Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 76063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
I had been living in apartments for so much of my life after moving out of my aunt's house that I had all but forgotten what it was like to hear nature, to know actual quiet.
There were no arguments heard one floor up, no music blaring from some late-night party, no slamming doors.
Just quiet.
It gave you space to think shit through. That was what I was doing, trying to find a plausible reason for our supply chain to be screwed up, when I heard the creak of the door to the neighbor's house open.
They were new neighbors.
One day, the house was empty, the next there was a car in the drive.
They must have moved in while Jelly was at school and I was at the clubhouse. I'd gotten a far away look at a woman and some guy with the gangly-limbed body that only belonged to a teenaged boy, once but had never met them personally.
I only realized my screw-up when Jelly had informed me that I was rude for not introducing myself to the neighbors. And, by then, it was too late.
The car in the driveway was gone as it always seemed to be at night, returning around the time I got up in the morning.
The mom worked the graveyard shift.
And as someone who used to do it, I sympathized with her, even if we'd never met.
"Don't imagine your mother knows you are leaving the house after midnight, does she?" I asked.
No, it wasn't my business. I didn't know the kid. But having Jelena had changed my view on a lot of things. I liked to think that if a neighbor caught Jelly trying to sneak out, that they would try to put a stop to it too. Nothing good came of kids slinking off after midnight. Especially not in a town as unstable as Navesink Bank could be at times.
Besides, I hadn't seen a man around the house.
I figured us single parents had to stick together.
"Mind your business, man," he snapped back, closing the door so carefully that I figured someone had to be inside, even if there wasn't a car in the driveway. Maybe a babysitter too. Even though this kid was at least thirteen or fourteen.
Up close, he looked even skinnier than from afar, his arms and legs all out of proportion.
He was a lighter-skinned kid with sharp, dark eyes, short-cut hair, and a scowl that only a teenager could wear with any success.
"I got a kid too and—"
"Don't need your life story," he shot back, making his way toward the front steps.
If you asked, I wouldn't be able to tell you what made me fly out of my chair and shoot across the porch.
Was it concern for his safety?
Or was it the blatant lack of respect?
I didn't know.
All I knew was I was across that porch before he could get to the bottom step, snagging the back of his shirt, jerking his whole body backward, dragging him across the porch.
"Get off me," he snapped, flailing.
Even if I didn't outweigh him by a good hundred pounds, he didn't stand a chance as I pulled him over to my side of the porch, tossing him down into one of the chairs.
"Sit your ass down," I demanded when he tried to shoot up, his chest meeting my palm as I pushed him back down.
"Who the hell do you think you are, man?" he snapped, not trying to get up again, likely sensing his chances were slim getting past me.
"A concerned citizen," I offered, taking my seat, but keeping an eye on him in case he thought he might be able to jump over the porch railing. "We are going to sit right here until your Ma gets home.
"My mom won't be home for hours. You will fall asleep," he shot back, all bravado, his chest puffing out. "Then I will go."
"Oh, little man. I've been stubborn longer than you have been alive. We'll see who is still awake when she rolls up."
To his credit, he made it to five-thirty before his chin hit his chest, his head lolling to the side.
The day was weighing on me too, but purpose was keeping me up even as the sun started to rise.
It wasn't long after six when the white sedan pulled into the driveway. The engine cut and the driver was popping out in under a minute, making her way up the driveway.
Fuck, she was pretty, too.
And young.
Young to have a kid her son's age anyway.
Like her son, she was tall and dark-eyed. Her long curly hair was worn down, framing a soft oval face. Her frame was swallowed up by an oversize white sweatshirt with the words "Afro Latina" across the chest, worn, it seemed, over a blue-gray collared shirt.
"Jacob," her voice snapped as she stepped onto the stairs, her tired gaze steely, her voice loud enough to make the kid startle awake.