Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“Oh, wow,” I murmur, feeling horrible for Mrs. Blair.
Janelle nods with worry. “It’s apparently pretty bad, and the EMS guy said she’d most likely need surgery. But her next-door neighbor, who is her best friend, is on the way to the hospital and will stay with her.”
“Why was she taking the stairs?” Clarke asks curiously, and my head whips her way, giving her a look like “who the hell cares?”
But Janelle shrugs. “She says it’s good exercise.”
Clarke looks to me. “I don’t mind Janelle coming home with me.”
“You have that chamber of commerce dinner,” I remind her, and turn to Janelle with a smile. “Besides, it’ll be fun. Like a slumber party. We’ll run by your condo and get some clothes and you’ll stay at my place. We’ll order in Chinese and do facials.”
“Awesome!” Janelle exclaims, eyes bright with excitement.
But then a thought occurs, and I swing my gaze to Janelle. “Will your brother care if you sleep over?”
Janelle smiles excitedly. “Not at all. I’ve told him all about you the few times we’ve talked, and since Clarke and Aaron vouch for you, he’ll be totally fine with it.”
I feel as if she’s not being wholly honest with me, so I nod to her phone. “Call him and ask right now.”
“No can do,” she replies, ducking her head sheepishly. “He’s in game-prep mode. He won’t answer, but I’ll text him and explain everything.”
I glance at Clarke who nods at me. “I’m sure it’s fine. I’ll text Aaron to reassure him you’re not anything like Charles Manson.”
“Gee, thanks,” I drawl with an eye roll, and then look to Janelle. “Okay. Let’s get going. Your place first.”
“Awesome,” Janelle says again, this time with a slight fist pump. I can’t help but laugh.
♦
I follow Janelle into the condo she shares with her brother. She puts in the alarm password and moves through a large, open-plan space that consists of living and dining areas and a kitchen that flows from one room to the other.
“I’ll go pack a bag,” Janelle says, tossing her purse on the couch.
“Okay,” I say vaguely as I stare around the living room in slight shock.
Riggs has what I would stereotype as a typical bachelor pad. Heavy masculine furniture in neutral colors, and not a single piece of artwork on the walls. No photographs showing family. No knickknacks. A San Diego Renegades fleece blanket thrown over the back of the couch. A pair of tennis shoes kicked off haphazardly, one under the coffee table and one wedged under the recliner. An empty glass on the table and sports magazines strewn about.
To a woman who appreciates style and comfort in her surroundings, this living area looks like nothing more than a high-priced hotel room, lacking both character and depth.
None of this surprises me.
What does surprise me is the fact that there is not one single Christmas decoration, and tomorrow is Christmas Eve. You’d never know it from where I stand.
This would not bother me if it were only Riggs living here, but I know Janelle celebrates Christmas. Over the past few days, she’s gushed over all the in-store decorations, and we’ve talked about the fast-approaching holiday. She hummed holiday tunes while she worked, and the second day she came in, she wore a headband with reindeer antlers studded with Christmas ornaments hanging from each point.
I’ve learned enough about Janelle to know that she adores Christmas, that her favorite part is decorating the tree, and her least favorite is wrapping gifts.
While she’s been quiet about the specifics of the family she left behind when she came to live with Riggs, I’ve discovered through our conversations that while her upbringing seemed normal, clearly, their family was not on par with typical middle-class life.
For example, as we talked about Christmas, she told me growing up, there was only enough money to put up a cheap plastic tree and provide for a few gifts. But there wasn’t money for vacations or fancy clothes. She didn’t have to shop at thrift stores for what she needed, but her clothing came from discount stores.
“Of course,” she’d told me as she was running a feather duster over some Christmas figurines on a shelving unit, “when Riggs got drafted, he started sending money to my parents to buy stuff for me.”
That brought a smile to my face. But before I could utter a sigh over it, she added, “Not that the money he sent ever got spent on me.”
The inference was clear. Janelle didn’t benefit from Riggs’s generosity.
Normally, I’d never pry into something that obviously left bitter memories, but Janelle opened the door. I thought perhaps she might want to talk, so I gently poked, just a little.
I knew from Clarke that Riggs recently got custody of his sister, but not the reason why. I’m not sure anyone knows.
I asked an unobtrusive question first. “How come your last name is Adamik and Riggs’s is Nadeau?”