Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
I couldn’t claim my father or my uncles were big on community outreach, but everyone supported soup kitchens, right? I mean, you’d have to be a monster to believe people deserved to starve to death. I’d even seen some local drug dealers and pimps drop off food donations, claiming that the soup kitchen was the only thing that kept them fed sometimes when they were kids, and they wanted to make sure other kids had the same chance.
“Hey, look at that. Good as new,” Uncle Chuck said as we parked out front of my shop. Right behind a marked police cruiser.
My dad was pulling out all the stops.
For all his flaws, he really did care.
He might often show it in a bossy and even condescending way, but it said something that he was going all out in protecting me. Even after almost a year of not speaking. And most of our interactions before then ending in bitter arguments.
“Better, even,” I said, seeing the hand-painted store name on the glass. Way nicer than anything I could have afforded. “Are you coming in, or is it Uncle Don’s turn?” I asked, seeing the man standing just outside the door.
“I’m coming in until Stan can get here too,” he said, cutting the engine, and climbing out of the car.
It didn’t escape me the way his eyes scanned the street as he came around the car, or how Uncle Don moved closer to me, shielding my body with his own after giving me a hug.
“Heya, kid. Been a while,” he said.
Uncle Don was slightly less concerned with his fitness as my dad and Chuck. He was still a tall and strong man with deep skin, warm brown eyes, and a hairline that gave up a few years ago, so he started shaving his head bald. But he had a slight hangover waistline that I’d always found charming. When he stopped in the shop, he always got sweets when my other uncles always only got black coffees.
“I missed you,” I told him, meaning it.
Don was the odd-man-out of my uncles. He had been married to his high school sweetheart for ages. They had one kid in college, two in high school, and one later-life kid who’d just graduated elementary school.
I had to imagine he was on the take too. Even if it seemed to clash with everything I knew about him. But why else would he be such close friends with dirty cops if he wasn’t one himself?
That said, he didn’t need the money. His wife had spent her days child-rearing, and her nights working on her education. Which meant that by the time her youngest was in school full-time, she was raking in six figures.
They, like Uncle Chuck, lived more modestly, too, using their extra money to educate their kids.
So maybe it was possible he wasn’t a dirty cop, but that he had a hard time letting go of buddies he’d known his whole life.
“I hope you like what we’ve done with the place,” Don said as he led me inside, Uncle Chuck following behind.
I tensed at the idea of anything being changed.
But it wasn’t that it was changed, per se.
It was that they’d fixed what had been broken.
My uncles had been to the shop enough times over the years to know what the style was. Lots of plants and crystals, canvases from local artists. All things cozy and bohemian, I guess.
The shelves that had once been home to my plants that were now trying to recover at my house, were lined with new ones. In brightly-colored pots in a style I knew was from this local lady who had a stand at the farmer’s market.
Crystals that I assumed came from the new age shop a few blocks away were sitting between the planters as well as hanging in the windows to create those charming rainbows all around the shop that I loved so much.
It wasn’t stuff that I’d personally picked out over weeks or months. But it was stuff that people who cared about me had picked out for me in my style.
That meant something.
“This is amazing,” I said, giving them a smile I hoped felt as genuine as the gratitude I felt.
It wasn’t them.
My heart was just… not in good shape.
It was hard to feel as happy as I knew I should have been.
“Your old man also dropped off supplies before he got to work this morning,” Don said, following me into the back where I automatically went to turn on the oven, trying not to think about it too much, hoping that the strange knot in my stomach about it would fade in time. “Got you all those different milks you like. Some fresh produce. More sugar and flour, just in case you were low…”
“That’s great,” I said, moving into the walk-in to check.