Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 75633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
No, I straight up listened. I tried to get into his business, and it's not time for that in this relationship yet. Whatever this relationship even is.
He stops, his back to me, pouring his coffee slower than he should. “It's nothing, Red. Old issue with VA benefits.”
I don't know why, but it doesn't sound right. Or truthful.
I fix my eyes on his, searching, watching as he hides his beautifully damaged face behind the mug, taking a long sip. “You're sure?”
He tips his head, releasing a long sigh, almost a groan. The mug bangs against the counter, sloshing hot coffee everywhere. “I asked you before, last time we got into it around New Years – if I knew shit about your brother, would you want it?”
There's a hole opening in the pit of my stomach. I think about Jackson, Ginger, the precious little boy or girl growing inside her. Then mom, and dad chasing after her, trying to nurse her back to a healthy mind that may never exist again.
If he has some dark, horrid secret about my brother...is it worth it? Can I handle it?
“We'll talk about this later,” Marshal says, stepping past me, yanking his hat off the hook. “Need to get to work.”
Once again, he's swept the ground out under me.
It's getting late and he hasn't come in for dinner. His loss, I suppose, because the rosemary beef stew bubbling to a finish in the slow cooker smells heavenly. Even Mia asks for a heaping portion. I ladle food in bowls, warning her to let it cool. The oven dings for the French bread I've baked to go with the meal. Just in time.
I'm blowing on my first bite when the phone rings. My brother's name lights up the screen and I wrinkle my nose after the morning's drama. But I have to answer.
“Yeah, Jackson?”
“I'm only gonna ask this once, you fucking idiot: what made you think letting mom paint the Castoff was such a brilliant move?”
“One second.” I freeze. Mia chews her food happily, humming to herself, oblivious to the hell in my ear. I tuck the phone against my shoulder, whisper a few words, tell her I'll be back in a minute.
Oh, if only this would be so brief.
Once I'm around the corner, I resume. “Jackson, calm down, I –“
“You what, sis? Thought you'd bring a crazy man you've decided is cool because he signs your checks into our mentally ill mother's home? Let her spend hours with him, alone, painting that asshole in our parents' bedroom?”
I swallow. My patience hangs by its very last thread.
“Christ. When I said you could take the job, and blow off helping dad, I thought you had some common sense.”
“You don't control my life!” I snap. “Look, it was mom's idea, this whole thing. She lit up the first time we came by. He helped me drop your truck off, no less. She wanted to paint him and Mia, and she wouldn't take no for an answer.”
“You didn't tell her no? Goddamn.”
“No, Jackson, I didn't. She's still our mother, and in case you hadn't noticed, keeping her cooped up alone with dad all day isn't working. This might. He said she's a lot happier lately, even when the sketches don't come out just like she'd hoped. She's inspired for the first time in years.”
“You're too close to that asshole, sis. Fuck. I never should've let you screw off playing sitter, trusting you wouldn't bring him anywhere near our family.”
“He's not a monster!” My voice cracks. I wish he'd understand. Someday he might have to, if whatever's happening with Marshal lasts. “Look, this isn't easy, I get it. There'll always be bad blood between you two. Fine. But that stupid fight you had years ago? The one that turned the town against him? He doesn't deserve it. Not then and not now.”
“Doesn't deserve it?” I can't tell if he sounds confused, or if he's about to explode. “Sis, the asshole you're so soft on tried to humiliate me in front of the entire town. He spit on my fucking service record and he did it publicly. Implied I did atrocities overseas, serving this country, and –“
“So, did you?” I'm shaking my head.
I don't know what to believe. I don't know what I want to.
“You're serious?” His voice is like sandpaper. “Fuck you, sis. He's really got you brainwashed if you're even asking that question. Forget the shit with mom. I'll deal with it myself.”
“Jackson –“ My phone makes a clicking noise. “Hello?”
I hold it away. It's disconnected, just as I thought, blinking his name and number a few last times before fading away. Stuffing it back into my pocket, I storm the kitchen, wishing I could open the door and hurl the damned thing out into the nearest snow drift.
I slow before I get to my seat, surprised. Marshal sits at the table, a fresh bowl of piping hot dinner in front of him. He bites the end off a piece of French bread and looks at me. “Damn good on a cold night like this. We're supposed to be snowed in later. Least we'll have plenty of leftovers for tomorrow.”