Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 51744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
I shove my hands farther into the pockets. “No.”
Fuck no.
“That wasn’t a request, Chance.” His voice is deeper and more imposing.
When I was younger, I was afraid. No longer.
“I know. It was an order. A fucking order.”
He nods. “Damned right it was, and you will end things with her.”
Avery and I have been going out for a while. I’ve never brought her home to meet my father because I don’t want to subject her to him. He’s a dick, and I can’t stand him. I love her, so why would I put her through that? Especially now that I know exactly how he feels about us being together.
“I will not.”
“She’s trailer trash, Chance.”
Anger boils through me. How dare he? “She lives in a mobile home park. That doesn’t make her trash.”
He slices his hand through the air. “This discussion is over. You end things with her.”
“No. I won’t, Dad. I love her.”
But my father has gone back to whatever document he was reading before he summoned me. His gaze is fixed. We’re clearly done here.
Fine.
We’re done. I walk out. Turn my back on him.
I’ll never let Avery go. My father can go fuck himself.
Damn. For almost a year, I thought I’d won that argument. He never bothered me about Avery again.
We—Avery and I—spent as much time together as we could. We held hands in the hallways at school. We attended all the dances and other functions. We made out desperately in my truck, and we talked about going all the way. Avery decided to go on the pill…and then the day came.
That day at the spring.
And the next day, she was gone.
My old man.
My fucking old man. He just waited. He waited until I’d fallen so deeply that I could never return.
And then he took her away from me.
I hope he’s rotting in hell.
He must have written the letter. Who else could have? It certainly wasn’t me.
I’m still holding the document about Linda Marsh.
And I begin to read.
I scan through the date and the legalese to find the parties to the agreement.
Jonathan Bridger.
And Linda Marsh.
Holy. Fucking. Hell.
21
AVERY
* * *
“We were living in a trailer,” Mom begins. She grabs a shirt from the laundry basket and starts to fold it. Her hands fumble and she gives up, tossing it back in the pile.
“I know that,” I say numbly.
We’re still on the service porch, and I’m sitting in an old aluminum lawn chair—one that I think used to sit outside our mobile home on the outskirts of Bayfield. Mom drops across from me in a metal folding chair—the kind that goes with a card table.
I never thought about the fact that we lived in Rainbow Estates—though estates was certainly generous. But to the rest of Bayfield, we were trailer trash. At least that’s what Mom is trying to get me to believe.
Funny. I never felt like trailer trash when I was a kid, and no one at school ever made me feel less than. Seems to be my mother’s problem.
“I worked my tail off at that factory, and I took whatever odd jobs I could find during the many layoffs.”
I remember she was always busy, rarely at home. “I know all this, Mom. I was there.”
“I was determined that you wouldn’t have to help,” she says. “You were a kid.”
I have no idea where she’s going with this, but so far, none of it is important. “Again, I know this.”
“You tried to give me your babysitting money once,” she says. “Do you remember that?”
I have to dig deep because I’ve buried most of my Bayfield memories, but I find it. “Yeah. I remember.”
“I didn’t take it. I told you to get yourself something.”
I did. I got myself a chocolate malt in town and a pair of fake pearl earrings. I loved those earrings. I was going to wear them to the prom with Chance…
“Anyway,” Mom continues, “things were looking bleak your senior year. They closed down the factory.”
I widen my eyes. “I know it closed down, but that was after we moved.” The puzzle pieces begin to link together. “Wait. Is that why—”
She sighs and holds up a hand. “Let me get this out, Avery. This isn’t easy for me.”
I sigh. “Fine. Go ahead, Mom.”
“I wasn’t sure if we were going to make it. I was behind on rent, and the car was on its last legs. I remember thanking God every time you went out with Chance Bridger, because I knew you’d get a decent meal.”
“Mom, I never went hungry.”
She inhales. “I know you didn’t. I made sure of that.”
I regard my mother. She’s got a few wrinkles around her mouth and around her eyes, but she’s still very attractive. She’s kept her figure, and her cheeks are always rosy. But when I think back—
She was always pretty, but she got thin for a while.