Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
But it’s fine.
...it’s not fine.
Mom hasn’t been fine for a long time, and I almost wanted to yell at her for hiding her deteriorating condition.
For making it hit that much harder when I finally got to see her for myself.
I didn’t try to wake her, no, not even to hear her voice.
Not when rest is exactly what she needs to heal and fight on.
So I came back home and started tidying up the house on top of trying to call Ros again. It takes six texts and two voicemails, but she finally calls me back.
Holy hell.
It’s like she doesn’t hear me at all from whatever strange planet she’s on when I try to tell her how Mom’s doing.
That’s not my sister on the line.
There’s something wrong.
She’s giggling too much, slurring her words.
Then there’s a male voice in the background before she shushes him and ignores me when I ask who he is.
“Ros?” I ask, trying to force down my bubbling frustration—and fear. On top of Mom being gravely ill, I’m worried to death that there’s something awful going on with my sister. “When are you coming home tonight?”
“Tonight? Oh, Ophie, I don’t know. Still have to do inventory at the shop,” she says matter-of-factly. It comes out forced like a blatant excuse. “You need something?”
“Um, yeah, to see my sister? Ros, I’ve been back here for two days and you haven’t dropped in for more than five minutes. What’s going on with you?”
“It’s just... busy. Calm down,” she says defensively—and I catch Background Guy muttering again, even if I can’t make out his words. “You remember how tourist season gets, right? Everybody wants their beeswax candles and scented soaps, and when that’s over we get the online rush for the holidays when their people back home find out where they bought it from. Just chill, Sis. I’ve been doing this on my own for a while now. If you really want to see me, you could come help clean up the back room for storage. Packing and postal runs and all that organizing takes time. I mean, you’d know if you’d been here all these years...”
Ouch.
Guilt rips through me.
“Okay, okay. Maybe I deserved that.” I sigh. “I’ll stop by the shop once I’m done here, okay? Let me know if you need help with the back orders.”
“Sure,” she says, but she already sounds distracted again. Like she’s checking out, pulling the phone away. “Later, Ophie.”
“Ros—”
Too late.
I stare down at my screen, the phone blanking with a disconnected call, then sigh and push my face into my palm.
“Dammit, Ros.”
I curl up on the sofa and spend a few hours surfing job sites, looking for work. I think I’m just in denial right now because all the listings I apply for are in Miami.
Part of me thinks this is all a temporary hiccup, I guess.
Mom will miraculously get better.
I’ll blow in and fix whatever’s up with Ros.
Then I’ll escape Redhaven’s dreary orbit a second time before it swallows me up the same way it did Ethan and so many others.
Before I start thinking of this place as home again and get way too attached to certain people when I should know better by now.
Especially big, gruff, emotionally stunted people.
By the time I’m done with a few halfhearted job apps, I hear the rumble of a garbage truck pulling away from the curb. Considering how stuffy the HOA is around here—especially since it’s run by Lucia Arrendell—it’s best to get the cans in from the curb ASAP. I wouldn’t put it past some busybody to report it if they’re out there for more than two hours.
The joys of small-town pettiness and boredom.
Just another reason to get out of here without looking back.
I unglue myself from the sofa and step outside, shivering in my jeans, t-shirt, and sandals as the chilly afternoon makes the sunny sky a lie.
Ugh, I really need to go shopping and buy a proper coat.
As soon as I get done lugging the garbage cans inside, I rake a few leaves.
I’m by the curb when I almost slam into a tall figure on a jog. He materializes out of nowhere, blocking my path.
My breaths stop cold as I peel back in shock.
I’ve never seen this man before in my life.
He’s tall, gaunt, older, with a deeply seamed face and hollow eyes burning with a crazed intensity. His grey hair looks deranged, twisted like a bird’s nest, and in his tailcoat he looks like an Addams Family extra, pale and shadow-eyed.
Gasping, I step back, bumping into the trash cans behind me.
“Who are y—”
“You’re next,” he hisses—and he lunges, grabbing at my arms.
“Hey—stop!”
Strange, bony fingers dig into me.
He’s nearly shaking me, making my teeth rattle as he drags me closer, staring at me wildly.
“You have to stay away.” His voice cracks. “You... you have to stay away or you’re next!”