Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
At that, a pinecone falls from the tree. I look up and notice a squirrel, chittering in a branch overhead.
Funny. I never thought of Jonathan as squirrel-like. If he was any animal, it would’ve been a golden retriever—happy all the time, always goofy and hilarious. But it’s enough of a sign for me.
I spend a few more moments there, clearing away anything that might look like a weed. Then, standing up, I return to the truck.
Alec springs to attention the moment I open the door and starts the engine.
“All okay?” he asks, practically backing out, almost before I’ve shut the door.
It strikes me as childish. He can’t still be jealous of Jonathan. How can he seriously hold a grudge against someone who’s six feet under?
“You could’ve come. You could’ve paid your respects.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Respects?”
He says it like it’s a foreign concept.
The guy is six feet under. It’s time he lets let bygones be bygones.
“I figured you wanted a moment alone,” he says, instantly putting my mind at ease and reminding me he’s not the same Alec he once was. “I’d have come with if you wanted.”
He reaches the main road and pulls out, not looking at me. He’s tense and lets out a long breath. “You mind if we go home instead of the bookstore?”
I shake my head. “It’s fine. I still have a few chapters left. Maybe you can read it to me?”
“Sure.” He smiles. “I’ll do the voices. I have a pretty sick Hobbit accent.”
I laugh. As he turns the car toward home, it hits me. Alec used to be kind of a scaredy-cat when it came to certain things. My brothers used to be into horror movies, but Alec didn’t like them. When we went to the amusements at Old Orchard Beach, he passed on the haunted house. And during Halloweens, he always dressed as a hockey player. Every. Single. Year. He never wore anything remotely frightening with fake blood and fangs and stuff like that.
The cemetery probably just gave him the creeps. I’m sure that’s it.
A song I love comes on the radio, so I turn it up loud and reach over and grab his hand.
And for the first time, I think maybe everything’s going to turn out just fine.
31
Alec
What the hell is it to you, dickhead?
I’m finishing up a twelve-hour shift at the medical center, making my way through the last of the paperwork, when Jonathan’s voice hits me, clear as day.
That was the last thing he ever said to me.
I remember being drunk. Everyone was, but he and I had gotten sloppy drunk because the liquor was flowing like the Mississippi river that night. But I wasn’t so hammered that I forgot who my girlfriend was—which seemed to be a pattern with Jonathan.
A pattern he hid well from Stassi, who thought he was the most wonderful thing she’d ever seen. Playing the part of the easygoing, happy-go-lucky guy who just wanted to be friends with everyone made it impossible not to like the guy. He had everyone fooled though.
Everyone but me.
His bullshit is so thick that it survives, even a decade later. Stassi still loves and idolizes him, clearly, or she wouldn’t be visiting his grave and talking to him like he’s still there to hear her. She wouldn’t be asking for his stamp of approval.
Who the fuck cares what he thinks?
She does, apparently.
Though she wouldn’t if she knew the truth about what kind of person he was. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her. But would she ever believe me? She’s had a shitty go of it, with untrustworthy guys who ripped her heart out, so if letting her believe that some man out there was the real deal brings her some sliver of joy, I don’t want to take that from her.
Then again, it kills me to know she stil idolizes him, even if he is six feet underground.
“Hey, you,” a voice behind me says.
I spin in my chair, expecting to see one of the many nurses who have been trying to catch my eye since I started here. And yes, it’s a woman in a nurse’s uniform—white slacks, comfortable shoes, a pastel cardigan. But as my eyes go from the familiar face, to the in-your-face cleavage, to the nametag on her chest, memory sparks.
A memory of darkness, drunkenness, being wedged awkwardly in the cramped back seat of my high school vehicle, legs folded under me as I balanced her weight over me, reaching for the glory that was second base.
“Carlina?” I ask.
She saunters in and leans on the desk next to me as I recall what Stassi said to me about her. She’s married. I hear she has six kids and lives upstate.
“That’s right. Great to see you. I can’t believe you’re a doctor. Well, we always did call you Smart Alec.”