Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87804 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87804 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
“I’m not talking to you,” I snap, eyes trained ahead. I refuse to grant him another second of my attention.
“Fine by me. I’ll talk, you listen.”
“I’d rather poke out my eardrums with a blunt instrument.”
“There’s more,” Walters grumbles. “If you two could stop bickering for a minute.”
“What else could there possibly be?” I practically scream for the entire town to hear.
Walters admonishes me with a shake of his head and I sink further into my seat. “Your grandfather left you a letter with specific instructions, Maren. A wish list he wanted you to carry out on his behalf.”
He pulls an envelope out of the stack of papers sitting on his desk and waves it around before dropping it on top of the pile. We used to have a cat that liked to do that, drop dead rodents he deemed as gifts at our feet. That’s what this reminds me of. A dead rodent.
“No. I have a very tight training schedule I need to get back to and––”
“With a broken wrist?” comes from my right.
I pretend not to hear him. I’m anxious to end this torture as quickly as possible, which means I’m going to keep my mouth shut and let Walters shovel out the rest of this steaming pile unimpeded.
“Can we get this over with?”
Walters nods. “Ronald’s wishes were to be cremated.”
I nod in return, knowing my grandfather had made arrangements after my grandmother died and asked for cremation.
“That’s one of his requests. He wants his ashes spread at the lake. Where he released your grandmother’s ashes.”
Of this entire waking nightmare this is the only part that makes sense. “Fine. I’ll do it this week.”
“Not alone.” Walters fiddles with his signet pinky ring, a frown pulling on his face. “Rowdy wanted the both of you to do it.”
I don’t fail to notice that Noah doesn’t react at all. I don’t detect even the slightest tension in his body. When you spend the better part of your life watching someone, you learn a thing or two.
“He knew about this,” I voice out loud, already knowing the answer.
“I tried to argue, but you know him.”
I thought I knew my grandfather. After today I’m not so sure. There’s truth to what Noah said however. Once Rowdy got something in his crazy head you couldn’t get it out with a hacksaw.
“Rowdy said to remind you of all the things he did for you, Maren. That if you cared for him, you’ll do this,” Walters adds.
And there it is, the kill shot.
Chapter Three
Noah
What happened at the lake all those years ago kick-started our friendship. I never tried to make sense of why I liked her company. I just did and it was enough for me.
In hindsight, it does sound weird. I was thirteen and she was ten so, yeah, I can see how some people wouldn’t understand––but there was never anything weird about it when we were together.
We played video games and talked about sports and I told her things I was too embarrassed to tell anyone else. Like that I often overheard my parents fighting late at night and that it scared me. Or that my father was worried about concussions and was pressuring me to switch from football to baseball, something I didn’t want to do.
No one understood it, least of all Dane and Jermaine. But if J was my conscience, and D was my partner in crime, then Maren was my heart. And I wasn’t about to give her up. Not for them, not for anybody. So I kept it to myself. And that’s how our friendship grew. In a bubble, free from the opinions of the outside world.
Never one to be shy, Maren began tapping on my window after her tennis and my football practice. My bedroom was on the ground floor and it took my parents a while to catch on to the mischief this invited. I’d find her staring through the glass with a big smile on her face.
“Took you long enough,” she said as soon as I opened the window to let her in.
“I was finishing up a game,” I explained as I walked back over to the PlayStation and TV I’d gotten for my thirteenth birthday.
“What level you get to?” she asked, as she sat down cross-legged on the carpeted floor next to me.
“Sixteen.” I was handing her the other game controller when her skinned knee caught my eye. “You’re bleeding.”
Shrugging, she tried to hide it from me. “It’s nothing.”
“I can fix it. My father’s a doctor.” I’ve always been a cocky bastard, but at thirteen I was unbearable.
Chin tilted up, she examined my face. “Is that what you’re gonna do when you grow up?”
“No way. I’m playing wide receiver for the Dallas Cowboys. Come on.” I motioned for her to follow me and she did without hesitation, right into the bathroom.