Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 180(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 180(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
I sit there, not sure how to respond. “I don’t know,” I say honestly. “It’s not your job to support her or me.”
“You’re my only grandbaby,” Grams cuts in. “But yes, your mom draws a lot on the account. I’m guessing for that church of hers. I don’t think I care much for them.” That makes two of us. There is a weirdness when I’m around the church group. In prep school, we had to go to mass, but it was never anything like the ones at my mother’s church.
“I can’t tell you what to do, Grams.”
“Well, that might not be as true as you think.” She lets out a chuckle.
“What does that mean?”
“Some think I might be losing it.” She shoots a glance over to Rowan.
“You shoved yarn down the disposal,” he says dryly.
“Maybe I’m keeping you busy.” Grams smiles, then looks confused for a second. “When are you going to get the clock out of my wall?”
“I, uh.” Rowan’s dark brows draw together. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”
“Good.” She smiles contentedly again. “Or maybe I’m crazy. If that’s the case, then it all falls to you, Charlie.” Grams swings her attention back to me. “Now that I’m seeing a bit of these games Joanna is playing, I want to make it clear to you that if it’s not me running the Devereaux estate, it’s you.”
“Are you sure you’re not crazy?”
“Time will tell.” Grams takes a bite of her dessert. Rowan leans back in his chair, not eating, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. I am, too, but mine aren’t focused on what Grams just laid on me. They’re on Rowan.
I love Grams’ home. It’s the one place that gives me a sense of truly belonging. I'm sure she’s loaded too, but I don’t want to think about those things. Grams isn't going anywhere. Crazy or not. But if I was asked if I could only take one thing from here, it would be Rowan. Unfortunately, I don’t think he comes with the house.
When we finish dessert, I hop up from my chair. “Rowan, I can walk you back to your place.”
He turns his head, cocking his ear toward the back door. “Someone’s here.”
“What?” I go to the window over the kitchen sink and look outside.
“Oh.” Grams licks her spoon clean. “I forgot to mention that I told Joanna you were enjoying your stay here.”
All the blood drains from my face. “What?”
“Yep.” She grins. “She may have said she was coming to visit and bringing a Mr. Brunson. Do we know a Brunson? What’s a Brunson?” She giggles. “See, now I’ve said it too much, and it has no meaning. Brunson, Brunson, Brunson.”
A hard knock sounds at the door, and I swear my knees would’ve given out at the sound if Rowan hadn’t grabbed my elbow.
“You all right?”
I look up at him and slowly, decisively shake my head. No, absolutely nothing is all right.
15
ROWAN
“Edith, Charlie?” A woman’s high, reedy voice comes through the front door.
“I forgot how much I can’t stand to hear that woman talk.” Edith grabs her walker and stands. “Oh, dear me, look at the clock.” She looks at the kitchen sink. “It’s long past time for me to play my annual game of patty-cake with Dudley. I should go do that.” She hurries off pretty spryly despite the walker. “Kisses, Charlie,” she calls as she disappears down the hallway.
I sit Charlie at the table. “Are you all right?”
“I, um, I–”
“Hello?” The knocking turns into banging. “Charlie, I know you’re in there! Edith, it’s me, Joanna!”
“Don’t worry.” I kiss her forehead. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “No it isn’t. If she knows I’m here, then she knows I’ve been lying to her.”
“Hey.” I cup her cheeks. “I won’t let anything happen to you, okay? I don’t know why you’ve been lying, but I know you, and I know it must be for a good reason. I’ve got your back.”
Her eyes widen, and she takes my hand. “You mean it?”
“Yes.” I kiss her forehead again, then stride to the door, yanking it open so the goddamn banging will stop. “Can I help you?” I bark.
The woman blinks up at me. By her side is a young man, his blond hair super gelled down to his head and his khakis pulled up too high. He can’t be much past 20, and I doubt he even shaves.
“Who are you?” the woman–Joanna–snips.
“Rowan.” I glare down my nose at her. “I’m the caretaker here.”
“The help?” She rolls her eyes and sweeps past me, pulling the boy with her.
“Mom.” Charlie’s voice is weak, and she still sits at the table.
“I should’ve known you were up to no good when you weren’t responding quickly enough to my messages. Then I decided to check up on you, and guess what I learned?”