Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 155405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 777(@200wpm)___ 622(@250wpm)___ 518(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 155405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 777(@200wpm)___ 622(@250wpm)___ 518(@300wpm)
I silence her with an outstretched hand. “You’re wasting your time and mine. I’m helping. Just tell me what needs to be done before I start guessing.”
Hannah sighs, then her gaze drifts reluctantly to the stairs. “Well… I guess I could use help getting all the draperies down from the windows. I need to clean them, but taking them down requires using a stepladder. Sometimes Anae will catch me on it and give it a good rattle because she thinks it’s funny, and I… do not think it’s funny.”
I stare at her. “And you wanted me to apologize for taunting her about Dare.”
Hannah rolls her eyes as she turns and leads the way upstairs. “I wanted you to apologize because I don’t want her to use you for target practice, not because she didn’t deserve it.”
“I can’t believe I’m helping her plan a party.”
“Hey, if she’s busy picking out a party dress, then she doesn’t have to torture me to bust her boredom.”
“Still. It’s bullshit. This is her house; she’s the one who should be pitching in and helping out around here.”
Hannah’s quiet for a moment longer than I anticipated, so I glance over at her.
She doesn’t say anything, but I can tell I’ve said something wrong.
I’ve known Hannah for enough years to know she won’t tell me what since she wouldn’t think I meant any harm, so I replay my words in my head and test them for insensitivity.
“I didn’t mean to say it was her house,” I say tentatively.
Hannah shrugs defensively, then tips her chin up. “It is her house, isn’t it?” she murmurs, setting up the ladder and pushing down on it to make sure it’s steady. “You didn’t say anything that’s not true. It was supposed to be my house, that’s what my mom wanted, but… she died, and he married a selfish cow, and now here we are.”
I grimace, grabbing the ladder to keep it steady as Hannah climbs up to retrieve the dusty drapes.
Hannah generally avoids talking about this. I think she knows her labor of love looking after this house is wasted effort, but since I brought it up by accident, I might as well ask. After all, the clock is ticking. Hannah’s 18th birthday is fast approaching, and if she has given a single thought to what it might mean, she’s never given me any indication.
“Um, I know you probably don’t like thinking about this, but have you talked to Jackie about what’s going to happen in October?”
Hannah’s movements halt briefly. I watch her throat work, and then she gets back to gathering the dusty fabric without missing a beat. “No,” she says tersely.
“Don’t you think you should?” I ask, looking up at her. “I mean, legally, she only has to let you stay here until you’re 18, right?”
“Let me?” Hannah laughs shortly, but there’s no amusement. “I don’t think I have to worry about being evicted, Parker. I’m essentially slave labor. If she got someone to work any harder for any less than I do, they’d have to be purchased from human traffickers. Why bother committing felonies when I’m so low risk?”
“Well, you’re probably right. But just in case, I have an idea. The Atwaters have a pool house. It’s not meant to be lived in so it’s not huge, more of a guest house, but if Jackie did kick you out after your 18th birthday, I bet I could convince Hayden to let you live there while you finish out the school year. I haven’t asked yet, but I’ve started planting seeds so that if the time comes, he’ll be primed to say yes.”
Hannah smiles faintly. “Shouldn’t he keep the guest house free in case Landon needs to be evicted?”
I roll my eyes at the mere mention of Landon. “Even if he did act up, Landon isn’t going anywhere unless I tell on him. It’s entirely within my control.”
Hannah shakes her head. “No, thank you. I already have one friend being held captive by a jerk. I want you free to sing like a bird if he ever gives you a reason.”
___
Helping Hannah takes longer than expected—that house has a lot of windows—so by the time I get home, I expect I’ll have missed dinner.
I feel bad about not texting Mom to let her know I was running later than expected, but I shot off a quick “on my way!” text before I left Hannah’s so she’d know I’m coming.
The Atwater lair does not have the homey drop-zone we had at our old house, so once more, I lug my heavy-ass backpack all the way to the kitchen. I look around for a plate of food Mom might have set aside for me, but there’s nothing in the microwave, and looking around, I don’t even see any signs anything was cooked.