Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81794 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81794 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Nora’s mouth sags a little in disbelief, and I can actually see I’ve hurt her feelings deep within her eyes.
I have a flash of guilt, but I push it aside.
Nora merely inclines her head, a subtle acknowledgment she has heard my complaints. Taking a step backward, she says, “I’ll see you Friday. Three PM.”
Then she pivots on her heel and walks out of the barn, leaving me alone with my thoughts, which are bordering on a mix of guilt and disgust.
“I’m going to give you a pass on that one,” I hear a voice say from the stall. It’s a heavy Latino accent, the words coarse and gruff. I’d forgotten about the old man in there with the horse.
He steps out, eyes hard from under the brim of his straw hat. “You talk to Nora like that again, and I’m going to whip your ass, muchacho.”
“Won’t be an issue if she keeps that hippie love and sunshine shit to herself,” I mutter, not cowed in the slightest by his threat.
“Be honest with yourself,” he answers, stepping fully out of the stall and latching the door closed. “That’s not really what you object to.”
“Pardon?” I ask, slightly offended he’s trying to shrink me.
“You don’t like her offering you any hope of a better future because you don’t think anyone could possibly understand what you’ve been through.”
I grit my teeth. He’s not far off the mark. I get she has education and experience in handling people like me, but it’s insulting she thinks she can put me in a brighter spot without knowing a fucking thing about my pain and misery.
It’s going to be hard to trust her now for just that reason.
“Trust me, amigo,” the old man says as he ambles toward me. When we’re a few feet apart, he tips his head and pushes the brim of his hat back a bit. I can now see his eyes clearly. “Nora has suffered horrors you can’t even imagine. I don’t know what your issues are, but don’t think that woman doesn’t understand pain. She’s lost more than a human being should be made to and suffered more than anyone deserves, and she’s come out of it still smiling and hopeful. You should give her the benefit of the doubt.”
I have to widen my stance just a tad, so my knees don’t buckle under the weight of what he just said. He hadn’t divulged one damn personal thing about Nora, yet I can tell by the tone of his voice that something horrific has happened to her.
It’s not something I’d considered.
Do I think I’m the only person in the world who has suffered?
Fuck no. I know I’m not.
Had I thought the woman with the bright smile and eternal hope of healing had survived something brutal?
Not in a million years, and now I don’t know what the fuck to think about her.
CHAPTER 5
Nora
While I’d have preferred to ride Starlight or Ming up the hill to the tiny cemetery, the four-wheel gator does the job in a pinch. I turn it off, engage the safety brake, and climb out.
It’s not much of a cemetery, just a handful of old grave markers for the family that held this ranch for a few generations before I bought it at auction. It sits under a copse of palo verdes, which provide enough shade that sparse grass grows.
Set off to the side from the other plots is the one I’ve come to visit.
Helen Wayne
June 7, 1958 – April 23, 2017
Beloved Mother and Savior.
“Hi, Nënë,” I murmur as I sit cross-legged on her grave.
Helen Wayne was as American as apple pie, but when she first met me, my English was incredibly broken as we just didn’t use it a lot. She asked me to call her Nënë—Albanian for Mother or Momma—and it never felt strange to me. Even though I’d had a mother at one point in my life, I never questioned calling her that.
I would have done anything she asked of me.
“I had a busy day today,” I say quietly, picking at a blade of thin grass. “Got two interesting new clients. Terrance is just a kid—a real punk, actually. You’d totally love him. He’s so hungry for genuine contact, but he’s scared to move on it. And Tacker is this guy who has some deep-seated issues he doesn’t want to talk about. He’s been forced into counseling, and you and I both know that often doesn’t end well. Regardless, I made him shovel shit today since he wouldn’t open up.”
My mother would have so appreciated that but then again, she pretty much thought anything I did was the best thing ever. Not sure there could have ever been a prouder mother in the world than Helen Wayne, and I can feel her presence looking over me at all times.