Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Like it far more than I should…
“There’s a flight to Miami, connecting through Chicago in two hours,” Nora adds, her focus still fixed on her cell. “It should be nice and toasty down there, even in November, and I’ve heard the art deco part of the city is fabulous.”
“I’ve never been to Florida,” Mel says, collecting her purse from the backseat. “But I’ve always wanted to visit a place where they eat alligator. I’ve been dying to see if it really tastes like chicken.” She holds her bag up in the air. “You’re lucky I grabbed this on my way out of the kitchen. I need you to swing back by the catering office, by the way. Make sure everything is locked up and they didn’t steal anything.”
“Will do,” I say, making a mental note to ask Al to help me out with that.
Fuck. Al. I have to get in touch with him and let him know what’s going on—the sooner the better. If he’s still waiting for me at the truck stop, he’s no doubt starting to wonder what’s taking me so long.
“Okay, well…” Mel pauses with her hand on the door handle. “I’ll see you guys in a few days, then. Please, be careful. Please, get out of this mess before it gets any worse. And please, fall madly in love and start seriously dating so Matty won’t go to South America. Because I’m a selfish jerk who isn’t sure she can survive without her brother for an entire year or more while he lives in a van thousands of miles away.”
“Love you,” I say, instead of what I know she wants to hear.
Being apart will be hard—we’ve never spent more than a week apart since the day we were born—but it’s for the best. I need time and distance from Bad Dog. Time to figure out who I am without a job at the CIA, without a clan of loving, but pushy, McGuires surrounding me at all times, and without a community I’ve been a part of my whole life.
“Love you back,” Mel says. “Bye, Nora. Keep an eye on him for me and good luck.”
“Bye, Melissa,” Nora says, waving as Mel swings out of the car and heads toward the sliding glass doors leading into the terminal. When she’s nearly to the row of check-in desks, Nora turns back to me, “So what’s the plan? Back to the treehouse?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so. Not with another storm rolling in tomorrow morning. The stream we had to cross to get onto the property has a tendency to flood. We don’t want to end up trapped there.” Especially not when I have to get this mess cleaned up by Monday afternoon, I add silently. Aloud, I say, “I need to make a couple of calls. I’ll pull over at the diner by the exit and do that while you order food for the road, okay? I’m not sure where we’re headed, but it will probably be a bit of a ride.”
“Okay. I’ll get Clyde settled in his carrier when we stop, too,” Nora agrees. “His tummy seems to be doing better, and I don’t think I can wrangle a cat and eat waffles at the same time.”
I grunt. “Waffles. Brave choice.”
“What can I say? I’m not afraid of syrup in a moving vehicle.” She hesitates as I start the engine, studying me from the corners of her eyes.
“What?” I ask.
“Thanks for not fighting me,” she says. “About staying. You need me here with you right now. I can feel it in my bones.”
She’s right. I do need her. And I could need her for a lot longer than right now, if I gave myself the chance.
But I won’t.
I care about her way too much for that.
Chapter Eleven
NORA
By the time Matty parks at the back of the diner’s sparsely occupied lot, Clyde is asleep in my arms. Matty lifts the blanket covering his carrier as I guide the cat gently inside and close the gate.
Once the blanket is back in place, I whisper, “Are you sure you don’t want waffles, too? I can teach you my road waffle ways.”
His lips curve, but the smile doesn’t reach his worried eyes. “No, thanks. A coffee and a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich are fine.” He tries to hand me money, but I wave it away.
“I’ll get it,” I say, backing toward the brightly lit windows. “Text me if you think of anything else you want. I’m going to hit the bathroom first.”
But I don’t hit the bathroom.
I head down the hallway toward the bathrooms, but I don’t turn right through the door leading to the ladies’. Instead, I keep going, pushing through the back door, and circling around a loudly roaring fan pumping the smells of fried potatoes and bacon into the cool air.