Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 108862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
I turn to Diego, worried this is all too much.
Instead, I find him with a strangely calm expression, eyebrows lowered slightly as if in deep and immersive thought, taking it all in with an eerie sort of peace.
I recognize Marcos in his eyes at once.
The pensive, observant, kicking-back-watching-the-craziness expression that would take over his face at many a gathering.
I wonder if Marcos’s brother was like that, too. Wielding that specific sense of not quite being detached from the world. Just taking the madness in slowly, one breath at a time.
“You alright?” I ask.
I worry I was too quiet to hear, until after a moment, he says, “Yeah.”
Not sure if he means it. Or trying to convince himself. Lance explodes into laughter again, shaking the table. The little girl—still as free as an open flame—rushes by yet again, with the pursuing doctor stopping for breath, hunched over, gasping.
I notice Diego’s glass is empty. “Wanna get another drink?”
He glances at me.
Studying my face.
I gaze back at him, taken by the serenity in his eyes. All of the madness around us seems to dull whenever we look at each other.
Then he gives me a nod. “Sure.”
We’re out of our seats.
No one notices.
—14—
Diego
I don’t need another drink.
Neither does Wyatt.
We both know that.
“Is it always like this?” I ask after dodging two kids racing by our legs.
“Not at all,” says Wyatt, then pauses. “Yeah, kinda.”
We’re walking along a pathway around the pavilion. The back of the house is filled with people, too. Tables of catered food. Spots for taking photos. A big fucking fountain. I couldn’t have imagined a mansion like this existed anywhere close to the small town I’ve been in these past few weeks. Of course I’ve heard this and that at the shop. Mayor Strong’s big property. All the farmlands around the outskirts of town. But being here in person is something else, seeing it for myself, witnessing the community of this place.
I wonder why Tía and Tío are moving away from all of this.
Then I wonder why it’s the first time I’ve wondered that.
“Oh, hey, Diego,” greets Joel as we pass by him on the path. He doesn’t change much, even in a shirt and tie. He literally wipes the sweat off his brow with his tie before asking, “Wouldn’t happen to have seen my two rugrats runnin’ around here like a pair of—?”
“That way,” directs Wyatt with a pleasant smile.
“Lifesaver.” Then Joel stops. “Please don’t tell Mindy I lost our kids. It was my one job. I looked away for half a second, then—Hey, I see you! This ain’t a game! Hey!” Joel takes off running, his shoes squeaking along the pathway.
Wyatt looks at me.
I look at him.
He’s holding back a laugh.
I can’t help but crack a smile.
“That, uh, drink ran through me, actually,” he admits. “Think I need to do the opposite of drinking.”
“Me too.”
“Really?” He nods back at the house. “There’s bound to be a bathroom or seven. And I’m pretty sure all the fancy port-a-potties out here are taken. Wanna do a little … exploring with me?”
I shrug and give a nod.
Off we go.
Wide stone steps lead toward a set of back doors.
All the noise fades the moment the doors shut behind us.
The difference is instant. Outside, it’s all laughter and people talking over each other. In here, it’s stunningly quiet. Not silent. The world out there still exists, but just feels far away at once.
We slowly move down a tall, wide hallway. Someone in a suit passes by us, smiles and nods without a word, and their clacking footsteps disappear around a corner. Paintings stare down from walls taller than my old apartment building. Hardwood floors and tiles shine beneath my feet so brightly, I feel guilty walking over them. Somewhere behind us, unseen, a grandfather clock chimes the quarter hour.
“Can you imagine living here?” asks Wyatt, looking lost in his thoughts.
I’m gazing at the side of his face as we walk. I don’t think he even notices. “No.”
“My mom always envied the McPhersons. Every time a party was thrown here, long before the first Spruce Ball. When you work so hard every day of your life, and you aren’t seeing the big dream happening around you like you thought you would as a kid …” He sighs to himself. “Sometimes, I don’t think my parents handed the shop down to me. I think they just gave up.”
I’m walking right by his side. Hands almost grazing. “Why do you say that?”
“I think my mom just wanted freedom. My dad, too. They had enough saved up. Ran off leaving me holding the bags. Don’t get me wrong,” he quickly adds. “I’m happy with the store.”
“Don’t sound it.”
“I am. Really.” He shoots me a look that turns into a laugh. “I would be crazy to still be working there if I wasn’t. And besides … who else would run it?” He looks off. “My sister’s doing her thing. And my mom and dad are …” He shrugs. “I guess they’re happier.”