Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Tildy’s father steadfastly refused to finish the story, smiling all the while. The men then shuffled off to inspect the commercial-grade fireworks Tildy’s father had purchased and to question the technician that he’d hired to set them off.
“Dad,” she called out.
Her father paused, falling behind the group headed out toward the lawn.
“Dad-”
“Not now, Matilda.”
Tildy frowned. Obeying was important, but so was what she had to say. “There’s something a little off with the car. I noticed-”
“Matilda, now isn’t the time,” he snapped and walked away.
Tildy sighed and headed back into the house. She maneuvered through the guests, to make her way to the kitchen where she hoped to hide out for a bit. The kitchen was perfect because if her mother caught her, Tildy would just say she was checking on the catering. She plucked a crab puff off one of the trays and leaned against the island. It was almost to her lips when she heard a feminine giggle. Tildy’s eyes cut to the large pantry with the closed door. She frowned. Her father was outside in the yard, so that significantly reduced the number of possibilities. She bit her lip instead of the crab puff. Her parent’s Fourth of July party was hardly the time or place for a scene. She pushed off the island and walked quietly past the pantry and back out into the living room.
Tildy stood off to the side, plate in hand to appear occupied, but she wasn’t hungry. Her attempt to blend in with the scenery had obviously failed, however, because Vera Simmons, one of her mother’s friends, spotted her and headed across the room. Tildy hid her frown as her mother moved to intercept the other woman. At 22, Tildy was still obviously not housebroken enough for company. She remembered to affix her party-smile as Vera made her way over.
“Matilda,” Vera proclaimed, smiling at Deirdre, but continuing toward the younger girl. “How are you, darling?”
“Good,” Tildy replied. “Thank you for asking.”
“Any prospects?” Vera asked, making a show of looking around. The older woman’s eyes twinkled and Tildy knew she wasn’t talking about career opportunities. It was a useless effort, though, because there weren’t that many people Tildy’s age invited to a Fletcher soiree. In fact, there were only two.
“Oh, a few,” Deirdre teased as she glanced meaningfully across the room at Tate Carson, who was emerging now from the double doors that separated the living room from the rest of the house.
Vera followed Deirdre’s gaze and smiled. “Ah,” she said.
Tildy thought the whole charade was ridiculous. Deirdre had made it no secret to anyone who would listen that Tate and Tildy were perfect for each other. Tate’s own parents were thrilled at the prospect of their son marrying into the family that owned the second largest bank in Rapid City.
Tildy was less thrilled. During their senior year at SDSU, she’d been on several dates with Tate, who mostly drank until he got bored and only then did he turn his attention to her. Thankfully, he’d only put forth half-hearted efforts at groping her before giving up and dropping her off at the dorm. After a while, Tildy had informed everyone that she really needed to concentrate on school. It was one of the few times she had made her parents dismally low opinion of her work in her favor. Deirdre and Blake Fletcher agreed that Tildy wasn’t smart enough to keep up her grades amidst distractions.
Deirdre had informed Tate’s parents that Tildy was focusing on school. The Carsons were understandably disappointed at not being able to further cement the connection between the two families until after graduation, but Tate seemed to not care at all. Tildy had heard from friends that he had been ‘not caring’ at frat houses all over campus while she was stuck in her dorm pretending to study.
So Tildy had managed to delay the inevitable for a little while, at least. After graduation, Tate had been in Europe for most of June and Tildy, though she was no longer getting course credit, continued to volunteer at the Community Center. She’d managed to spend almost two months blissfully Tate-free, but it was looking like her freedom would be short-lived.
Deirdre beamed at Tate, whose eye she’d finally caught. Tate smiled back at her, barely, and his mother, having seen the exchange, practically shoved him toward them. Vera gave Deirdre and Tildy a conspiratorial wink and glided away.
“Smile, Matilda,” Deirdre whispered fiercely. She deftly moved beside her daughter, hand gliding along Tildy’s back, and viciously pinched Tildy just above her elbow on the tender inside of her arm. Tildy held her breath when the initial tears sprang up, as they always did. She managed to keep the smile on her face, as she always did, and the three-quarter sleeve would hide the beginnings of a bruise, as it always did.