Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
“And, Ledger, this isn’t the first or the second time. I was able to pick up her slack the last few times. This one is going to bite us in the ass.” Yep, gonna have to do something about Ella, and fast.
“Son of a bitch. You got the supply list. I’ll go pick it up if I have to. We’re not letting this slip through our fingers. We’d be fucked up the ass without any lube. Sinclair Roofing would be over, and we’ve all worked too fucking hard for that to happen,” I tell him.
“You’re not wrong. Hated to bring it up. I know Tulsa Rose is back in town and you’ve got your hands full. Figured you’d want to know before things go from bad to worse.”
“I appreciate it, and yeah, I’m hoping to be around less, but that doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen. You ever want to step into more of a roll here, I’d love to have you.” I’ve tried to get him on board with being a partner. He’s hesitant each and every time. The only other person I’d have ever offered that position to is Montgomery, even if he hated the roofing aspect; he was more of a man who wanted to work on a machine. Still sucks that he didn’t have time to watch his dreams pan out. I rub the ache in my chest. It hits me all at once everything Mont is missing out on.
“Yeah, I hear you. Again. I’m not sure that I’d live up to the standards, though.” Chase is younger, graduated from high school as I was really starting Sinclair Roofing, worked his ass off from the ground up, took the construction classes that I try to give back to, and hasn’t left since.
“Are you kidding me? You’d surpass them. It’s yours whenever. If you have the order sheet handy, I’ll deal with it today. I need time away before I figure out what I’ll be doing next.” The need to go out to the front desk, tell Ella to pack her shit and leave indefinitely sounds like a mighty good idea.
“Let me think on it. Are we talking a pay raise?” I cock an eyebrow at him. That question doesn’t need an answer, but I’ll give it to him anyways.
“If I had my way, I’d make you vice president, no buy-in necessary. We’d have a contract that would lock you in, and if you left, it’d be without getting a stake in the business. But yeah, you’d get a raise.” Chase nods, hopefully evaluating more of the pros and less of the cons.
“Alright, I’ll let you know soon. Meanwhile, here’s the list. Good luck with Cruella de Vil out there.” He stands up and places the paper on my desk. My eyes are already glancing down at the shit I’m going to have to load into my truck, meaning I’ll be pulling a trailer. Not what I had in mind today when I came into work today.
“I see your niece has you watching movies again. More villains and fewer princesses?” His niece is with him every spare minute. His brother is a single dad, doing the best he can. Chase helps him out on the weekends unless work gets in the way.
“Yep, Sunny sure is. At least she’s not making me wear tiaras, gloves, and carrying a wand with this kick she’s on now. It sure will be nice if I can get her on a superhero kick. Sadly, four years in, and we’re not there yet.” He shakes his head. I stand as well, paperwork in one hand, phone in the other, coffee abandoned. This shit needs to get done. Fast.
“I hope Mack took pictures of that.” We both laugh. Chase has no problem hanging with his niece, dressing up, having a tea party. Pictures being taken is where he draws the line.
“No fucking way. I’m out of here.” He opens the door. I’m a few steps behind him. The issue with Ella can wait. Right now, I’ve got to fix these fuckups, make sure our customers are happy. After that, I’ll figure out what the hell to do.
11
TULSA ROSE
My day was going so well. Too well. There were no tears. I was calm and tranquil while going through Mont’s clothes. I needed a mental break from what I was working on; plus staying on one task is not my area of expertise. I like to jump around when it comes to cleaning, never sticking to one room. I’m like this in every aspect, especially work when I’m looking for a certain style of wallpaper and am unable to find it. I hop to something else if I get too stagnant in a search. So, I took the bags down the stairs one at a time and put them in the living room stacked around the couch to keep them separate from the trash pile in the foyer area since the outside garbage can was already overflowing with trash—some from Mont’s room, a lot from what I gathered up around the house. Ledger took care of a lot. The pantry was emptied out, and he kept the house well maintained, as well as the pool, to name a few, but there were places in the house that needed a lot of attention, mainly drawers, hallway closets, and furniture where I found scraps of paper, a missing earring, bobby pins from that time I tried a new hairstyle in high school and needed to train my hair to go a certain way. It all piled up, making the house look like more of plastic facility than a home. I even put notes on what furniture pieces could be donated. The piano that no one played or learned how to use after Momma passed away should be put to good use, like a school or another family. She would have hated to see it sit stagnant. Daddy didn’t touch a thing after Mom died, so lost in his grief that he clung to everything he could. Mont and I went through the majority, much like I’m doing now, minus furniture, heavy draperies that I’m bound and determined to take care of tomorrow, allowing the Florida sun to shine through the downstairs, paintings that need to come down, and walls that could use a fresh coat of paint. Then it’ll be more to my liking. Less is more, which means the rugs in every room covering most of the hardwood floors will be either stored or donated. After taking a small break, I went back up to Mont’s room to finish going through his dressers. Yes, two dressers. My brother liked his clothing. The nightstands were already done and now empty except for the remote to his television and his wallet. For some reason, it was hard to part with that—his license, debit card. Finding a picture of me and him together, worn from years of him keeping it tucked inside, hit me hard. If Montgomery hadn’t come home after Mom passed away, I’m not sure how I would have survived. Dad was there in one capacity—to work. He was barely home to eat, leaving Mont to pick up the pieces, waking me up for school, making sure I ate a decent meal, and that I was thriving. His words always were, Life is for the living. Wisdom for a man who was thrust into becoming my very own hero. Which is why, when my hand reached around two envelopes, one addressed to me and one to Ledger, I was done for. Done in the way that my stomach sank to my feet. Done in the fact that the tears came so fast, they had me biting my fist in order not to have one of those gut-wrenching sob sessions I haven’t had in years.