Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 80969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
“Why do you care?” I raise my brow.
His expression shutters. “I don’t. But I need to know if the mutt is carrying any diseases. It’s been swimming in my pool after all.”
“He’s not a mutt. And he doesn’t have any diseases.” I hug the dog to me, and he tucks his face into my neck.
“Yeah, sure, Red. You keep telling yourself that. At the very least, the mutt has fleas, probably ticks.”
Fleas? Ticks?
And, now, my skin’s itching.
I scratch my arm. Then, my head.
Jesus H. Christ! This is all his fault, putting the fleas idea into my head.
“Won’t the vet be closed?” I voice while scratching my neck. It must be nearing midnight by now.
“There’s a twenty-four-hour clinic in town.”
“Oh. Well, that would be good, but I don’t have a car, and I really don’t want to walk into town in the dark, so I’ll have to take him in the morning.”
And spend the night with the fleas and ticks. I scratch harder at the thought.
But I won’t see this poor little dog out on the streets because of a few itchy bugs that he probably doesn’t even have.
So, why am I even scratching?
Because of him putting the idea in my head!
I hear a loud, frustrated sigh come from River and watch as his hand rakes through his thick hair.
“For fuck’s sake,” he growls. “I’ll take you to the clinic in my truck.”
Wow.
The way he’s going, you’d think I just asked him for a ride to the clinic.
It’s on my tongue to tell him where to stick his ride, but I really should get the sweet little dog to the vet sooner rather than later.
So, I swallow my pride for the sake of my new doggie buddy and say, “That’d be great, thanks. I just need to run home and change into dry clothes. Can I leave the dog with you while I go? I’ll only be a few minutes.” I don’t want to possibly bring fleas into my house before I’ve had a chance to get the dog treated at the vet.
“Of course. Take your time,” he says sarcastically. “Actually, while you’re at it, why don’t you take a long, hot bath, wash your hair, and then get dressed, and I’ll just stand out here with the flea-ridden mutt, waiting like a cunt?”
“Oh, that’s so kind of you to offer, River.” I smile wide, walking back to him. “But I don’t want to leave you looking like a C-U-Next-Tuesday, so I’ll just change my clothes and be back in two ticks.” I hold the dog out to him, forcing him to take him from me. “Ticks—ha! Get it?”
I laugh, to which he growls.
I back up a few steps, grinning, enjoying the scowl framing his mouth, and then force myself to turn and walk away at a leisurely pace, back to my house to change.
River
Twelve Years Old
Gran has her record player on. Some band called The Flying Pickets. The song currently playing is called “Only You.” Gran really does like some crap music. But, as songs go, this one is okay, I suppose.
We’re in the workshop. Gran is over at the crucible. She’s been going back and forth from there to the crushed glass she’s using to create a vase she’s been commissioned to make. She doesn’t need me at the moment, so I’m finishing off the piece we made yesterday.
Using a grinding block, I’m buffing off the sharp edges on the bottom of the glass balloon. Well, it’s a lampshade shaped like a balloon. It’s varying shades of blue, going from light blue to midnight blue. It’s for Mama. Blue is her favorite color. Not that she can have the lampshade in prison. But, when I make stuff for her, I take a photo of it and bring the picture to show her, as I now get to visit her every month after Gran convinced her that I needed to see her.
Mama likes our visits and the pictures a lot. She tells me that she has all the photos hanging on her wall. She tells me that she’s happy that I’m doing glassblowing with Gran. She says I make her proud.
I know that’s not true.
How could she be proud of me?
She’s in that place because of me.
But, when she gets out of prison and we’re together again, I’ll make up for what I did.
Until then, I’ll just keep making things for her and making her happy in the only way I can.
I glance at the shelf where all the things I’ve made for her are. It’s starting to get quite full.
Gran starts singing along to the song while she works. She’s a terrible singer.
I roll my eyes, but there’s a smile on my lips.
The bell chimes in the workshop, telling us that someone is at the front door. Gran had the doorbell set up to ring in here, so she could hear when someone rang the bell because she’s out in her workshop a lot.