Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
So I decide to make myself useful, too. “Here, let me help you with that,” I offer, seeing an old guy struggling with a heavy box. “Need a hand?” I ask later when I find someone’s kid trying to hang garlands on the back porch. “Oh, it’s actually better if you do it like this,” I tell someone’s teenage daughter, who was sent to spruce up some decorations by the pool. “There, isn’t that nice?”
Hours have passed before I find myself in the kitchen cutting up blocks of cheese next to Jacky-Ann. “Y’know what, Jacky-Ann? I still haven’t tasted your famous homemade lemonade,” I tell her with a chuckle, to which she rolls her eyes and mutters, “Nadine thinks I’m some kinda lemonade connoisseur, but sweetheart, it’s just some dang concentrate from the store with extra sugar and a splash of maraschino cherry juice. I ain’t a connoisseur in nothin’ except gettin’ by and makin’ do.”
I guess some secrets are best left buried.
It’s about the time when people start to leave for the wedding that the house finally settles down. Paul left ahead of Nadine quite a while ago to organize some things at the church, followed soon after by Billy and Tanner with both their kids. According to Jacky-Ann, they’re meeting up with a Gary (Paul’s brother and Tanner’s uncle, apparently) and a big group of close friends and family from his ranch. The church is already full of pretty much every citizen in town. Not a single business is open. Everything in Spruce has come to a standstill in honor of Jimmy and Bobby getting hitched.
A day ago, the thought would have made me barf.
Right now, I find myself smiling.
I can only hope someday a whole town closes down on behalf of the guy I love, too.
Whoever that may be.
Nadine is the last of the Strongs to leave. I catch her at the door. “I was hoping you could do me a favor and pass this along to Jimmy? I think it fell out of his wallet last time he was over here. It’s fairly important.”
She takes the folded-up paper from me. “What is it?”
“Something he’ll want before he reaches the altar.”
“Hm. Alright, then.” She tucks the paper away, then gives my chin a sudden pinch. “How are you and Cole? I don’t mean to pry, but I’m already waitin’ for you guys to call it official and down the road settin’ a special date of your own!”
Goodness, she sure loves that fast-forward button. “I can only dream to have the town shut down for me, too, someday.”
“How do you mean?” she asks, missing the joke. “Oh, shoot, I should a’ been at the church half an hour ago. Your dad’s upstairs, Malcolm, go get him and come! Don’t wanna miss the ‘I do’s!” She pats me on the cheek and giggles with bubbling glee. “I just can’t believe this day’s already here. My little Jimmy, my little baby.” She trots merrily right out the front door in a beautiful skintight dress, high heels clacking loudly.
I stare wistfully at the door after it shuts. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I don’t plan to attend. I have done enough within that church to interfere with the lovebirds and their special day.
“Malcolm. Ready to go?”
I turn to find my father coming down the stairs. He is, to my surprise, donning a fancy dress shirt with a bowtie, and his hair is styled nicely—without my help. He even trimmed his beard for the first time in years. He looks fifteen years younger. Like a million bucks. Ready to steal some single lady’s attention at the wedding.
I meet him at the foot of the stairs. “Wow, Dad.”
He lets out one grunt of amusement. “I clean up nice, huh? I figured I ought to put a little effort into it today.” He nods at my outfit. “I like the look. That isn’t what I remember bringing you to wear, but maybe it’s a better choice, more suitable for Spruce.”
I offer him a grimace. “Sorry, Dad. I’m … not going.”
“What is this? Not going?” He huffs. “Malcolm, we just had all that talk this morning in the truck, and now you’re not going?”
“Actually, it’s a bit because of that talk.” I put my hands into my pockets. “I want to stay and look after things here. Make sure all the food is ready. Do my ‘supervising’, like you wanted me to do.” I give my dad an assured smile. “I don’t need to be there. They have enough people celebrating them, the ones that matter.”
My father surveys me for a while, as if weighing what he should say or not say, weighing how he should feel, weighing whether all of what I’m saying is a load of crap or a truth bomb.