Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
“It’s great. You look nice.”
“Thanks. See you later. Bye, Rust.”
“Bye,” I said, not looking at her, knowing I’d never be able to look at her in the same way again.
“You good?” Brad asked me once she was gone.
Grinding my teeth, staring at my coffee like it was the lake water all those years ago, I told him, “Yeah, fine.” But I was far from fine.
CHAPTER
TWO
MARY
Brad’s at the kitchen sink, wringing the knee sleeve he wears when playing tennis at the local club. My older brother looks like my dad in certain lights, with his reddish-brown hair and the thin beard that’s almost blond. He’s lean like Dad, too, but way quicker to smile. Sunlight shines through the window, showing the several acres of picturesque land.
“I’ll be taking a trip soon,” Brad says. “Need to head up to Vegas to see Dad. It’s been a while since I checked in on him.”
Anytime Brad talks about visiting Vegas, it’s with this subtly questioning note in his voice. He wants to know if I want to go with him. Dad abandoned us the day Brad turned nineteen. He fell apart after Mom died, as if she took him with her. It completely derailed Brad’s dreams of being a football player. Instead, he fought and won adoption rights for me and raised me for the second half of my childhood.
“Okay,” I say, spooning some cereal.
Brad sighs. “The timing’s annoying. I booked the flights for early next week, but Rust called last night and said he’s considering coming down Monday to get his head right for training camp. Well, his coach called.”
“His coach called you?” I ask, using some calming mind tricks I pick up online so as not to let any of the inappropriateness running through my head show.
“Yeah. Rust’s busy with his fight prep, the heavyweight championship. He’s been waiting for this for a long time. You know what he’s like when he’s in his head.”
“But he wants to be here?”
Brad wrings out the knee sleeve and then places it across the back of a chair. “I don’t know about want. I think it’s just the best thing for him and his performance. I was wondering if you’d mind if he were here a couple of days? It’s not like he’ll bother you.”
I swallow, my belly tingling, other places tingling too. Mom’s face flashes in my mind: her beautiful crown of bright yellow hair, her pearl necklace, and her brown reading glasses, wearing a frown of pure judgment. “Never be one of those women, Mary. I called you Mary for a reason.”
“Mary?”
“It’s fine,” I tell him. “Obviously. It’s not like Rust talks to me much, anyway.”
Brad chuckles. “Don’t take it personally. He’s like that with everybody.”
I try to laugh it off, but it feels painful and forced. The truth is, I shouldn’t be anywhere near Rust without Brad around to stop me. Stop me from doing what? Okay, it’s not like I’ll throw myself at him, but it’s challenging to be close to him and not think all the impure thoughts that have screamed at me for years. I’ve never shared them, not even with my friends. It’s a sin. I’m not even sure how religious I am anymore. All I know is it would make a nun blush.
I can’t think about Rust, all six foot four of him, with his broad shoulders and dark hair, a few blades of silver starting to show, giving him a mature look. So experienced, he takes away any worry, doubt, and fear. With his thick muscles and that scowl on his face most of the time, it’s like he’s just waiting for a woman to light him up. Or he’s waiting for me to light him up.
“Or you could come,” Brad says. “Maybe see Dad?”
I stand up, my chair making a screek noise I didn’t intend. “Dad made his choice. He chose to live the exact life Mom would’ve hated him for. He literally moved to the city of sin.”
Brad groans. “It’s not like we even go to church anymore.”
“It’s not about that. It’s about Mom. It’s about him being selfish.”
Brad touches my arm. “Forget I asked. I get it. Really.”
Upstairs, in my bedroom, I fire up my laptop and put my headphones in. I make sure to sit with the screen facing away from the door. It’s not like Brad would barge in here without knocking anyway, but I have to be safe. I can’t ever let him see these videos.
This is another reason I’m suspicious about Dad. A few weeks after Mom’s so-called heart attack, I was hiding under my bed. I used to do that often, soon after she passed. It was weirdly comfortable, but I never saw the envelope until that night. It had my name on it, in my mother’s beautiful script.