Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“I have my own bills.”
“Yeah, Elora had her own too. Then shit hit the fan, and she was left holding the bag and trying to figure out how to make it out of a fucked-up situation without sinking.”
“She had her mom’s life insurance.”
I look at Elora. She never told me about any life insurance.
“There was no life insurance. No company would cover Mom,” Elora corrects, looking at her aunt, and I can tell she’s trying to hold back tears.
“You need to leave,” I bite out.
“Pardon me?” Josie hisses.
“Not once since Elora left did you think to check on her, to make sure she was alive and well. To ask if she needed anything or just to see how she was dealing with the loss of her mom.”
“My sister died.”
“Yeah, and as Millie’s sister, you should have known that she and her daughter were close and just how hard it would be for Elora to lose her mother. So, I’m sorry for the loss of your sibling, but I don’t feel sorry for you, and you need to get the fuck away from our table.”
“Are you going to let him speak to me like that?” She looks at Elora.
“If he wasn’t telling the truth, I might try to stop him, but even then, I have zero control over Roman,” she mutters, and I know that if we didn’t have a table between us, I’d fucking kiss her.
Josie opens her mouth to reply, but a cup of coffee appears in front of her, cutting her off.
“Here’s your coffee, Josie.”
“Thank you, Mo.” She snatches the cup out of Mo’s hand, then without another look at Elora or me, she storms off.
“Are you okay, Elora?” Mo asks softly when the ding of the bell over the door sounds at Josie’s departure.
“Yeah. Thanks, Mo.” Elora nods, and Mo’s face fills with empathy.
“Breakfast will be just a few minutes.”
“That was worse than I thought it would be,” Elora whispers when Mo wanders off. Hearing the hurt in her voice, I find it difficult not to just swoop her up and take her back to the city. Back home where I know she’s safe, and no one can hurt her—not even emotionally.
I knew this trip would be difficult for her, but I assumed it would be difficult because we would be staying in her mom’s house and surrounded by the memories of her mother. I didn’t factor in the rest.
“Your aunt is a bitch.”
“She’s also my mom’s sister. They were close. Maybe I should—”
“If you even think about telling me that you could give her some of the money, I’m going to lose my shit.”
“I just hate that that’s how that went, that I might not ever have a relationship with the people who hold the closest link to my mom.”
“You don’t know that you won’t ever have a relationship with them. Things might change. Maybe what happened will be her wake-up call.”
“I doubt it.”
“Then she doesn’t deserve to even know you, much less be a part of your life.”
“You’re right.” She picks up her coffee cup and takes a sip while I let out a relieved breath.
That whole conversation could have gone differently if she chose to fight in her corner and insist she share some of the money she made off the sale of her land with her family. Because that is something I would have fought her on. Maybe I’d feel differently if her aunt had been in her corner, but with how things went down long before today, there is no way she deserves a single cent.
That money is Elora’s safety net, so she always feels like she has her own money. She’ll never feel like she’s stuck depending on me even though I fully intend to take care of her, so she will never have to touch it.
“Here you go,” Mo says, placing two plates that are overflowing on the table. “Do you need anything else?”
“I think we’re good,” Elora tells her with a smile, adding a soft “thank you” before she takes off.
“Do you want to show me around town after breakfast?” I pick up my fork as I change the subject, hoping to alleviate some of the heaviness that has settled around us.
“There’s not much to see.”
“We can stop by your old job,” I suggest, and her smile is filled with happiness.
“We can do that.” She picks up her own fork and digs into her food.
After breakfast, we drive around town. She shows me her high school, the ice cream shop where she worked as a teen, and then we stop by the daycare, where we spend some time with her old coworkers and some of the kids she used to take care of. When we leave, we head to the grocery store to pick up stuff to make for dinner, along with flowers that we take to the cemetery and place on her mom’s headstone at their family plot. The day is heavy, but when we crawl into bed later, it takes her no time to fall asleep or for me to follow her.