Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Taking the clean dish from him, I dry it. “Why do you want to expedite my trip home? Because I suggested that you help do the dishes?”
“Yes. Eloise and I had a good thing going, and you’re rocking the boat.” He hands me another dish.
“Rocking the boat? What are you calling a good thing? She cooks and cleans, and you … eat?”
“I mow the lawn, pull weeds … I cleaned the chimney. And I chop wood. Oh, and sometimes I fix the neighbor’s toilet.”
“I chopped the wood.” I search through her cabinets to find where the dishes belong.
“Stealing someone’s job doesn’t make it your job. Just like stealing someone’s husband doesn’t make them yours.”
Someone’s a bit chippy tonight.
“Touché. But, for the record, I didn’t want him.”
“You just wanted to have sex with him?”
I dry the next dish, peeking around the corner to see if Eloise is listening to us. “Did someone cheat on you?”
“No,” he scoffs as if it’s ridiculous.
“At least not that you know about, right?”
Jack eyes me with confusion. I wink, and one of his brows lifts a fraction—another tiny crack in his well-practiced composure.
“What are you two chatting about?” Eloise asks, carrying her dishes into the kitchen.
“Jack was just telling me about his family. He’s been married five times. He has twelve kids and four grandchildren. The reason he’s living in your garage is because his current wife made him choose between her and his piano. To be honest, he might have made the right choice. It’s a beautiful Steinway & Sons. However, I haven’t met his wife, so it’s just my biased assumption as a music lover. No offense intended.”
Eloise hands Jack her dishes, eyes big, mouth agape. “Is that … true?”
“Part of it.” He takes her dishes.
“Which part?” she asks, uncovering the pie I brought.
“My piano is beautiful.”
Eloise eyes me, and I confirm with a smile that I made up almost everything.
“Well, I like Jack’s mysterious nature.” She gives his arm a gentle squeeze.
“Does anyone want pie?” I ask.
Jack hands me the last dish. “I’ll pass. Thanks.” A stiff smile accompanies his words.
“I’ll have a piece.” Eloise sets two small plates on the counter.
While I cut and serve the pie, Jack finishes the dishes. “Am I dismissed?” He dries his hands while examining me.
“You are. I’ll save some pie for you.” I give him a toothy grin.
“I’m good. Thanks again, Eloise.”
“Of course, dear.”
Eloise and I eat pie and discuss how the hummingbirds have recently found her feeders. I look forward to a time in my life when the highlight of my day is dinner with friends and hummingbirds. I look forward to the day I don’t feel dead inside because my family needlessly died. Sadly, I don’t think that day will ever come.
“Take the rest of the pie. It was delicious, but I’ll never eat it all,” she says when I stand to leave.
“You sure?”
“Oh yes.”
“Well, thank you, Eloise. It’s been a nice evening—a perfect distraction.” I wrap up the rest of the pie.
“Frankie, I hope you find closure soon to return home in peace. I hope you’ve thought about what I’ve said. We can’t change anything. Don’t let your emotions steal another day of your life. Move on, dear.”
I smile. “I know. Thank you for your concern. Good night.”
“Good night.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
FRANCESCA
It’s a perfect day to shop for new jewelry, especially since Corinne Sanford is at the store. I’ve noticed she doesn’t spend much time here. Living at the top of high society seems to be a job in and of itself—the poor dear.
When I open the chiming door, she and a bearded man glance up and step apart as if I caught them, but I didn’t. At least, I don’t think I did.
“Frances.” She fakes a smile while the dark-haired gentleman in a suit disappears into the back of the store.
“Francesca.” I return an equally fake smile. She knows my name.
As if she didn’t hear me or it doesn’t matter to her, she lifts her chin and clears her throat while adjusting the collar of her white button-down that’s as starched as her smile. Overlapping gold necklaces hang from her pasty white neck that’s streaked red like someone with a beard recently brushed up against her. I’d like to wrap my hands around it and scream at her for bringing such a monster into this world.
“What can I do for you?” she asks.
“I was in the area, so I thought I’d look for something for my mom. Her birthday is next month.”
“Oh,” her face softens. “I can help you with that. What’s your price range?”
I’m jobless, and my mom’s birthday was in January. We went to lunch, and I bought her a new suitcase for her trip to Ireland that she had to cancel because her grandson and daughter-in-law tragically died.
“A hundred?” I shrug.
Corinne’s nose wrinkles.