Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Storm? What storm?
The only thing that seems to exist right now is us in this strange vacuum out here on the porch. I force my brain to try to think of something to describe it, but all I can come up with is something science can’t explain. I don’t even have a name for it. I’m clearly not up with my mysticism.
But here’s something mystical. I met a woman two days ago, and I felt like I knew her better than I’ve known anyone, including the woman I asked to marry me. She blew into my life like this storm, and that car over there that does exist because, of course, we don’t live in a bubble. It’s a pretty apt metaphor for how I’m doing right now.
Mysticism? Try skepticism and cynicism, but I can’t summon either of those emotions properly. Same with rage, hurt, and denial. They’re not working for me. In fact, they’re against me. I shouldn’t even be here right now. I should be staying as far away from Dulcie Piecroft as possible.
She’s right. I could make up with her father without ever having to see her again. I’ve said what I came to say. I should be leaving now.
Or at least as soon as the storm lets up.
I’m so in my head that I barely register Dulcie moving until she’s walking past me. She holds the door open for me against the wind, and once I step in, she shuts it and locks it. It definitely might need the extra support. The rain pelts down against the roof and the side windows with renewed fury.
I’m slightly relieved when Dulcie picks up the plate with the slice of pizza on it and plunks down in the chair. She starts eating, chewing methodically. Resolutely. Like she’s not even tasting anything.
As a man who once made food in all forms my greatest passion, I find nothing more disheartening.
I lower myself into the chair across from her. “Storms like this… they usually blow up and then blow themselves out just as fast.” I think it’s already been proven that I’m full of shit, but her eyes flick to me, and she listens, soaking up the words as the comfort I mean for them to be.
“Hard roads don’t always lead to pretty places,” she mutters under her breath as she studies her lap. “Sometimes they just lead to getting stuck in the mud so badly that all you do is spin out and wreck your freaking four-by-four system and axles and whatever else it all entails. Sometimes, it just ends in a shitty soup of boggy bullshit.”
I have no idea what to say to that.
“Sorry. I think it’s just the hangriness talking.”
I get a second piece out of the box just to have something to do. Plus, it’s rude to talk with one’s mouth full, so that saves me from having to make conversation that I’m sure as fuck going to be awkward at. Like more comments about trees not falling on cars two seconds before it happens, which doesn’t exactly work well with the curse theory. As in, I’m not cursed. And they don’t exist.
“Do you have a garden?” Dulcie asks loudly to be heard above the rain battering the place. It’s only getting gnarlier out there.
Yes, gnarly. If any word deserves a revival, it’s that one.
“I do. I enjoy it very much,” I reply.
“Is the rain going to wreck it?”
“It might not even be raining at my place. The weather is so weird when you live on the water. It’s extra humid, so the plants grow fast. Sometimes the seeds are up in two days.” I realize I sound like a boring, dry old fart, but Dulcie doesn’t get the memo.
Her lips quirk into a half smile that pulls a falling tree stunt and flattens me all over again. She finishes the first piece of pizza and goes for another. “You’re right. This pizza is for sure a solid six, but I’ll round up too, for the novelty of the size.”
A low groan rumbles through the earth, and Dulcie’s smile drops immediately. She shudders.
“Hey.” My hand hovers over the top of the pizza box. I don’t know what it’s doing there, so I quickly tuck it back at my side. “It’s alright. It’s just thunder this time. No more trees coming down.”
She gulps. “I’ve always been scared of storms. Ever since I was a kid. I don’t really know why. Nothing bad ever happened to me during one. I’ve never been in a tornado or anything horrific, and I think the skies are always so beautiful after. Rainbows are so breathtaking. It’s just… when it happens, it feels ominous.”
She gets up to distract herself. There are a few dishes beside the sink. She runs the water for a long time before it’s hot and then puts the plug in and squirts some dish soap from a half-sized yellow bottle.