Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
I smiled, but before I could say anything, my father called out, “Are you two going to sit there and tell secrets all day, or can we get some dinner, please?”
“Same old Dad,” I said with a chuckle.
Braxton rolled his eyes. “You have no idea.”
After getting somewhat settled up in my old room, I headed downstairs. I could hear laughter coming from the kitchen and my heart filled with happiness. Palmer’s voice carried above the rest as she finished telling a story.
As I made my way into the kitchen, Sutton said, “I’m telling you, Palmer, you should write a book with all the stories you have.”
“I may just do that, Sutton,” Palmer said before she noticed me and let out a loud scream.
“Jesus H, Palmer!” my father cried out. “Are you trying to give me another heart attack?”
Palmer rushed over to me, nearly knocking me down as she threw her body against mine. “You’re home! You’re finally home!”
I couldn’t help but laugh as I hugged her back. “I was here a few months ago.”
“That was different. You were only here for a little bit, and Dad was in the hospital so it wasn’t the same.”
When Palmer stepped away, Sutton took her place, but in a much calmer way. “How are you, big sister?”
“I’m doing good. How are you?” I asked Sutton.
It was clear to me how much happier my sister was now. Her divorce was final; she had moved on from a toxic marriage, and it showed on her beautiful face. Sutton had married the guy she’d dated on and off through high school and college, right after they’d both graduated. I never really understood why she’d married Jack. He was a jealous asshole who would constantly tell Sutton it was over, then come back to her on his hands and knees begging for another chance. He never hit her—my brother had made sure of that—but it was clear he also didn’t treat her very well. Anytime we asked her if he was verbally abusive, she’d say no, but I wasn’t sure she was being completely honest. My entire family couldn’t stand Jack, so when Sutton married him, it was hard for any of us to understand why. I’d always thought she had a thing for Brody Wilson, Gannon’s older brother. At one point in time she’d had a serious crush on him. Even when she was dating that asshat, I knew she’d secretly liked Brody. But she’d suddenly stopped talking about Brody the summer after her senior year of high school. I mean, she still spoke about him, but not like she had before. Something had changed.
After working and saving up enough money, Sutton had opened up her shop, Coastal Chic, while Jack, her husband at the time, had started working at an accounting firm his father owned. Jack had constantly complained that the shop took up all of Sutton’s time. Truth be told, Palmer and I had suspected that Sutton spent so much time there because she wanted to be away from Jack. On more than one occasion, I’d asked why she stayed married to him. Hell, I wanted to know why she’d married him in the first place. She would simply smile and say, “It’s complicated.”
It was a godsend when Sutton had to run home one afternoon to pick up something she’d left there and had found Jack in bed with his female co-worker. Sutton had taken one look at them, turned around, and headed straight for Gannon’s dad’s office. Sutton was the last client he’d taken on before he retired from practicing law. He was a damn good lawyer and even had the judge order Jack to allow Sutton to buy out his half of Coastal Chic. The last I heard she hadn’t been able to get in touch with the asshat to finalize the sale. It was all a mess, to say the least.
Sutton had moved out of the house she’d shared with Jack and back in with my folks. It had only been recently that she had taken possession of the house she’d bought with Jack. He didn’t want it and had given it to Sutton in the divorce before leaving to go to France. The first thing my sister did was get rid of everything in the house by donating it or selling it. She was starting over all the way, and I couldn’t blame her.
That little incident had even made it into the local gossip section of The Seaside Chronicle. The author of the column was anonymous. Not even Harlee Tilson, my best friend from high school and the daughter of the owner of The Chronicle, knew who he or she was.
Now Sutton forced a smile as she replied, “I’m doing good. Things are starting to settle down some, and I’m getting a lot of issues with the house fixed, so that’s good.”