Total pages in book: 181
Estimated words: 177690 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 888(@200wpm)___ 711(@250wpm)___ 592(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 177690 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 888(@200wpm)___ 711(@250wpm)___ 592(@300wpm)
“He’s doing a bang-up job of that. You’re only on the news three times a night now.”
“I wouldn’t know. This damn motel doesn’t even have a television in the room.”
“No TV? God that sounds like heaven.”
“You only say that because you don’t watch it.”
“I wouldn’t, except Gavin is hooked on that damn show where they go through other people’s trash.”
“Trash?”
“Yeah, you know old barns and things and they find all this crap…”
“American Pickers?”
“That’s the one. God, I hate that show and really the main dude on there, his voice is just grating.”
“That’s a great show, Casey and that’s not crap. It’s called antiques and they’re very valuable.”
“Really? Have you ever seen them get what they say they’re going to?”
“Umm...I’m sure they do.”
“I’m just as sure they don’t. Maybe one item out of a million. It’s the other nine-hundred and ninety-nine thousand that they don’t show you.”
“You’re very jaded,” I laugh.
“Aden, the fact that you are calling me that, scares the hell out of me,” she jokes.
“Whatever.”
“What are you doing anyway? Because I know you’re not writing—like you are supposed to be doing.”
“I can’t write. There’s no concentrating in this damn place.”
“So get out and find another place to write. No one said you had to write in a motel. Go out by the pool—”
“The pool is broken.”
“How does a pool break?”
“Apparently it can.”
“Okay fine, how about a diner or something? There will be people coming in and out and you can use them as inspiration.”
“The only diner is closed at the moment.”
“The only diner?”
“Exactly.”
“How are you eating?”
“Today was a tuna salad sandwich out of a gas station fridge. Tonight I think I’ll go crazy and have the egg salad one.”
“Yikes.”
“I might even splurge for chips too.”
“I’m ignoring you because I think you’re making it sound worse than it really is.”
“You would think that, but trust me when I tell you it’s so much worse than I’m making it sound. I’m thinking of killing White when I get back.”
“Whatever. You’re supposed to be working. So suck it up and get to writing.”
“What happens if I can’t write? Sure, I’ve always wanted to and I have ideas, but that doesn’t always mean it will translate.”
“You’ll never know if you don’t try, now will you?”
“Casey—”
“Never figured the great Aden McIntyre as a quitter.”
“Fine, I’ll go back to the Bates Motel and write.”
“There you go! That’s the spirit! Maybe you can write a murder mystery.”
“I’d be afraid to. In fact, if I turn up missing, investigate the motel owner. I’m sure she will be the one behind it.”
“The motel owner? Don’t you even know her name.”
“Not really,” I yawn. It’s starting to get dark sooner. The sun is already setting above me. I completely lied to Casey. I’m not going back to the motel to write. I’m going back there to sleep.
“It’s Hope.”
“What is?”
“Her name, silly. Don’t you remember White talking about her?”
“Not so much. It wasn’t important.”
“No wonder she’s so enamored with you. I’ve got to go. Gavin is getting ready to jump off a building.”
“Sounds like fun,” I tell her, not meaning it. Nothing sounds like fun these days. Honestly about the only time I find myself having fun is when I’m snoring and dreaming of Gloria and Burton finally getting what they deserve. The only solace I have is that the movie with all three of us bombed so horribly, the studio pulled out of the next movie involving the two of them. As far as karmic retribution goes it’s small—but at least it’s something.
“Check in tomorrow,” Casey says
“I’ll try. I have a busy schedule here. I’m going to try watching paint dry—that’s if I can find a store that sells paint.”
“Just be careful and don’t sniff it. With your sparkling personality the last thing you need is paint fumes getting to your brain cells.”
“Bye, Casey.” I growl, thinking Gavin definitely has his hands full.
“Bye, Aden,” the little witch laughs, hanging up.
I look out at the small park I’ve been sitting in for hours. I guess I might as well go back and try to write. Casey’s right. I’m not a quitter. I can do this…. if not I’ll sleep.
Hopefully that woman at least changed the sheets on my bed.
seven
hope
“Are you sure you’re okay, Hope?” Daria asks for the hundredth time. She’s the only real friend I have in this little town. She’s a couple of years older than me, single and she’s saved my ass several times. She also loves Jack and he seems to love her. She watches him when I need her to and without her I’d be lost—especially on days like today. I got so upset after Aden left, I shouldn’t have—but I did.
He annoys me, but I haven’t been able to shake the hateful words he said about me on the phone the other night. Which is stupid. I don’t know him and his opinion of me matters not one damn bit. Still, I keep hearing the remarks and the hateful tone in his voice and every time I’m forced to interact with him, I get upset. I also decided to try and save a few dollars and do everything on the pool myself. Normally that would have been okay, but the pollen count is crazy today and being an asthmatic…