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)
Was he on a rooftop like a sniper? I don’t know. And even when I ask him questions, I only do it to feel sane. A normal, sane person would ask those questions.
Molly Sanford stole my sanity when she dipped her feather in ink and sealed my nephew’s fate.
“Jack, come meet Francesca’s parents.” Eloise derails the plan.
He shrugs at me and reroutes, carrying his confident self into the living room.
Maybe my mom kept her discovery to herself.
Nope.
Dad’s in a wide stance beside the sofa, arms crossed and hands tucked into his armpits. It makes his chest look puffed out. It’s the stance he’s taken for years with men I’ve dated. Mom has a tight smile and laser eyes on me.
“Jack, this is Taylor and Erin.” It’s hard to read Eloise. Maybe she knows. Perhaps she doesn’t. Either way, she’s old-fashioned enough to insist on proper introductions.
“Hi.” Jack offers a quick nod and a pleasant smile.
No “Nice to meet you.”
No “I have the utmost respect for your daughter.”
Nothing.
“Jack’s renting my garage. He plays the piano,” Eloise says.
My parents look constipated. It’s killing them to act like their daughter wasn’t sucking on his dick twenty minutes earlier. Eloise might be a savior. However, a real savior would have fixed the lock on the bedroom door or, at least mentioned, it was broken.
My mom presses her hand to her neck and clears her throat. “Francesca is a brilliant pianist. Or at least she was. It’s been a while since I’ve heard her play. She might be in the middle of a midlife crisis.”
“I played yesterday.” I smile. “For Jack.” I bat my eyes. “Naked.”
Just before the collective gasp, I roll my eyes. “I’m kidding.”
Jack? He’s back in soldier mode like one of those guards at Buckingham Palace. They don’t crack under any amount of pressure. Not a blink. Not a grin. Nothing.
My dad scowls, and my mom offers a little “tee-hee.”
Eloise snorts. “Francesca, don’t tease your parents like that.” She rocks in her chair. “Jack’s a perfect gentleman.”
Mom’s gaze shoots at him, but he keeps a soft, neutral expression.
“How old are ya, Jack?” Dad asks.
Jack scratches his jaw. “I’ve lost track.”
“What do you do?” Mom asks.
“Depends on the day. Some days I do a lot, other days not so much.”
I bite back my grin when my parents share a funny look.
“Thanks for the introduction,” Jack says. “I’d better get back to work.”
“Bye, Jack.” Eloise continues to either play the part or reside in a bubble.
When the screen door clicks behind Jack, Mom glares at me. “Francesca, what is going on with you? I think you need help. And I think this started before Lynn and Steven died. You’ve been spiraling out of control since John died. Or is this a midlife crisis? Either way, you need to see someone before you ruin your life.”
“I need to water my flowers.” Eloise slowly stands, giving me a sympathetic smile before abandoning me.
“Frannie Pants, we’re worried about you. We love you more than anyone. Don’t push us away. We’ll do whatever it takes to get you the help you need.” Dad sits beside Mom and reaches for her hand in solidarity.
It’s them against me.
They used to do this whenever John and I got in trouble together. They knew they had to stick together if they didn’t want to be railroaded because John and I were always a unified force.
“I’m between jobs. I’m financially independent. I’m taking care of things after my brother’s wife and son killed themselves. I was fortunate enough not to die when the house started on fire. But I’m somehow having a midlife crisis or irrationally grieving and ‘acting out’ because I’m getting laid?”
“Francesca, you were …” Mom clenches her jaw. She can’t even say it. “Doing that while your father and I were in the same house. A house that’s not your house. And you were … doing that with some random guy who lives in a garage and has no manners whatsoever.”
“For the record, he went down on me first, so you can’t say he has ‘no manners whatsoever.’ And yes, I was giving him head in a bedroom with the door closed while other people were in the house. It’s no different than being in a hotel room. The fact that you barged in on us is not my fault. It’s yours. Think of all the times John or I happened to open your unlocked bedroom door without knocking, only to discover that you like to do it doggie style or that Dad wears socks during sex. So before you point fingers and accuse someone of uncouth behavior or suggest that their actions are somehow a ‘crisis,’ maybe you should focus on yourselves. Or maybe you should start giving me some goddamn credit for all the hard work I’ve put into my life, the amount of success I’ve achieved, and how I’ve managed to do it without drinking myself to death and putting a bullet in my head.”