Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Mom waves her off. “Pshaw, don’t worry a bit. Sit down.” It’s not a choice this time, and Chrissy sinks onto a chair. Mom fills another dinner plate, sets it in front of her new guest, and then takes her place at the head of the table. “How’re you doing, Chrissy?”
Mom and Chrissy have never been close. They’re polite because their husbands are brothers. But Uncle Jed and Dad couldn’t be more different. And though Mom and Chrissy are both behind-the-scenes wives in a lot of ways, they’re also as different as night and day.
“Fine,” Chrissy answers.
Her expression is blank, not even a practiced smile. But Mom’s patient and experienced with hiding the truth when the situation calls for it. I am too. So we can see Chrissy’s lie a mile away.
“I hear you’ve been trying a new Pilates instructor. What do you think of her? I’m usually more of a yoga lover, but maybe we could go together sometime.” Mom’s chitchatting away as if Chrissy is paying attention to a word she’s saying. Mom might as well be talking to a brick wall, though, because Chrissy’s vacantly staring at her plate as though the shrimp might pop up and start dancing through the ocean of rice.
“Jed’s having an affair,” Chrissy blurts out suddenly. “I caught him in the act.”
My eyes widen in shock, and I gasp, garnering a sharp look of reproach from Mom, who’s taking it completely in stride. Chrissy might as well have mentioned there’ll be rain later this week. Then again, knowing Mom . . . she already knew. She might not be the mayor’s wife anymore, but she’s got a network of friends and acquaintances who keep her in the loop. Not to mention caught up on any town gossip. And even if she didn’t know, she would never show surprise or distaste publicly. And that’s what Chrissy is . . . the public, not family. Not really.
“Oh! I’m so sorry.”
Chrissy sniffles, nodding at Mom’s condolences as she wipes her nose with one of Mom’s favorite linen napkins. I can almost see the younger version of Chrissy that must’ve once existed. One that believed Jed Ford was a good man, who’d love her and give her some version of life on Easy Street. And honestly, he has given her that. The rest is in question.
I don’t think my uncle is a good man. He’s rude, narcissistic, and, just a couple of years ago, tried to railroad a huge subdivision project into Cold Springs that would’ve destroyed what makes the town special.
All to line his own pockets.
As for loving Aunt Chrissy, I think the only person Jed truly loves is himself. Everyone else is a pawn he can use as he sees fit, including, unfortunately, my father. So I can totally imagine no less than a dozen scenarios where he’d willingly fall dick-first into someone other than his wife.
Mom presses her lips together, and though the corners lift, it’s not really a smile. It looks more like pity. She probes gently, “Do you want to talk about it?”
Chrissy takes a shaky breath. “Well, he’s been building that subdivision over in Brookstone, which is a huge undertaking that he wanted to be involved in daily. I understood, but that project’s been done for a couple of months. Or it was supposed to be.” She swipes at her eyes, which don’t look particularly teary. In fact, though she squinches them, they seem drier than the meatloaf Maria tried to make one time before declaring that meat in the shape of a cake was against the laws of nature. “But he’s still going over there a lot—like every weekend. And I just . . . I don’t know. I missed him, so I went over to surprise him on Friday.”
“What could go wrong?” I murmur.
Chrissy turns clear and anger-filled eyes to me, and I shrug, pushing a shrimp around my plate. It looks delicious, but it seems rude to eat while she’s working through a breakdown of sorts. Though, if I’m honest, it seems like she’s working through the act of a breakdown more than actually having one.
Her eyes cut back to Mom, offended that I dared question her—or maybe dared to speak—and looking like she expects Mom to do something about it. Does she seriously expect Mom to scold me for stating the truth?
Instead, Mom tilts her head, carefully considering her words. “You already know what you’re going to do, don’t you?”
“What?” Chrissy’s surprise is echoed by my own widened eyes.
But Mom’s on a roll, popping a shrimp into her mouth and nodding. I take a cue from her and eat the shrimp on my own plate that’s been calling my name. It also keeps me from saying what I’m thinking, which is . . .
She said she caught him in the act . . . I wonder if Jed keeps his stupid cowboy hat and dirty socks on when he has sex?