Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71726 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71726 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“Kind of, but she never made meatloaf, did she?”
Charlie shook his head. “I didn’t want to make something she used to make. I didn’t want it to taste like she was still there when she wasn’t.”
With a wave of vertigo that comes from realization, Jack thought of the meals Charlie had made in those first few months. They were plain and simple and balanced—nothing like their mother’s slapdash combinations of whatever had been on sale at the market or in season in the garden. She’d been a joyful and absent-minded cook. Charlie approached the task with military precision.
“Do you like cooking?”
It was something else he’d never thought of before. But he’d had a lot of time to think lately.
“I don’t mind it,” Charlie said slowly.
As always, Charlie seemed to be measuring his words. His revelations were as precise as his cooking.
After an awkward few minutes in which they both, as if by mutual agreement, shoved food in their mouths so words were impossible, Charlie said, “I saw Vanessa the other day. She said to tell you hello and that you’re an asshole for never hanging out anymore.”
Guilt and irritation jangled through him. Vanessa had been his friend since high school. The two of them and their friends Ed and Sarah used to meet up monthly for burgers and beers at a bar they’d frequented since before they were legal.
Other than those monthly meet-ups, Jack had never been very social—he was easily bored by small talk and preferred sitting around a fire or walking in the woods to dinner parties and birthday parties; casual fucks with few words exchanged to first dates—but since the incident with Davis, Jack had canceled more often than not. He hadn’t been in any fit state to socialize and he certainly hadn’t wanted to broadcast the humiliation of trusting someone who turned out to be a snake.
Though logically he knew the fault lay with Davis, he felt like a sucker, and learning he couldn’t trust his own judgment where Davis was concerned left him doubting it in general.
“Yeah, I’ll give her a call,” Jack mumbled.
“You all have a fight or something?”
“No,” Jack snapped. “We’re not ten years old and we didn’t have a fight.” Charlie raised a calm eyebrow and Jack felt even worse. “I’ve just been...” He started to say busy but it was so patently untrue.
“Feeling sorry for yourself,” Charlie finished.
Happy that Charlie had finally said something he could legitimately be pissed at instead of just being in a permanently shitty mood, Jack said, “Screw you.”
Charlie’s expression was impassive and he raised one massive shoulder in a shrug.
“It’s not unwarranted. I just wish you’d get over it.”
“Get over it? How about your best friend and collaborator who you’ve trusted and worked with for a decade totally betrays you and screws you over and steals something important to you and we’ll see how quickly you get over it, hmm?”
“Bro, I’m not saying Davis doesn’t deserve all your anger. He’s an asshole and he did a terrible thing. But you don’t deserve to be this angry. And you’re not drawing. You’re never not drawing. Not since you were a little kid. I just don’t like to see you like this.”
“Yeah, well, sorry you have to. I’ll try to get over it so you aren’t inconvenienced,” Jack snapped, more hurt than he could explain.
“You know that’s not what I meant,” Charlie said stiffly. He took Jack’s empty plate and his own into the kitchen and Jack was glad for the reprieve and furious he couldn’t be the one beating a retreat.
Damn bones for breaking and gravity for functioning and greedy, egotistical bastards for being greedy, egotistical bastards.
“Sorry,” Jack muttered.
He knew Charlie couldn’t hear him.
* * *
A few days later, a storm blew in while Simon was out walking the pack. It started as a shower that sent Mayonnaise and Pickles scampering inside, but within twenty minutes was a gusting squall that darkened the sky and drove rain sideways against the windows.
Jack paced. Well. Jack swung himself back and forth in front of the living room window on his crutches until he had to stop because it was too tiring. It hadn’t had the same effect, anyway.
After another ten minutes, he lowered himself to the floor gingerly and built up a fire, wanting the animals to be able to warm up when they got home.
Yeah, the animals. It’s definitely them that you want to warm up.
After another ten, he brought armloads of towels from the bathroom to the couch so he could dry the pack off when they got home.
After another ten, he was able to admit he was worried. Puddles hated the rain. Rat was so small, and...and... He huffed out a breath.
Simon. He was worried about Simon.
Simon felt like part of the pack.
As if conjured by the thought, Simon burst through the door, a sodden, dripping mess. Pirate, seeming unperturbed, made a beeline for the fire and began to clean herself, and Rat followed, shaking off her skinny legs as she went; Dandelion ran right to the kitchen in hopes of a snack.