Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 97951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“Yes, I know. He’s being stubborn for some reason. It would be a great opportunity for him.”
“It would. He and I need to revisit that situation, for his own sake.”
“Hmph. Well, as much as Lennox is someone I never want to deal with again, I wouldn’t wish prison on him or him being the victim of a shifty deal falling through, or this terrible woman who’s only using him. I hope he’s fine, and that’s all I can pray for.” Her heart thumped hard in her chest as Grandpa stared at her so intensely, it about killed her soul. “What situation did you need to discuss with him besides the money stuff he might have going on?”
“I’m getting to that. Silva, let me ask you somethin’.”
“Yes, Grandpa?”
“Are you aware of yo’ daddy’s drinkin’ problem?” He looked so stern. So serious. Yet his blue eyes narrowed and twinkled—like a shark’s.
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s worse than ever. Before, he could manage it well, but in the last year or so, he’s been intoxicated early in the day. That’s not like him.”
“Unfortunately, I think anyone who knows him realizes he has one too many libations, but he seems to function okay.”
“Mmm hmmm.” Grandpa nodded, his lips in a deep frown. He looked down at his sparkling white dress shoe, bent low, and swiped a speck of dust from it. “Well, unfortunately I think that drinkin’ problem led him to do somethin’ foolish, honey. Something he can’t fix with a spreadsheet or his fancy calculator.”
“What do you think he did?” She took a sip of the tea, then placed it down. Grandpa picked up his glass and did the same.
“I think he called his in-laws, in a fit of grief, and they were talkin’ about your dear mama.”
“Well, that’s okay, right? Nothing wrong with that.”
Grandpa waved his hand. “Naw, ain’t nothin’ wrong with talking about a woman you love, no matter how long she’s been gone,” he offered a tender smile, “especially if you’re still on good terms with the family—all the way out there yonder, in Lebanon. But, uh, your father, in his drunken state, called me right after the conversation. Told me that he might have messed up.” Grandpa took another swallow of his tea. She clasped her hands together, desperately trying to ignore the tickly sensation from the sweat dripping down the center of her back.
“Oh, dear. Ain’t no easy way to say this, sugar.” He slapped his knees and shook his head, as if the weight of the world was on him. “Your father was in a panic, Silva. Told me that, uh, he mentioned that your mama used to, how do I say this? Offer personal services to menfolk, if you will.” She cocked her head to the side, feigning that she wasn’t following his line of thinking. “I know you know about her past… though I’ve never talked about it with you. It’s not fit for conversation. Anyways, he let the cat out of the bag, honey bun. Told ’em that he missed your mama, but she wasn’t the saint they thought she was…” The old man’s eyes darkened, and a flash of evil showed on his face. “…because she’d been a salesgirl for the sin of lust. A trollop. An exotic, high-paid floozy,” he ground out.
Silva reached once more for her glass of iced tea, needing to swallow the scream that begged to come out.
“Oh, no.” She coughed into her fist when the liquid went down the wrong pipe. A hateful heat crawled up the sides of her neck and rested against her cheeks, setting her ablaze. “This is disastrous. This is a big deal in her culture. Her religion.”
“Yes, I imagine it is! I have tried to brainstorm ways to do damage control, you know? Maybe offer a bit of money so that they can relocate to another one of those little Muslim towns they’re in or what not. No amount of money is too much, baby girl, to keep your mama’s family safe, and those graves remaining intact, not desecrated. I understand, accordin’ to your daddy from a chat we had years ago, that they’d pull your mama right up out of that ground like an overgrown weed, and fling those bones every which way but loose, as long as they were no longer buried there by her respectable grandparents. It would be a pity. A real shame.” He shook his head in disgust.
Flashes of the blackmail letter, the damn contract, filled her mind. This ancient piece of excrement parading around town as a man who loved the Lord had written the horrible words to her brother and many of their cousins. How this demonic, decrepit creature sitting before her in his little satin paisley vest with matching shirt, tie, pants and boots pretended to give a damn about anyone but himself was beyond comprehension. He was damn good at being someone that he was not. Had her watching a fictional movie the entire duration of her life. He pretended to be the Disney channel, when really he was a horror movie stuck on replay. Grandpa was an impostor spinning lies as if it were cotton candy on a stick.