Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 119935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
“Yeah, my accent tipped you off, right?”
“Not just that, but the way you stand, too.”
“Stand? New Yorkers stand a certain way?” She laughed.
“Yeah. It’s slacker… More weight is on one leg than the other. It’s also because of how you speak. And you said the word “schmear” when you were back in the kitchen.” He swayed his finger lazily in that direction. “No one here says schmear. We say cream cheese.” He cleared his throat, took a long swallow of coffee, and peered at this paper.
He heard me all the way in the kitchen. I mean, this place isn’t a mausoleum, but geesh. I wasn’t close to him, and I doubt I was yelling. Yeah, I did say schmear. Damn. No wonder Bob was whispering…
Now her curiosity was running amuck. Things weren’t terribly electrifying in Fairbanks when compared to Brooklyn and Manhattan, and this was the most excitement she’d experienced in weeks. She wondered what the man did for a living. What his story was. She wondered what happened to his child even more so now, and where he lived. He was a human puzzle – something sensational to study in depth.
She excused herself, and moments later, she was bringing out his food, as well as the orders for a few other customers. He appeared rather wrapped up in his paper. She rarely saw people with papers anymore. Typically, they took advantage of the free wi-fi, and browsed the news on their cellphones, computers, or iPads. She poured him another cup of coffee, then took a quick bathroom break, and when she returned, Jack was gone.
She felt a little sadness when her gaze found his empty seat. She hadn’t even had the opportunity to say goodbye. Approaching his table, she grabbed the crumpled cash he’d left behind, soon realizing he’d parted ways with a twenty-dollar tip. Shoving it into her pocket, she cleared his table of the half-eaten sandwich, sprinkle of pickle juice from a now gone spear he’d claimed to not want, and empty coffee cup. Jack Currant definitely knew how to make an entrance, as well as an exit…
Chapter Two
The auger worked just fine. This was the fourth catch of the day. The silvery sheefish flopped about, its glossy eyes shimmering under the sun’s rays. Jack made a seasonal pilgrimage to the Yukon river drainage, and Kotzebue by plane, in hopes of getting a couple of the large, prized possessions. His success was average at best. This time, he remained in Fairbanks, on Ballaine Lake. Sometimes it took hours before he could get a bite, but he found it well worth it and far more relaxed. He forwent his usual fishing routine and cut corners, in hopes of saving a bit of time. Hours passed, and he’d made some progress.
Oh yeah, you’re a good one…
He caught another, then another. It wasn’t long before the breeze picked up, and upon checking his watch and looking up at the sun getting lower in the sky, he realized it would soon be time to pick up and go. Gathering the fish he’d caught thus far in gloved hands, he sat on a crate and gutted them. He’d brought plastic bags for his catches of the day, which lay by his feet, waiting for him to clean them up. He slipped each one into an individual bag, then tied the plastic into a knot. In less than an hour, he got three more fish done, and set them all on blocks of ice in a cooler. Gathering his belongings, he got on his rented snowmobile, then made his way to his truck.
This was a routine he knew all too well. Loading the mobile onto the sled deck, he got it situated perfectly onto the truck bed. It would be a long drive home, but he had no worries. His other cooler was full of bottles of water, crisp apples, celery sticks, a ream of crackers, and a jug of peanut butter, in addition to a large bag of Ranch Doritos he’d put on the passenger’s seat.
He got into the truck, turned on the radio, and ‘Black,’ by Pearl Jam pulsed through the speakers. He tapped the steering wheel to the beat of the song while he navigated through the desolate, snowy environment. Despite it being a lengthy expedition, time went by fast. He only stopped a couple of times to drop off the rental snowmobile, and to get gas and use the restroom, and by nightfall, he was back home. He pulled into the driveway, forgoing parking in the garage since it was occupied by a couple other vehicles, as well as boxes he’d yet to relocate, he picked up the cooler and walked up the motion-detection lit sidewalk on his property to his arched front entrance. When he entered the cabin, darkness brushed against him like the kiss of death. Icy. Cold. Devoid of life, light, and joy.