Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 81843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“I’m in here,” a woman’s voice calls from around the corner.
Here goes nothing.
My heart pounds, at war with my brain, as I slide farther into Chloe’s space.
There is no going back now.
“Well, look at you.” A woman sits in a brown recliner with a quilt over her lap and a book of crossword puzzles in her hand. Her purple shirt matches the bruise on her head. The infamous Mimi. “Have a seat.”
She motions toward a sofa, so that’s where I sit.
“I’m Jason Brewer, Chloe’s boss. I apologize if I’m interrupting.”
“I know who you are. I’ve heard much about you and seen your picture a few times.” She grins. “I’m Chloe’s Mimi, and you’re not interrupting anything. You saved me from Greta. She just drones on and on about her grandson and my granddaughter.” She rolls her eyes. “That coupling will happen over my dead body.”
That makes two of us.
I chuckle, mostly at the way her eyes sparkle with mischief.
“Now,” Mimi says, setting her crossword puzzle on the tray table beside her. “What are you doing here? I don’t reckon you were just in the neighborhood.”
Few people in the world can read others as well as I do. Mimi seems to be one of those people.
“You’re a straight shooter, aren’t you?” I ask, appreciating how her eyes light up like Chloe’s when she’s ornery.
She laughs, warm and unguarded. “You aren’t going to hit a target if you shoot sideways.”
“That’s true.” I clear my throat. “Chloe didn’t show up to work this morning and hasn’t answered my calls. I was nearby and concerned. So I thought I’d stop by and check on her.”
Mimi smirks before I can backtrack or attempt to smooth over my admission.
“Do you go to all of your employee’s homes when they miss a day of work?” she asks.
A slow smile graces my lips. Mimi winks in return.
“She ran to the pharmacy for more … oh, whatever you call the stuff for swelling,” she says, frowning. “I fell again this morning. Got a knot on my knee to match the one on my head.”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, and study Chloe’s grandmother.
She’s thin and frail, with pale skin and silver hair. There’s a pride about her—a sense of unapologetic dignity—and despite her stature, she has a maternal presence that steals your attention.
She reminds me a lot of my grandmother.
“Are you okay?” I ask her. “Did you see a doctor?”
“Nah, I’m fine. I mean, I won’t win any beauty pageants for a while, but I’ll survive.”
I grin, nodding at my realization. “I see where Chloe gets it.”
“What? Her beauty?”
I laugh. “That and her stubbornness.”
“Well, maybe.” She chuckles but places her palm lightly against the bump on her head and winces. “It’s hell getting old, Jason.”
A piece of my heart splinters, hurting for this woman.
I imagine seeing my mother like this someday—a strong, vibrant person weakened to a ghost of herself. It kills me. At least I’d have my siblings there to shoulder some of it and share the experience.
Chloe has no one.
As if she can read my mind, Mimi nods knowingly. “I wasn’t always a broken old lady, you know. I wasn’t always a liability.”
“I’m certain Chloe wouldn’t appreciate hearing you talk like this.”
I glance at the door. How long until Chloe returns?
Now that I know what’s going on, that Chloe isn’t sick and no one’s hurt, the part of me focused on protecting her switches back to protecting my own skin. Because if Chloe catches me in her apartment, talking to her grandmother, I’m not sure what will happen.
With the adrenaline from earlier now dissipating, I’m not sure I want to know.
But I can’t interrupt Mimi.
“And I’m certain you’re right. Chloe wouldn’t like this one bit. But that doesn’t make it any less true,” she says. She sits back, resting her head against the chair. “I’ve lived a good life. Married a decent man. Raised a daughter who made me proud. Got a brilliant granddaughter who I love with all my heart. I worked hard. I traveled. I did some things that I sit around now and think about and wonder how the hell I didn’t get murdered.”
She laughs softly, gazing off into the distance.
I don’t know her well enough to discuss her life and feel awkward getting so personal. But something tells me she needs to talk about it. And I’m already here.
“It sounds like you enjoyed yourself,” I say.
“Oh, I did.” Her gaze pulls to mine. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
She watches me intently, pinning me to the sofa.
I begin changing the subject, but her mouth presses into a tight line.
Okay, then. I take a deep breath. “No.”
“A boyfriend?”
I catch a laugh before it escapes my throat. “Um, no.”
“Why not?”
“Well, I am a heterosexual.”
She chuckles. “Good to know. But why don’t you have a girlfriend?”