow evening then.”
I pull away and all of that is already forgotten. I don’t care about my newfound fame, my parents’ struggle, the wrath of the church community, or the people of this town.
All I care about is Penny coming over tonight and I get to spend time with her.
CHAPTER 15
Sam
My favorite scent in the entire world is fresh-cut grass and right now, that’s what my house smells like. That’s because when I got home late this afternoon, I got on my brand-new lawnmower that’s been sitting in one of my four garage bays. I enjoyed a beer while I made long passes over the thick, lush grass. Then I came inside and opened all the windows, including the massive glass doors on the back of the house, to let in the cool spring air.
It’s so pleasing to my senses that I’ve almost completely let go of the impossible meeting with my parents a few hours ago. It’s funny… how scent can pull you from one mood and ease you into another.
Of course, much of the reason I’ve put my mama’s unreasonableness aside is the fact that Penny will be here soon.
Boxes line the hallway, still full and in need of unpacking, but the kitchen’s put together enough to fake competence. I doubt Penny had time to eat during the dinner rush and probably was too busy closing down and cleaning up to spare it a thought.
I decided to make the one thing I’m semi-decent at, and that’s chicken pot pie. It’s resting now on a wire rack, steam curling out of the slotted vents in the perfectly flaky dough. I’ve got a bottle of white wine opened and chilled, and have no clue if it’s any good. I only know that when I stopped in at Miller’s, which is Whynot’s combo gas station and wine shop, it was suggested to me.
I pull two wineglasses from the butler’s pantry and glance around. It’s the first time this place has felt like a home instead of a project, and I’m not sure if that’s because I finally hung a few pictures… or because Penny’s going to spend the evening with me.