Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 135522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“I remember little Noah.”
That stops me in my tracks. “What?”
“The boy whose life you allegedly saved today. I remember.”
“Really? What do you remember?”
“Everything. Why’d you stop? Go, go.” She tugs on my arm. It is my good arm she’s hooked on to, by the way. We resume our way down the street as she talks. “I remember your mother was close friends with his mother. They went to each other’s houses all the time, dragged you poor kids along with them. You and little Noah didn’t know what to do with yourselves. And the moms would just talk and talk and talk all afternoon. I’d be in the kitchen hearing their banter—whenever they were at our house, of course. They had so much in common back then. One thing being griping about their husbands.” She lets out a tiny laugh. “But they never griped about their sons. That was their joint happiness—you and Noah. They sure do love their boys.” Then she frowns. “Too bad about the falling out between them.”
I stop again. “Falling out?”
“Goodness, Cole, keep movin’ your feet, you’re gonna give me whiplash. Yes, falling out.”
“Wait, what happened? I didn’t know they had a falling out.”
“I didn’t either, ‘til one day I realized it’d been a week since they had one of their little day drinkin’ sessions, then I asked your mother if Deidra was out of town or somethin’, and boy, the look my sweet daughter-in-law gave me could’ve melted glass.”
I blink, astonished. “I can’t believe I never knew this.”
“To this day, still don’t know who was in the wrong or what happened between them, but they don’t speak anymore, and they would be damned to cross paths. I do hate how that happens,” she says with a long sigh. “From best friends to strangers overnight.”
“That makes me so sad, Nan.”
“Me too. Best not to dwell on it. Onward, upward.”
We reach the house, first one on the corner with the big oak tree and tire swing hanging from it. I make a mental note to clean up the front flowerbed, as the mulch looks like it’s been blown all over the place and some weeds are starting to pop up. Nan and I pass through the side gate to the back door of the house, which is how everyone here comes and goes. Only visitors, strangers, and solicitors use the actual front door. Also, there’s a small garden outside by the dining room bay window that my dad and grandma tend to full of fresh vegetables they grow—a little mother-son project they began about five or six years ago, back when I was still in school. My dad tried getting me involved once, but I clearly do not share the green thumbs they possess.
The moment we step inside, my dog Porridge is happily upon me. I crouch down to let her lick me as I give her an enthusiastic rubbing. When I look up, I find my mom sitting at the dining room table with a glass of wine in front of her. Correction: an emptied glass of wine, only a trace left at the bottom.
She looks up at me as if gazing through a fog. “Hi, guys,” she greets us mildly, eyes half-closed. “How’d the festival go?”
“Oh, nothin’ much happened,” answers my grandma as she sits down at a bench by the back door to take off her shoes. “I got myself a halter dress. Cole saved a young man’s life.”
My mom nods. “That sounds nice.” She gazes out the window.
Nan grunts as she removes a shoe. “Lauren, sweetheart, I was bein’ serious about the savin’-a-young-man part.”
My mom turns back to us, confused. “Saving what?”
I come up to the table. “It’s alright, Mom. How was your day?” I glance at the glass. “Did you … wanna check out the festival, too? It’ll still be going on tomorrow. Heck, there’s still time today.”
“Maybe.”
Grandma continues to take off her shoes, appearing to have no patience for my mom’s mood today.
I put my hand on my mom’s, giving it a squeeze. “You wanna go for a bit? Get out of the house? Apricot Street wasn’t quite as crowded and chaotic as Main Street. We can even take Porridge with us. I’m sure she’d love that.”
Just at the mention of her name, Porridge rushes right up to my side, panting away.
My mom rubs at a spot on her forehead. “Maybe,” she repeats, then rises from the table with a sigh and moves to the kitchen. Porridge follows her, tongue dangling, curious, but my mom pays her as much mind as a gnat.
When I glance back at my grandma, I find her having changed to her gardening shoes. “I’ll be out back,” she tells me sweetly, but her eyes are on my mom with disapproval. She lets out a sigh of her own as she returns to the back door. “Porridge! Here, girl! You been outside today, girl? Cooped up? Someone been ignorin’ your needs? Over here, girl.” Still panting and as happy as a dog can possibly be, she rushes to the door and follows my Nan out to the garden. The door closes softly behind her.