Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 37733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
“Well, hey there, Doc Collier.”
Hannah Bridges leans seductively in the doorway of her shop, giving me those come-hither eyes. She seems to think that flashing me some skin is going to win me over. She’s been pursuing me since I landed here, and honestly, it’s a little tiresome.
“How are you doing today, Hannah?” I ask politely.
“Well, I’d be a lot better if you’d come on in and let me take some measurements, Doc,” she says. “I’ll make you a suit fine enough for you to wear to church on Sundays.”
Finer than the closet full of Armani, Gucci, and Versace I’ve got at home? Doubtful. Hannah is a very talented seamstress and makes some beautiful dresses, but I doubt anybody is going to be wearing her on the red carpet in Hollywood, New York, or Cannes anytime soon. But for small-town middle America, she’s a rock star.
“Another time. But thanks, Hannah.”
“Well, you come on in here whenever you’re lookin’ for a new suit, Ethan. I’m sure I’ve got somethin’ you can fit into pretty nicely indeed,” she says in a sultry tone as her eyes travel up and down my body.
I have to keep from rolling my eyes. Subtlety is not her game. But I suppose she’s not trying to be subtle about it. And that’s why I’m not interested in Hannah. There’s almost a desperate need for attention and validation in her pursuit of me that I find off-putting.
I offer her a friendly wave and laugh to myself as I continue on my way. It’s just another day in small town USA.
3
ELODIE
“Ihave never understood how you can stand to watch this garbage.”
Her love for these garbage pseudo-reality shows, like whatever Housewives show she’s currently hooked on, is one of my life’s enduring mysteries. I’ve never understood it. Mams is hooked on all of these so-called reality shows that, as far as I’m concerned, are nothing but toxic drama fests. It’s a train wreck piloted by the worst people in the world. That could be the appeal, though—people love the drama. Mam turns to me and the expression on her face melts my heart as she mutes the TV.
“Elodie, sweetheart. What in the world are you doing here, child?”
“Hey, Mam.”
I stand in the bedroom doorway, looking at the woman who raised me, fighting back the tears welling in my eyes. She looks so small and frail beneath the sheets. And when I perch on the edge of her bed and take her hand, it seems more delicate and fragile. My grandmother has always been a robust woman with a booming and infectious laugh that gave off a larger-than-life energy. But now, propped up against some pillows in her bed, she looks somehow diminished. Even her voice is subdued and lacks her usual vigor. But her face has a little color, and though she looks tired, she’s alert, which I take to be a good sign.
“Mrs. Lund called me and told me what happened,” I say.
“Well, I’m going to have to chat with Arlene about that. I’m fine, as you can see,” she replies. “There was no need for you to come all the way out here. Not when you have so much important work to do back home.”
“There’s nothing more important for me to be doing right now than being here with you.”
Her expression is soft as she pats my hand. Arlene Lund, her longtime friend and neighbor, was the one who found her after Mam’s heart attack. Mrs. Lund got her to the hospital and has been caring for her ever since. Thank God for Mrs. Lund. I shudder to think what might have happened had she not been around.
“I can’t believe you’re here. The flight out must have been expensive,” Mam says. “You shouldn’t have spent the money. You can see that I’m fine.”
“I can see that you’re alive. Fine though? I’ll let the doctor make that determination. This isn’t one of those things you can try to walk off like you normally do.”
Mam smiles. She’s old school like that. She comes from a generation of people who believed that unless there is bone showing through the skin or you drop dead, you can throw a bandage over it and be fine to carry on.
“Elodie, sweetheart, you don’t need to—”
“The money has already been spent and I’m here, Mam,” I say. “And believe me, there is nowhere I’d rather be.”
“I just feel terrible that you’re giving up your life to be here.”
“Bold of you to assume I’ve got a life, Mam,” I reply with a quiet laugh.
“Well, that’s the problem. You’re young, sweetheart. You should be out there making a life for yourself with that boy you’re seeing—Ben, isn’t it? Handsome boy, he is. Yes, you should be out having fun with Ben instead of sitting here with an old lady.”