Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“You didn’t expect a cabin on a lake to be right in the middle of Seattle, did you?” I try to say that with as little snark as possible, which is still a heck of a lot of snark for the moment. “No, it’s most definitely an hour and twenty minutes north, just like what the GPS says, though we might have a hard time finding the right gravel roads to take in the dark. And boy, it looks like it’s going to be a dark night. Without the glow from the city, how will we ever find our way?” I bat my eyelashes innocently.
All I get is a growled out hmmmmmppphhhhh in response.
I realize this is a piss poor time to try and be nice about things after that production I just put on, but now I’m regretting it because I realize that Leon had most of his shades pulled down at his house, and he has those same shades in his office, blocking the windows. Maybe there’s a reason he didn’t want to go tomorrow. “If the sunlight bothers you, I could always drive.”
His hands grasp the wheel tightly as he navigates my neighborhood. This is the first time I’ve ever driven with him. He’s actually a good driver. “There isn’t going to be any daylight soon.”
“Don’t the lights bother you? It’s not like you can wear sunglasses in the dark.”
He lets out another grunt. He’s starting to sound like a full-on caveman who had already gone ahead to the cabin, scouted for a good stick, and shoved it up his arse before we even got there. Ouch. Sitting on a stick has got to hurt. I’d offer to pull it out for him, but I’m not sure how far my new marital duties extend.
I should probably be quiet and not provoke things because that’s probably just going to jam the stick up further, but I can’t help it. “Are you in pain? A lot? Is it your eyes? Do you have a sensitivity to the sun? Or an allergy?”
His hands practically strangle the poor steering wheel. “It’s nothing.”
“I think it’s not nothing.”
“It indeed is very much nothing.”
“I think it indeed is very much not.”
“For the love of god,” he growls. “It’s nothing.”
“For the love of god, it’s something,” I push.
“It’s going to be something if you don’t stop with this.”
I clamp my mouth shut. Okay, so maybe I don’t want to make things worse. There’s an art to arguing with one’s spouse, and I’m pretty sure my parents would tell me it involves tact and admitting defeat once in a while.
We’re silent until we get out onto the highway, and then I notice for sure that Leon’s eyes are squinted, and his brows are drawing further and further inward. It’s not just his jaw that’s clenched now. There are several veins in his forehead trying to extricate themselves from his body, leaping violently just under the skin.
“I think you should pull over. I can drive.”
“No.”
“I think that…that I…have to pee. And I need to pee now.”
“Jesus.” Leon looks panicked. His eyes scan the flashing countryside, which is basically just ditch and a lot of nothing at this point. “There aren’t any service stations for miles.”
“Yeah, that’s why the side of the road is fine.”
“I’m not going to let you pee at the side of the road. It’s the highway! We could get sideswiped. It’s dangerous! Why didn’t you go before you left the house?”
Instead of sassing him with a yes, mom statement, I cross my arms and come clean. “Fine. I don’t actually have to pee. But you do need to pull over and let me drive. You’re not okay, and whatever’s going on, it’s hurting you. You can sit back and close your eyes for the rest of the drive, and I’ll get us there just fine. I promise. I know the way since I’ve been there a thousand times. You haven’t. It’s safer if I drive. And also, I know all about the gravel back roads and how to navigate them to minimize stone chip damage. Your car has a very nice paint job. It would really suck to mess with that.”
Silence. It’s so thick and oppressive that it might as well have grown eight legs and turned into a really creepy silence spider that is going to jump at us and swallow us whole.
“You know what they say about pride,” I push, pressing my luck big time.
“That it comes before a fall,” he snorts, clearly beyond annoyed now.
“No. That it comes before driving us off the road to a certain ball of flaming, fiery death.”
“Fine!” Leon slows down when there isn’t anyone behind us and pulls the car over. He turns on the hazards, and I’m a little astounded that he agreed. I’m not even going to think about that. He must be in serious pain if he’s letting me do this.