Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
But I’m not mocking him.
“Thanks.” I offer my hand and we shake again.
He shoots me a stern look. “Don’t forget to check your temperature. Call the church if you feel too sick to come get medicine. And”—he holds up a hand, palm facing me—“no pressure or expectations, but if you feel like dropping by tomorrow at noon, you could meet the whole town in one swoop. They all attend church here on Sundays.”
I hesitate. God and me? What a joke. Not that I wouldn’t be up for a little salvation, but it’s way too late for that. “I’ll mention it to Syrsee.”
And I find that I really mean it.
Then I take the bag of food and go back out into the snow and wind.
Syrsee is sleeping when I get home and I don’t really want to wake her up—she looks so peaceful—but the food. It smells good and I want some. I’m actually feeling famished. And I want it to be hot when I eat it.
So I do wake her. She pushes her wild, dark hair out of her green eyes and when I present her with a hot breakfast, she gazes up at me like I’m her knight in shining armor.
We eat in bed, out of the glass dishes Emily packed our food in. She even gave us forks and they are not plastic.
“You know why she did that?” Syrsee is simultaneously chomping bacon and pointing to the glass dish with her fork when she says this.
“So I have to return them?”
Syrsee giggles and nods. “They’re gonna turn you into a church boy, Ryet.”
“Darling, you’re gonna be the one returning these dishes, not me.”
She nudges me with her shoulder. “I will too. Because that’s the girlfriend’s job.”
“Go make nice with the preacher and his wife?”
“Are you kidding? The way you described that food pantry? It sounds like a grocery store where everything’s free.”
“Oh, by the way, they’re your landlords. And I’m supposed to tell you that church is at noon tomorrow, so…”
She pauses her chewing, looking thoughtful for a moment. I have a sudden urge to kiss her. “Hmm.”
“What?”
“It’s weird, ya know?” She sits up a little straighter.
“What’s weird?”
“Yesterday I was pretty sure my life was over. I could not see a way forward from here.”
This is an odd statement, I think. Because moving to a new town isn’t the end of something, it’s the beginning. But she’s still talking, so I don’t have time to think about this.
“And I was really feeling down about leaving people behind. I have a life somewhere else, ya know?”
“Then why are you here?” It’s kind of a personal question. Not something you ask a woman you literally met last night. But we’re past that, I think. Sex does that for new relationships. Just kinda speeds everything up in an unnatural way.
“It’s a long story. One I’m really not… ready to talk about.”
Ready. That wasn’t what she was going to say. She was going to say ‘allowed,’ I’m sure of it. But both versions are true, I can tell. So I skip back to the original sentiment. “And now? How are you feeling now?”
She sets her glass dish of food down on the nightstand, snuggles back down into the covers, and puts her head on my thigh. “Now?” She exhales out a yawn. “I feel like I just came home from a too-long trip and I should never leave again.”
I’m running these words over and over in my head as she drifts back to sleep. And it’s weird. Because I feel the same way. So I set my food aside, snuggle down in the covers next to her, and pull her head to my chest.
The next thing I know I’m out in the snow. Like middle-of-the-forest kind of thing. There’s a lot of lavender, so I know this is a dreamwalk. And in this dreamwalk I find Paul—a very young Paul—sitting on a fallen tree trunk in the middle of a snowy clearing.
He’s dressed in… “What the fuck are you wearing?”
“This?” He looks down. “It’s nice. Leather and fur. It’s appropriate dress for a forest in winter.”
“What are you doing with that baby?” He’s not snuggling the baby, but he is holding it, kinda like he’s not sure what he’s gonna do with it. Which is why I ask.
“Why are you so full of questions?”
“Because you’re in my fucking dreamwalk. Again. And for some reason it feels… I dunno. Like a personal attack.”
“What are you implying?”
“That you’re here to abuse me.”
“That’s not even remotely funny.”
“The last time we did this, you struck me.”
“Do you have lingering pain? A black eye? A limp?”
“No.”
He shrugs like… like he wants to ask me what’s the big deal, then? But he knows this is not the response that will get him what he wants. So he adjusts. “I’m sorry for that. You were being unreasonably irritable.” He squints his eyes. “Are you still feeling unreasonable?”