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)
She killed herself because she lost her son.
The question that hasn’t been answered is why Steven took his life. Because of a knee injury? Maybe I don’t understand kids because I don’t have any. Perhaps there’s nothing logical to interpret from suicide.
“Lynn and Steven called you Frankie.” Eloise touches her neck and clears her throat.
I nod.
“Your brother called you Francesca. Which do you prefer?”
“John called me Francesca because I hated it.” I grin. “It wasn’t funny when we were kids.”
“It’s a lovely name. Why don’t you like it?” She can barely look me in the eyes, and her nerves are more distracting than the heat.
I blow out a slow breath. It’s hard to look back. I hate looking back. “We were twins. And I was upset that he was a boy. I wanted to be the boy. To appease me, my parents said I could be ‘Frankie.’ But, as siblings do, John liked to get under my skin by calling me Francesca, and he did it with such exaggeration.” I chuckle. “Fran-CHESS-ka!”
Eloise rubs her lips together, but it doesn’t hide her smile. “He was full—” In the next breath, that hint of a smile vanishes.
“Full of life,” I murmur, scanning the room for the umpteenth time. “The irony in someone so seemingly full of life just … ending it.”
“Do you still hate the name Francesca?”
God bless her. She’s doing her best to keep things light.
“No. It’s a family name. I abandoned my boy phase when Aiden Walker transferred to our school in the eighth grade. It was also the year my girly curves made their big debut.” I smirk.
“Aiden Walker? Sounds like trouble.” Eloise narrows her blue-gray eyes.
After twenty-five years, just the mention of his name makes me blush. “Oh, he was all kinds of trouble. My parents lost so much sleep over my obsession with him. My mom couldn’t get me to wear a dress for anything. Not church. Not weddings. Not even my Great-Grandma Francesca’s funeral.”
Eloise’s thinning eyebrows lift a fraction.
I slide my hands into the pockets of my shorts. “But Aiden made me want to curl my hair, color my lips deep red, and wear anything that showed off my newly developed breasts and sun-kissed legs.”
“Oh, dear …”
My head dips into a sharp nod, remaining bowed while my blush dissipates. “Oh dear, indeed. His winning smile, smooth voice, and subtle wink blinded me.”
“Let me guess. He was the best athlete. Smart. And cared for his dying grandmother after school.”
“No.” I cough with a partial laugh while lifting my gaze from the scuffed linoleum floor. “He worked on cars with his dad, started smoking our junior year, got his ear pierced our senior year, and barely passed his classes to graduate.”
“Ah, I see. My son is a diesel mechanic who can’t spell to save his life. He hates reading, but he can fix anything with a motor.”
“That was Aiden. And I liked him beyond reason.” I laugh. “Really. There was no good reason to like him other than he looked at me like I was the prettiest thing he had ever seen. So, I left my boy phase and embraced whatever anyone wanted to call me. Francesca, Frankie, Fran, Frannie, or ‘my girl.’ That’s what Aiden called me.”
“Like the song.”
I nod. “But my dad calls me ‘Frannie Pants.’ I’m not sure how that got started, but it stuck.”
After a few moments of silence, Eloise blows out a long breath. “Well, dear, let me know if you need anything.”
I offer a tiny smile. “You’ve done so much, and they adored you. My family won’t ever be able to properly repay you for everything you have done, especially after my brother died.”
She clears her throat and puts on a brave face. “It was my pleasure. And if you need boxes or help packing things, I’m happy to oblige.”
“Thank you.”
The door clicks shut behind her, but then she opens it again. Indecision spreads across her face while she presses her lips into a hard line.
“What is it?” I ask.
It takes several seconds before she looks directly at me. “A few days after the funeral, when everyone had left, I walked around the house.” The discomfort in her expression deepens. “I needed to make sense of everything. And I thought if I …” She shakes her head. “I don’t know. I thought I’d hear them. Or see them. Or feel them. And I thought it might help me understand what happened.”
My head bobs a few times. “I get that.”
“I don’t think Lynn was in the right frame of mind to figure it out. The moment they pronounced Steven dead, I think she died. Taking those pills was nothing more than a formality.” Eloise eyes me with caution.
Again, I nod.
She closes the door and folds her hands in front of her, head bowed. “I found something in Steven’s room. I wasn’t intentionally snooping. It was all very innocent. I walked around the house, opening closet doors and sliding open a drawer or two. I read over Lynn’s whiteboard planner in the kitchen. There wasn’t anything, in particular, I was looking for. But then I stumbled upon something in Steven’s desk drawer.”