Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
His laugh, like so many things tonight, takes me by surprise. The sonic boom of it startles me, bounces off the walls and floods the room.
“What’s so funny?” I venture after a few seconds of him laughing and shaking his head in seeming disbelief.
The humor in his eyes, if it was ever genuine, dissipates, leaving his gaze cool, flat. “The irony of you saying you don’t want to see someone hurt me.”
“I-I don’t.”
“No one in my whole life has ever hurt me like you did.”
Shock shuts me up. I’m struck dumb, but the accusations he doesn’t bother voicing, the grievances I didn’t realize were so deeply held, screech in the silence. They blare from his eyes, fixed on me, not even a blink interrupting the unrelenting intensity of his stare.
“I’m the one who asked for the divorce, yeah,” I say, suddenly unsure of something I should be certain of. “But we agreed.”
“Is that how you remember it? Because I remember the worst possible thing happening to us both, to this whole family, and you shutting me out. I remember us losing…”
Don’t say it. Don’t you say his name. I can’t hear his name right now. Not tonight.
“Never mind,” he sighs, and it’s my reprieve. He grips the back of his neck. “This shit is ancient history. I’m too tired for it.”
I should press, demand that he finish the thought, but it, like so many other things we stopped saying when things got hard, remains buried under the rubble of our silence.
“I’m gonna go,” he says and heads to the front door. “Early start tomorrow.”
“Sure. Okay.”
I trail him into the foyer. When he pulls open one of the wide French doors, in the sliver of space, in the breath of a moment, I see his Rover idling in the driveway. The interior light is on, Vashti’s face clearly visible, her eyes alert and trained on my front porch. On Josiah. Her expression brightens with a smile, even as her glance drifts over his shoulder and briefly meets mine. In that tiny space, an understanding forms between us, and I know why we never clicked. She’s not sure about me. About Josiah and me. It makes sense. Our lives tangle, vines running through our kids and our business. We have a history. A long, turbulent one. And even though we’re no longer married, it’s obvious we’re still connected in so many ways. I can’t blame her. I’d wonder too.
I could tell her she has nothing to worry about. The passion, the love, the fierce devotion that once existed between Josiah and me? I burned that to the ground long ago. Whatever remains is as cold and stiff as the look he slants over his shoulder at me before the door closes behind him.
Chapter Three
Yasmen
Everything looks great, Yas,” Hendrix says, surveying Sky Square.
Food trucks boasting restaurant logos and menus ring the area. Main Street has been blocked off and café tables and chairs dot the cobblestone road. Fairy lights wind through the trees, twinkling even though the sun hasn’t set and there’s still daylight. Vendors scurry, making last-minute preparations before the great citizens of Skyland descend in the next hour seeking good food and a good time.
“Thank you,” I say, scanning the scene one last time. “I’m glad we got out here early to make sure everything’s ready to go, though.”
“Between the tostadas,” Soledad says, licking sauce from the corner of her mouth, “the hot dogs, and the pulled pork, I think I’ve had a little of everything and Food Truck Friday hasn’t even officially started.”
“I know these businesses appreciate all the revenue and the traffic tonight will generate,” Hendrix says, tossing what’s left of a taco into a nearby trash can. “How’s it feel to be Head Boss Babe again? Running thangs?”
I laugh and wave off her question, though I must admit that after barely leaving the house, being barely able to function for so long, it feels good to be doing something that benefits our community. When we first transitioned Grits from a mom-and-pop shop on the south side to our current location in the heart of Skyland, Josiah and I decided to get in good with the locals and endear ourselves to other business owners. I strategically assumed an active role with the Skyland Association, an organization designed to increase community engagement, foster economic development, and strengthen ties between the private and the public sectors. I went from being the chairwoman, spearheading community activities on the regular, to being…well, not very involved at all, but Food Truck Friday signals to the board that I’m back and ready to go.
“I think we’ve checked all the vendors except Grits,” I say, nodding toward our truck branded with the Grits logo. A few employees work the truck counter, attired in T-shirts and close-fitting caps, hair carefully hidden. There’s no scrambling. No last-minute scurrying. Vashti has achieved the same order and calm for tonight’s event that she elicits in the restaurant. I choose to be grateful. Her involvement means I’m more freed up to invest much-needed quality time with my kids without worrying Josiah has to handle everything at work on his own.