Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 153946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
“I decided it was time to do more than talk about next steps,” I finally said, remembering her last words at the airport. “So, I started taking some.”
“It’s perfectly understandable to me.” Saint Lucy came to my rescue again. “Hurricanes have a tendency to make a person reevaluate their priorities.”
I’d take the assist, even though I’d made the car and apartment decision before the hurricane.
“That’s the truth,” Gene tossed in helpfully. “Remember Ike, babe? Two weeks with one generator and no water, apart from the neighbor’s pool.” He shuddered dramatically. “I haven’t been the same since.”
The set of Morgan’s shoulders relaxed microscopically and she smiled at Lucy and Wade. “Whatever the reason, I’m grateful you were both there. Especially you, Wade. I can’t imagine what would have happened if she’d been alone.”
“She would have been fine.” Wade’s voice was more gravel pit than melted honey at the moment. “She took care of all three dogs after Ann dumped yours and helped me deal with most of the damage before Lucy even showed up.”
Was he defending me? I didn’t need it, not with my sister, but I couldn’t say I hated the feeling.
“Please don’t get me started on Ann,” Morgan muttered.
“I’d like to point out that both of my friends did the same thing Wade did,” Gene said to his wife. “Left their homes in the dead of night and brought generators and ice to your sister as well as checking on Wade’s.”
“Yes, but your friends are crazy, dear,” she responded, swift and sweet. “They’d make house calls in a tornado to prove they could. Wade is too sensible for that.”
“That’s fair,” Rick and Lucy agreed in unison, making the rest of us chuckle in relief.
Maybe now we could change the subject.
“It sounds like we owe all of you for taking care of things while we were away.” Morgan pushed back her chair, ignoring the groaned denials as she got to her feet. “We’ll talk about paybacks later, but right now I need to borrow my sister for a few minutes.”
Or maybe not.
She held out her hand for me and I rose, not looking at anyone but her as she led me to her bedroom, where we could talk in private.
“Morgan, I’m sorry I didn’t—”
She wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tight. It wasn’t what I was expecting, but I automatically lifted mine to return the squeeze. “Are you okay?”
When she pulled back to look at me, her deep-set green eyes were bright with unshed tears. “Do you know what I did every day on the cruise?”
“I’m hoping you’re about to say you had fun.”
“I read Mom’s journals on the balcony.”
“Oh.” The knots returned to my stomach with a vengeance. She’d taken Mom’s journals on that trip, and she wanted to talk about them now?
She tugged me to the bed and sat me down beside her. “Reading them, being in Lesa and walking in her footsteps… August, I can’t tell you how deeply it affected me. I feel like I understand her better now. How she felt about us. Why she made some of the decisions she did. It was illuminating.”
“I’m glad you got to experience that.” Instead of illuminated, I felt nauseous. I had no desire to know what Mom had said in those journals.
People always bought me diaries and journals for birthdays and Christmas. I assumed it was like a teacher getting an apple. You’re a writer? Have a journal. They were usually lovely to look at, but I couldn’t delete or edit an entry without making a mess, and my inner thoughts were nowhere near as interesting to me as my characters. In the end, I’d left most of them blank and sitting attractively on my shelf.
Sam Retta, however, had been a journal addict. She was always writing in one and always adamant that they were private, and to be viewed by her eyes only. I used to tease her about secretly writing reports on us for the CIA.
Was Morgan saying she’d written how she felt about us—about me—in them?
Why wouldn’t you want to know that?
When I was young, I wanted to be telepathic. Then I wrote about a telepath and her life was miserable, because eavesdroppers—whether they’re scanning your brain or reading your journal—never hear anything good about themselves.
I was afraid that the image I had of her, and of how she felt about me, would change too much if I looked through them. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.
Morgan squeezed the hand she was still holding to get my attention. “Anyone seeing your situation from the outside might be worried, August.”
“What? Oh.” She’d switched topics again. “I know a lot has happened since you left.”
“‘A lot’ is putting it mildly. In less than three weeks, after a year and a half of nothing, you’re suddenly the busiest person I know.” She laughed without a trace of humor. “I’d ask if you were taking antidepressants, but the last time I suggested them, you didn’t respond well.”