Total pages in book: 248
Estimated words: 236036 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1180(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 787(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236036 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1180(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 787(@300wpm)
I’d wanted to inform him that my father didn’t use the name because he thought it was elegant or refined. He used it as a weapon, and I could picture the perpetual sneer as he pronounced my name, dragging out the syllables as if it were the most ridiculous name in the world. I mentally made a rude gesture to both men and licked the tip of my finger before trying to fish out the eggshell that had fallen in along with the yolk.
“Ouch!” The fingertip went back into my mouth to soothe the burn I’d received from dipping it into grease rather than egg whites. Refusing to consider it as a consequence for of being rude, I continued to suckle it. There was probably protein in shells, right? Once the egg was slightly brown on the edges, I popped the toast out of the toaster and carefully added the egg and bacon to the plate. Grabbing the mug I’d filled with coffee, and maybe a spoon or two—
Or three!
—of sugar and a splash of cream, I took my breakfast out to the porch and settled on the porch swing. A single push of my bare toe against a gray board of the floor set it in motion. With the sound of birdsong, the warmth of the sun, and the first bite of slightly burnt bacon consumed, I lifted my mug and toasted the day.
“Good morning, world! What’s on today’s agenda?”
The buzzing of bees caught my attention and I shook my head. “Seriously? You may have already forgotten how that little adventure turned out, but I haven’t.” I ate some egg and was chewing a bite of toast that was so bland and dry it stuck in my throat.
“Score: bees, one. Livvy, zero,” I muttered after I’d unstuck it with a slug of coffee. Still, I would admit the toast would be far tastier if it were spread—make that drenched—in a layer of thick, gooey golden honey. “Fine, but no more rushing willy-nilly into the woods on a wild goose chase.” I giggled and corrected myself, “Make that no blindly bolting about for bees either. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to have a plan!”
As I finished my breakfast, I prioritized the steps I’d need in order to have any chance of success of becoming an actual beekeeper. Sure, I’d watched Grammie O do it a hundred times, and I’d even helped harvest a honeycomb or two, but never on my own.
“That’s what YouTube is for,” I told myself. Which meant I’d need to check on what it would take to run cable out to the farm so I could access the internet.
Washing up only took two minutes because I’d been genius enough to dirty only a single pan, one plate, a mug, and a couple of utensils. As I hung the dishtowel over its rod I smiled and considered the look on Roland’s face if he saw me forego a plate altogether and just eat straight from the pan. Poor man would probably have a stroke. Or spend another few grand on therapy.
After digging Terry out from beneath the covers, I made the bed and placed the tortoise in the very center of my pillow and patted his head. My grammie had crocheted him for me the first time I’d been instructed to pull a plant from the ground. I’d pulled and pulled with all my might until the ground set it free. Despite landing on my butt in the middle of the row, I’d felt nothing but wonder as I’d stared at the brown potatoes growing within the plant’s roots. Even more fascinating was the baby tortoise that crawled out from the tangled mass. I’d wanted to take him inside, but Grammie O told me that he’d miss his momma but I could visit him whenever I wanted. And I had, every summer until that day I was taken away. I shook my head. I wasn’t going to let that destroy the fond memory of my grammie ensuring I had my own Terry to cuddle with any time I needed a friend.
“No more hiding. The sun is shining, the bees are buzzing and we’re gonna be just fine now.” I considered Terry agreed when his cute head didn’t retract back into its shell. I really needed to look into getting him a few friends. Then when I was out and about, the stuffies could get into all sorts of mischief as the toys had done in the Toy Story movies. Smiling, I shucked off my pajamas, dressed, shoved my wallet into the pocket on the bib of my overalls, and headed out the door.
I was halfway across the porch when something wet hit my toe. A squeal and a jump backward gave me a clear field of vision of the pile I’d made and promptly forgotten the night before. Part of me really wanted to just walk around them, and it wasn’t the knowledge that no one would clean up after me, or even the narrowing of eyes the color of obsidian as he issued critique number five hundred eighty-eight that had me sighing. Nope, nothing as complicated as that. All that was required to have a shudder of revulsion shoot through me was picturing insects packing up their bags to move into the nice dank, slimy condos every crease and crevice of that pile offered.