Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92062 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92062 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“Why does it look like it’s sick?” she asks me, standing next to me and taking in her tree.
“We had to tie it all the way around for the drive home. Once you cut the rope, it’ll open up again.”
“It better,” she mumbles to me.
“Don’t you get a tree at home?” I ask her and she shakes her head.
“I do not. There is a tree in the staff lounge in the hospital and that is enough cheer for me to have.”
“So you don’t have one at home?” I question, shocked.
“I work the extra hours during the holidays”—she shrugs—“so it would be a waste of time to put up a tree.”
“But it’s Christmas,” I retort, shocked as I pull the tree closer to the edge.
“Yeah, so I’ve been told,” she mumbles. “What do you want me to do?”
“I think I have it,” I assure, trying to pick it up by the twine that’s tied around it. I grasp it tightly and lift it over one shoulder.
“Just close the back of the truck.” I motion with my chin to the tailgate as I walk across my lawn to the front door. The whole time I feel the pine needles falling down and know I’m going to have pine needles in my house for the next six fucking months. It’s why I never get a real tree.
Whiskey backs up when he sees me walking up the steps, the cord feeling like it’s cutting into my skin. “Out of the way, Whiskey.” I give him the command and he runs inside the house. “Did you bring in the stand?” I look over my shoulder and she turns around and runs to the truck. “You had one job!” I shout at her what she would have shouted to me.
“Technically,” she huffs out when she runs back into the house, following me, “I did my job by cutting down the motherfucking tree.”
I can’t help but laugh as I look at her when I get to the clearing. “Where do you want this motherfucking tree?” I ask her, knowing even if I chose someplace to put it, she will probably tell me I’ve chosen the wrong spot.
“Where do you usually put your motherfucking tree?” She giggles when she says it.
“Elizabeth,” I say her name between clenched teeth, “the twine is going to cut through my flesh.”
“Fine,” she huffs. “Put it in that corner,” she directs to the corner of the living room that faces the big window.
“You need to put down the stand,” I hiss at her and she raises her hands nervously.
“Shit, shit, shit.” She runs past me, taking the metal stand out of the box it came in. “Wait.” She puts it down. “I have to put in the screws.”
“By all means, take your time.”
“You’re rushing me,” she throws over her shoulder as she tries to go as fast as she can. “Okay, put it in the hole.”
“That’s what she said,” I mumble and she snorts.
“I led you right into that, didn’t I?” she says as I turn the tree down.
“You’re going to have to guide it in.” I turn the tree down.
“That’s what he said,” she comes back with her own joke, and now I’m the one snorting at her.
“Walked into that one,” I tease as I feel the tree being moved and I try to hang on. “Hurry.”
“I’m going as fast as I can,” she hisses at me. “There are five screws,” she informs me, working around me. “Okay, let go.” I let go and it starts to fall over to one side. “Shit,” she hisses as she moves over to the side to make sure it’s as tight as she can get it. “Okay, let go again.”
I release my hand slowly and then wait for it to tumble, and it doesn’t. “I did it!” she crows, lifting her hand in the air. “You’re welcome.” She smirks as she shrugs off her vest, and I walk over to let Whiskey out, who has been bouncing at the back door.
She sits on the couch as she unties her boots and pulls them off. “Okay,” she says walking to put her boots at the front door, “let’s do this.” She heads into the kitchen and goes to the drawers as she looks for scissors. “Let’s get her open.”
“That’s what he said also.” I walk over to Whiskey’s bowls and put some fresh water in one, then put in a cup of his kibble in the other before walking back over to the door to let him in.
He runs in and goes straight for his bowl as if he hasn’t eaten for five days. “Are you ready?” she asks me and I look at her confused. “I’m about to let her loose.”
“Can’t wait,” I say to her as she goes to the tree.
“Do I cut bottom and then work my way up?” she asks me and I shrug.