Total pages in book: 198
Estimated words: 186242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 931(@200wpm)___ 745(@250wpm)___ 621(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 931(@200wpm)___ 745(@250wpm)___ 621(@300wpm)
The fact she called Mrs. Jones the Antichrist too never got old. “Yup. He asked me to call him. Twice.”
“Mm-hmm. Probably because his album flopped and everyone is talking about how bad it is.”
I smiled.
She hummed thoughtfully for a moment. “You’re better off without him, you remember that, right?”
“I know.” Because I did know. If I had stayed with him . . . we never would have gotten married, even if he’d been in his late forties. We never would have had kids. I would have been in the shadows the rest of my life. I would never have been a real priority to someone that I had supported with every inch of my soul.
I could never forget that. I wouldn’t. I was so much better off without him.
We talked for a few more minutes, and I was just wrapping up the phone call when I heard a car door slamming shut outside the window and peered out.
The restored Bronco was leaving; I had only seen it gone twice in the time I’d been here. The other car was still there though, the hatchback that had to belong to Amos’s uncle, Johnny. I couldn’t see into the driver’s seat, but I had a feeling it was Mr. Rhodes leaving. Tobias. Not that I’d call him that out loud. He didn’t want me to call him anything from the way he’d acted two days ago.
But there was nothing wrong with making sure the boy was doing okay, was there?
With both his cell phone and mine in my pockets, I carried the single can of chicken noodle soup I’d been carrying around for weeks down the stairs and crossed the gravel leading toward the main house, eyeing the entry to the property to make sure the SUV didn’t suddenly turn back. I wasn’t even embarrassed by how fast I hustled up to the deck and knocked on the door, twice, hopeful.
I heard a “One sec!” from inside, and maybe three later, the door opened and the man I’d met at the hospital was standing there with a slight smile on his face that grew wider after a moment. “Hi,” the good-looking man said. He wasn’t as tall as Mr. Rhodes . . . Was he a Mr. Rhodes too? He didn’t look at all like him, not even a little bit. Their features and colorings were totally different. So were their builds. If anything, Amos looked like a blended-up version of both of them.
Maybe he was related to his mom?
“Hi,” I told him, suddenly feeling shy. “We met at the emergency room, remember? Is Amos okay?” I held up my offering a little. “It isn’t homemade, but I brought him a can of soup.”
“Want to ask him yourself?” He smiled so wide, I couldn’t help but give him one right back.
Yeah, he and Mr. Rhodes were definitely not related.
I wondered again if I’d find out what the situation with Amos’s mom was like. Maybe she was in the military, deployed. Or maybe they were divorced and lived far away? Hadn’t Mr. Rhodes said another man’s name when he’d brought up the boy’s mom? I had so many questions and way too much time to think about business that wasn’t mine.
“Can I?” I asked, hesitating, knowing I should damn well just go back to the garage apartment before I got in trouble. It wasn’t like Amos’s dad had been all that happy to see me the last time we’d seen each other.
Much less the first time.
Or never. He was never happy to see me.
Johnny stepped back with a nod. His eyes seemed to scan the area behind me, and a crease formed between his eyebrows like he was confused. But whatever he was thinking over must have not been that important because he seemed to shrug it off before gesturing me forward. “Come in. He’s in his room.”
“Thanks.” I smiled and followed after him once he closed the door.
The house was the epitome of rustic and cute. Light-colored floors led the path through the foyer, past a cracked door that a quick glance in told me was a half bath, and straight ahead, a cathedral ceiling opened over an area that consisted of a living room and a kitchen on the right. In the living area were a single gray love seat and two scarred leather recliners. A wood-burning stove was set up in the corner. There was a milk crate working as a side table with a lamp on it. The kitchen was small with green-tiled counters and cupboards the same shade as the log cabin walls with black appliances. There was a plastic coffee container next to a coffee maker, an old jar with sugar, and more things around the counters.
The place was really, really clean and organized. Or maybe every man I’d ever known and lived with was just messy, because for two males living here, it was pretty spectacular. It suddenly made me feel like a slob for having clothes scattered all over the garage apartment, hanging off doors and chairs.