Total pages in book: 225
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
If I’ve gotten away from him, will I think about all this, all he wants to give me, all the sensations he created in me? If this is temporary, which it must be somehow some way, if I’ve got the ability to look back on it, will be wistful? Will I wish I’d enjoyed it more? If I’m somewhere else, will I wish I was here with the ability to see those blossoms up close? Will this end in bloodshed? Whose? Besides Adam’s grandma and uncle.
After a while, I take my purse and phone and woodenly walk back upstairs. I let the fragrant, still warm water out of my dream bathtub and instead take a long, hot shower before I put a tracksuit on and decide to check in with my parents.
Last time I called, I called Dad’s cell so this time I call my mom.
“Hello?” my mother answers.
“Hi, how are you?”
“Oh, Chloe, we’re fine, how are you? We’re just on our way to the Keoughs’ for dinner. Can we catch up later on or is there a reason you’re calling?”
“Oh. Just checking in but okay, sure, we can talk later. Have a good afternoon. Say hi to dad.”
“Nothing’s wrong?” she checks.
“Nope,” I reply, but my voice cracks.
But she misses it because she says, “Okay. Talk soon. Bye.”
I don’t think I’ve ever had a shoot-the-breeze long phone call with her. Ever. There needs to be a reason to call. Dad won’t always rush me off the phone, but he’s often busy. When I visit them, it seems like they’re always in the middle of some big project to do with the house, often distracted.
When the three of us come together, we’ll have meals together, but all the conversations are on the surface. Nothing with any depth. I wouldn’t say it seems forced, just not all that warm. When I visit them, my old room is now a guest room and I generally don’t stay over because a long, hangout style visit just generally isn’t what they’re about.
When Adam was in the hospital, they did visit. Once. Took me to dinner. Brought flowers and two self-care baskets, one for me and one for Adam. I get a text on my birthday, not a call. Holidays aren’t a given with them. Sometimes I’ll see them, sometimes I don’t. They’re busy, enjoying their empty nest lifestyle. I’m not bothered by them about when I’ll give them grandchildren. They congratulated me and Adam on the engagement and my father told me they had $40K aside for my wedding. Dad asked me if I was sure, if I was happy, and that was that.
After losing Bryan. I think they walked around numb for months, semi-numb for years. Every one of us withdrew into ourselves. Losing him broke the family unit.
Adam’s family is a lot closer to one another but never really made me feel like a member of the family.
Alannah’s family loves me. That’s where I get the lovey dovey squishy family feels fix from. I often go there for holidays. It’s a loud, expressive, butt-into-your-business group. They often fight. They also laugh together a lot. It’s kind of ideal.
My mind drifts to Derek’s dysfunctional family as I curl up on the bed that Derek already made. I push those thoughts away while I catch up on my unread text messages. Just a few from Alannah and one from Coraline, who messaged me last night.
Alannah told us you and Adam split. She said you’re not ready to talk about it. So sorry girl. I’m here if you need me day or night. Hugs.
I decide to scroll my socials and see a selfie of Coraline, Maddie, and Jeffy at brunch today, posted by Jeffy.
They’d normally invite me if they were going out as a group. Maybe Alannah told them not to. Alannah didn’t go either, but she’s probably busy planning how to help me out of this mess.
Panic suddenly envelopes me at the notion of what might happen. At the notion of the unknown. At the idea she could get punished by intervening.
I just don’t know what to do about any of it, but Alannah has resources to get information and I’m thinking I’ll get the downlow on what her plan is in the bathroom at City Hall before anything. Then I can hear her out and decide if there’s too much risk.
I open the browser on my phone and type inmate+pedophile+dead. And immediately I see the results.
Alan Howard Bell was found dead in a maximum security prison in Michigan. The article was only two paragraphs, published in the local paper of the town where the crimes were committed, and it said that the cause of death was not yet known. He was twenty-three years into a life sentence. He not only committed sexual offences against multiple minors, but also got convicted of murdering a nine-year-old girl.