Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
For the first time, curiosity overwhelms his fear and he almost smiles. Logan nods. He leans in and whispers in my ear, “Why are your names weird?”
I stifle a laugh. “It's a motorcycle man thing.”
After thinking about it for a second, he nods, like that made total sense.
“Hey Logan, do you like hot chocolate? Uncle Stiff is really good at making it,” I say with a shit eating grin.
Stiff almost trips before he snaps his head my way. Fuck you, he mouths.
2
DAKOTA
“Do you have time to watch with me today?” Sadie Collins asks from her recliner while I finish changing her sheets. “I think they might finally vote out that horrible man with the ridiculous mustache. He reminds me of my best friend’s first husband. Did I ever tell you about him?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
Being a home health aide is a mixed bag. The pay isn’t amazing, but it’s decent for the amount of training needed, and there’s always work. It’s why I picked it when I needed to get my life together fast, but it’s not easy. A lot of the patients are stressed, confused and embarrassed at needing help. Some are downright mean, but Mrs. Collins is one of my favorites. She lives with her daughter and they just need a hand a few times a week to get a break from each other. I tidy up a little and make sure she gets clean and her dressings changed properly.
“He was a horrible man. Like one of those pretty red apples in the store that taste like sawdust. He could charm the pants off a nun, but he was as nasty as they come. He started knocking her around when she was pregnant with their second.”
“What happened? Did she leave him?” I ask as I check the stock on her medical supplies.
“She didn’t have to,” Sadie says with a dainty snort. “He had a horrible accident at work. Tragic, of course, but the insurance was such a big help. And one of his co-workers was so kind afterwards. Taking care of her and the kids. They got married a year later.”
I blink at the back of her snow white head. “That’s… fortunate.”
“Wasn’t it? I introduced them.” She sounds smug as she points the remote at her TV and finds Surviving Traitor Island. “There we go. Come, sit and watch.”
Sadie likes to talk, and she watches a lot of TV, so it can be hard to tell which of her stories are true and which are pieced together from something she’s watched. Even if she had some murderous tendencies in her youth, though, I’m pretty sure I’m safe. I check my watch. She’s my final house of the day, and I don’t have to pick Logan up for a couple hours.
“Sure, let me just finish up here. How about I take care of your nails while we watch? I brought a nice blue shade that reminded me of the sweater you were wearing on Monday.”
“Oh! You’re such a darling, Dakota. Yours are so pretty today. Perfect for Thanksgiving.”
I grin and wiggle my fingers. I can’t keep them long because of work, but short nails can still be cute. Today they are a jewel toned mix of red and orange with some delicate green dots on my ring fingers. “I let Logan pick the colors.”
“And he did a lovely job.”
Nails are one of my hobbies and it’s something I do for my friends and neighbors for a little extra money. I’d never charge Sadie, though. All I do is shape her natural nails a little and give her a fresh color. It’s mostly just something I know she enjoys, and so many of my clients miss these small luxuries that brighten their day.
My pocket vibrates as I’m finishing her top coat. It’s my personal phone. It’s from Logan’s emergency phone and my heart speeds up a little. “Don’t you dare mess up all my hard work,” I tease.
“I wouldn't dream of it.”
I duck into the hallway where I can still see Mrs. Collins, but I have a little more privacy. “Hey, baby boy. What’s up?” His phone only works for a few select numbers, and it has to stay in his bag while he’s in preschool.
“Haven’t been called that in a while, but if you want to play Mommy, I’m game.” The voice on the other hand is deep, rough, playful, and definitely not a four year old.
“Who the hell are you and what are you doing with this phone?” I snap, instantly terrified. I can’t think of many good reasons a grown man would be calling me on my son’s cell phone.
“Whoa, sorry. Relax. Sometimes my mouth moves before my brain does. The kid’s fine, promise. We found the phone in his backpack.”
A nervous laugh slips out. “Is that supposed to be helping? Why do you have his backpack? He should be in preschool. Who are you?”