Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Bennett chuffs. “At least we’ll have each other, I guess. See you tonight at six.”
Yeah. At least we’ll have each other. Great.
“Six,” I agree.
I hang up the phone and consider driving away, but before I can stop myself, I’m out of the truck and walking toward Grandma Rose’s grave myself.
I take a seat in the grass Josie occupied not long ago and stretch out my legs, picturing Rose’s sweet but mischievous smile in my mind.
I have a lot of regrets in this life, but knowing and loving Rose will never be one of them.
“Hey, Grandma,” I whisper, looking up at the clouds as they float across the sky. “Sorry it’s been a while since I visited.”
She doesn’t answer, of course, but I imagine she’s not nearly as mad at me as I am at myself.
“I’ve been thinking about you a lot. Josie told you, I’m sure, but there’s a whole lot of stuff coming up for her now, with Norah and Jezzy and their mom, and I’d really appreciate it if you’d send her some strength from wherever you are. I know Josie has to be…terrified. Guilty. Fucking torn up, in plain English, though I’m sorry for cursing. She still blames herself for not watching Jezzy in that tub even though she was just a kid herself, and I know she’s probably blaming herself for cutting Norah out of her life all those years ago when she came to Red Bridge.”
I pick a blade of grass from the ground, twist it between my fingers, and then toss it in the air to float in the wind. Sadness sticks in my throat, and I have to swallow around the emotion several times before I can speak again. “I’m…sorry I didn’t let her call you when she wanted to on our wedding day. So unbelievably sorry.”
A tear falls from the corner of my eye, and I brush it away, trying to suck myself back inside to the hollow place where I survive. “I regret it every day, and I’m sure Josie regrets it even more. I know she blames me. I blame me too.”
I pull my lips into my mouth, chuckling lightly. “Still, if I had another chance, I’d do it all right. I promise you that. I don’t know if this is your specialty or if you’ve got a line to the Big Guy up there, but if you can find it in your heart to guide her back to me, I’d appreciate it.”
I reach out to touch her stone just like Josie did and imagine our fingers touching each other. “I miss you, Grandma. And I really miss her too.”
Before The Moment: Part 3
The Pure Bliss
19
Josie
Saturday, September 17th
After two years of Red Bridge Fall Farmers Markets selling my grandma’s candles, you’d think I’d be used to getting up at the crack of dawn to load them, but I’m not. Especially on nights like last night when I stayed way too late at Clay’s and drove home in the wee hours of the morning.
I yawn and cover my mouth with a palm, fighting for my life.
“Come on, Josie,” Grandma Rose calls from the front door. “You’d better pick up the pace, or that hag Betty is gonna get the table I like again.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say, at least Betty Bagley actually home-bakes her pies instead of scamming people with ones from Amazon, but it’s not a good idea to get on Grandma Rose’s bad side this early in the morning.
Grandma’s candle scheme is a secret from the whole town, and until the end of the market last year, it was a secret from me too. As it turns out, my surprisingly internet-savvy grandma has been ordering candles from Amazon in bulk, de-labeling them, and then slapping on her own sticker of lies.
“Made with Love by Rose Ellis,” my asshole. These things are mass-produced in a factory somewhere by people making way less than they should be and then upcharged for small-town consumption in the con of the century.
“I’m coming,” I say as I lift the final box of candles with a heave, balancing it on my knee until I can get both hands under it in a good grip.
“Be careful, Josie,” Grandma chastises as I toddle out the front door. “You know those candles are one of Red Bridge’s hottest commodities. Certainly better than those inedible things Betty tries to pass off as pies.”
If I had to describe my grandma and Betty Bagley’s ongoing rivalry, I’d compare it to Angelina Jolie and Jennifer Aniston circa 2005. Only, instead of fighting over Brad Pitt, they’re fighting over table space and farmers market customers.
It’s straight fact that Betty’s putting a hell of a lot more effort into the game. The woman bakes her pies from scratch. Grandma one-clicks candles in bulk. Though I’d never say that to my grandma. She’d ream my ass. Hell, I’ve yet to try one of Betty’s pies—even though they smell like heaven—because the risk of being on Grandma Rose’s bad side isn’t worth the reward.