Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 122097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
“And Ester?”
“Ester knows everything, son. There ain’t no way for anything to be happening around here without Ester knowing about it.” He shrugs. “But she’s my number one. She and I have no secrets.”
Huh. I make a connection here. Because Rosie Harlow is Ester’s niece or something. There’s a generation missing there, maybe even two, but it doesn’t matter. “Does Rosie know?”
“She might. But don’t bother asking Ester about it, Collin. She will never tell you who she’s told.”
This answer surprises me. Especially after all his grandstanding a few minutes ago about taking shit to the grave. “What’s that mean? I thought you said it was fuckin’ secret. Why’s she tellin’ anyone at all? I mean, shouldn’t the answer to my question be ‘no’?”
“Son, what good is having a fuckin’ secret if you cannot use it? And in order to use it, other people need to know about it. Everyone who knows has told someone else. A secret like this is always more powerful when others know about it.”
He’s got a point. A big secret is dangerous. It can get you killed right quick if you don’t know how to preserve it. You have to pass it on. You have to tell someone, it’s like insurance. And if I were a bettin’ man, I’d put all my chips on Rosie Harlow being Ester’s vault.
Rosie comes off as a blabbermouth, but she’s got a cunning side to her. I mean, she is the only single mother in the entire fuckin’ town. And it’s got nothin’ to do with people accepting her past mistakes. I haven’t been here long, but the only possible reason Rosie’s still living inside city limits and taking her profit share is because she refused to leave. She would not be run out like all the others who came before her.
“So who did Grimm tell?”
Jim Bob smiles at me. Like it ain’t none of my business. And then he changes the subject. “Who would you tell, Collin? If you had that secret right now?”
My first inclination would be to tell Lowyn. But I would never tell Lowyn. It would put her in too much danger. “Amon.”
Jim Bob nods. “Good choice.”
“So if we both get this truth at the end of the year, we should each tell someone else?”
“Makes sense.”
I kinda scoff here. Some secret this is. “So everybody knows, Jim Bob?”
Jim Bob makes a big ol’ shrug with both hands. “Perhaps. But the only people on record knowin’ is what counts. You hear me? And there are only seven names on that record, including mine. But just the fact that you’re here would be enough for them to guess.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“We’re gonna say ‘good day’ now, Collin. I’m sorry the Revival story brings back bad memories for you. But they’re really not that bad, son. They’re really not. Olive is alive and living with your parents. That alone means you won.”
He holds out his hand. Which is my signal to get to my feet. So I do that. I don’t have to shake his hand. I know this. It’s his decision to offer it, but it’s my decision whether or not I want to complete the transaction.
Which seems to be fair, I guess. If I put in my time, he will give me the truth.
I accept the truce, gripping his hand hard as I lock eyes with him. “I want you to know that you’ve burned a bridge with me, Jim Bob.” He sighs, but it’s a small one. I have not yet let go of his hand. “You tricked me.” He shakes his head no. But he’s wrong. “If you cared about me, you would not have brought me into this. So I’m gonna have to go ahead and assume you do not care about me, Jim Bob.”
Then I end the handshake. Turn around. And walk out.
When I leave Jim Bob’s little government building my brain is going so fast, I feel like one of those crazy conspiracy theorists like you see on TV shows. The kind with a wall covered with newspaper clippings, and photographs, and red strings goin’ this way and that, connecting all the dots together.
Except I’m not that guy. Not yet, anyway. I’m standing in a basement room with windows near the ceiling. A single light hanging from the rafters. Swaying, maybe, throwing shadows. But the walls are empty. Maybe one or two things on there, but that’s it. Because I am not at the end of a journey, connecting dots with pieces of red string. I am that crazy man on day one of his quest. Back when he was sane.
Redress. According to the internet there are ten definitions of redress. But the one I home in on is this: Act of correcting an error or a fault or an evil.