Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 161899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 809(@200wpm)___ 648(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 161899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 809(@200wpm)___ 648(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
Auggie said nothing.
“That’s kinda the definition of going off the rails,” I asserted. “Twelve years, three marriages, five kids, jail time, bar fights and business disputes. That’s a lot of not good to pack in that kind of time. To wit, totally and completely off the rails.”
Auggie stayed silent.
I closed my eyes tight and tipped my head back.
Then I plopped back on the bed.
I took a second.
I took two.
Then I opened my eyes and the first thing I saw was the huge light installation over my bed.
When I first clapped eyes on it, I went on a mission, which included performing a bevy of lap dances in order to afford it because I had to have it.
It looked like a delicate tumbleweed, bleached natural in shade, spiky in texture, but in a soft way. This surrounded a low-watt bulb so in the daytime, you saw nothing but that bit of nature suspended almost like an earthen cloud over the room. But at night when you turned the light on, the slender twigs cast shadows over the room where it made you feel like you were in a forest. And the light was never bright, never invasive, it was soft and welcoming.
I loved that installation.
It gave me some peace just then.
Just not enough.
My brother was an ex-con.
He beat women.
He fathered copious children willy-nilly.
“Pepper, you okay?” Auggie called.
I got up on my elbows and looked at him.
He looked watchful and concerned.
He also looked out of place.
It was Sunday.
He wasn’t wearing his usual commando attire of cargoes, utility boots and tight tee.
He was wearing jeans, a heathered-rust, long-sleeved Henley that was roomy at the mid-section, fitted at shoulders and biceps (in other words, the perfect fit), and on his feet were a pair of Nike leather Killshots with a navy swoop.
My room was a dream, and he was a dream and there was something spectacular about him being all…Auggie in freaking Nike Killshots and a Henley, seemingly all action man even in casual clothes, standing in my place of serenity.
The dichotomy was perfection.
It was balance.
He was thunder energy. Fire.
(Mountain?)
I was water energy. Lake. Earth.
Another finger glided up my spine, but this one was not icy in the slightest.
“Pepper,” he repeated. “Are you okay?”
“I thought Boone was looking into this,” I said.
“I asked Boone to tell you he was looking into it in the sense that we were looking into it in the sense that actually I was looking into it. I did this because I started trying to find your brother the day after I acted like an ass to you and I didn’t think you’d be down with me taking care of it for you.”
This reminded me that I shouldn’t be down with that because he did way more than act like an ass to me.
He’d been a total dick.
I pushed off the bed, probably highly ungracefully, considering he was standing close to it and I had to avoid him.
But avoid him I did.
I also put space between us.
He looked at my feet in my new position distant from him, then to my face.
And I prepared to thank him for his assistance and ask him how much I owed him for his time.
However, he spoke before I could get there.
“And now we need to talk…”
Oh no we didn’t.
We weren’t going to talk about what he said outside Juno’s school and why he said it.
We weren’t going to talk about an us.
Because there was no us and there never would be.
And he needed to finally get that.
“…about the situation with your sister,” he finished.
I closed my mouth and blinked.
At my count, I currently had three situations: one old (Auggie and me not being a thing when both of us wanted to be a thing), one recent (Mom having cancer), one new (my brother being the definition of an asshole).
My sister, as far as I knew, was not a situation.
I opened my mouth again to ask, “What situation with my sister?”
“The fact she’s marrying the pastor of that church they belong to,” Auggie said.
I stood immobile, staring at him, I knew, in horror.
I knew this because I felt that horror.
In fact, I felt it so strongly, I thought I might throw up.
“What?” I whispered.
“You didn’t know,” he whispered back.
“What?” I shrieked.
He shot my way, took hold of my neck under my ear, fingers wrapped around and back, up in my hair, other hand on my waist, face in my face, and said urgently, “Quiet down, babe. Juno’s downstairs.”
My voice was no less horrified, even if it was a lot less loud, when I asked, “My sister is marrying Reverend Clyde?”
“Legally, no. Unofficially so he won’t be prosecuted for bigamy, yes. He’s adding her to his family, which already has five other wives.”
My stomach dropped. “Holy hell.”
“Yeah.”
“He’s, like, a hundred years old.”
“Not quite. But he’s way older than her. He’s seventy-five.”