Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 102523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Trusting Lester to not fly off, I grab the food and wine and head out to walk the one hundred feet to Aunt Etta’s.
This is a walk I’ve done hundreds of times. Anytime Jesse and I would come to see Gran, we’d inevitably end up at Aunt Etta’s, a double whammy of fun and spoiling we fully enjoyed. Jesse and I would chase each other around the big yard, then chase fireflies after dark. Aunt Etta taught us how to shoot bows and arrows, ride horses, and of course, shoot pool. And then Gran would cook us a delicious dinner topped off with a melt-in-your-mouth sweet potato pie.
I miss you so much, Gran.
The lights are off in the front of Etta’s house, but I’m not surprised. I know where Aunt Etta is. The barn behind her home is her sanctuary, and where she spends all her time if she’s not at Puss N Boots. I slide open the door as quietly as I can and make my way down the center aisle to Nala’s stall. Lester hops off to explore on his own, and probably hunt down one of the horse’s oat cookies to snatch.
“How’s she doing?” I ask softly, scanning the sorrel quarter horse, who’s watching me with interest.
Aunt Etta doesn’t move from her place, sitting in the soft hay and leaning back against the wooden wall. She’s wearing well-worn jeans, a snap-front plaid shirt, and boots covered in various shades of brown staining. Her dark hair hangs in one long braid over her right shoulder, and her eyes never stray from Nala, who might as well be her child.
“Better. Another day or two and she’ll be good as new.” She says it as though declaring it will make it so. Actually, she might be able to—I bet even God wouldn’t risk pissing off Aunt Etta. “Chiropractor came by earlier and did an alignment. Made a big difference.”
Nala snorts as though she’s agreeing with Aunt Etta.
“Good. I brought you some grub, and some wine.” I slow step toward her and Aunt Etta reaches up to take the offered bag and cup. Hands now free, I sit down next to her in the hay.
“Bless you, girl. I need this.” Aunt Etta pops the lid off the cup first and takes a sip. She smacks her lips. “Yep, needed that. What’s in the bag?” she asks, already opening it and thrusting a hand inside. “Ooh, is this one of Tay’s famous fried-catfish po’boys? You are too good to me, Hazel.”
She takes a second bite before swallowing the first, obviously hungry but unwilling to leave Nala alone for even a moment.
“I’ll stay with her if you want to walk around a bit to stretch your legs or go to the bathroom.” I make the offer even though I already know the answer. Nala’s her baby; she isn’t going anywhere.
Aunt Etta snorts her reply, sounding vaguely like her beloved horse did a moment ago, and then adds a fry to the mouthful of sandwich she’s working on. We fall quiet, both of us watching Nala while Etta eats. After a few minutes, she says, “You gonna tell me about tonight or not?”
I huff out a wry laugh, not surprised that she’s already heard about the fiasco with Roddy. This town gets bigger every day, but not so fast that the small-town grapevine can’t keep pace. For folks like us, Cold Springs natives, that grapevine works faster than Twitter. “Roddy finally decided to man up and play me. I won, of course, which made him totally forget himself. Tried to stiff me on the bet, but he paid up in the end and stomped his way out like a pissed-off possum, hissing and snapping his teeth.”
Aunt Etta takes another drink. “Not what I meant. Everyone knew you were gonna wipe the floor with that boy. Only question was how big the margin was going to be. You’ve been a better player than him since you were twelve years old.” I preen at the praise from the woman who taught me how to play pool, although I will admit that I did have a bit of “home table advantage,” considering how well I know every square inch of that surface. “I mean, you gonna tell me about after that?”
She leans my way a bit, pinning me with her dark eyes, which are hard as marbles right now.
Play dumb, my brain shouts, though I’m not sure why exactly. I didn’t do anything wrong.
“After?” Aunt Etta’s glare somehow gets harder and icier. “Oh, you mean aaafter. Well, there was a guy that butted in to the deal with Roddy, and I played him. Said his name was Wyatt, and then I found out what he should’ve said was his name’s William Wyatt Ford III.”
I leave out my body’s reaction to him and all the filthy thoughts I was fighting. Etta doesn’t need to know any of that for damn sure.