Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 75861 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75861 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
I reached for the table, but Smith was there before I was, pulling it out, opening it up for me to place the box down.
I did, then opened the lid, then took a step back, trying desperately to gauge his reaction to the contents.
Everything was carefully organized - each set of earrings stuck through holes in little pieces of cardboard squares that closely resembled the kind that I used to see in department stores back when it was acceptable for me to shop in them.
"Are these pig noses?" he asked, reaching for a set of studs with pink sideways ovals with nostrils.
"Ah, yeah," I said, feeling my cheeks heat, my pulse quicken, suddenly feeling very foolish to have ever found a sense of pride in my silly tinkering.
"Can I buy these off of you?" he asked, and I was pretty sure I blacked out from utter shock for a second. "Jenny?" he asked when I didn't answer.
"You want to buy the pig studs?"
"Miller... she works at the office. She likes pigs. Has a little collection of statues of them. She'd dig these. I can sock them away for her birthday."
My heart, beaten down for years into a shape unrecognizable, deflated from being pricked so many times, swelled, found its true form again.
Did he really think they were good enough to actually pay for? Could other people maybe feel the same?
"Take them," I told him, giving him a grateful smile. "I have so many boxes of them."
"These are great," he said, reaching for a different pair of studs - a set of succulents that took hours to get just right the first time I tried to make a set. "They almost look real. Have you ever thought of selling them? Stupid question," he said, shaking his head at himself. "If you couldn't have a plant or gain a pound, I doubt you'd have been allowed to open a shop on that website. With all the craft shit..."
"Etsy," I clarified.
"Yeah, that one. You could do something with these instead of hoarding them in boxes. Get a good camera, take some pictures, upload them. What the fuck, y'know? You never know."
He made it sound so possible.
And, well, maybe it was.
I mean, not right now. Not this soon. That wouldn't look right - the widow who suddenly opened a business a day or two after her husband was killed.
But in a few weeks... a few months. Claim to others that it was a way to keep my mind occupied, that it felt good to be productive. It could work. Even if my so-called socialite friends would totally look down on jewelry that didn't sparkle and come in a little green-blue box.
But who cared what they thought?
"Maybe I will give that a try," I said, feeling like it was only real if it was heard by someone else. "You know, after things calm down around here."
"I think that would be really good for you. Get something of your own going. And you can totally turn this room - or any other room - into a genuine workspace if you want to," he reminded me, like he knew I needed the reminder, that I had been so trained over the years that it didn't even occur to me that I could make changes, that I could take the reins.
"If I stay here," I said, tucking the rest of the earrings away, putting them back in the closet on their shelf, promising myself it wasn't for forever, that I would find Teddy's good camera, take pictures, open an Etsy shop, at least try. Even if I failed. Failing at something I did totally for me was better, I believed, than winning at things that meant nothing.
"You'd like to leave?"
"I know. It's a beautiful house. It's just... I can't think of a single happy memory here," I admitted, looking down at my feet.
"Would you stay in the area?"
"I like Navesink Bank," I admitted. "But I think I would move, um, closer..."
"You mean out of the uber-rich neighborhood," he guessed with a twinkle in his eyes - more green in this room. Each room was different. I really shouldn't have been noticing things like that.
"Yeah. Somewhere smaller. Where I wouldn't need a staff to upkeep it. Can put up colored Christmas lights. With tinsel."
"Do they even sell tinsel anymore?" Smith asked, but his eyes were dancing, amused by my vision, the girl in her mansion wanting to move to a little house and fill it with gaudy silver strips of... I didn't even know what.
"I'm sure I could find it somewhere."
"I'm with you on the colored lights, though. Christmas should be full of color," he told me, folding up the table, slipping it away, closing the closet door. And the moment suddenly felt over.
That stab of disappointment in my belly, yeah, I was going to ignore that.