Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79374 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79374 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“Let’s get you sorted out first, and then we’ll worry about everything else later,” Mirna said, again reassuring me when it was me who should’ve been reassuring her. But that was Mirna. “Just tell me you’re staying.”
Preppy answered for me, popping his head back in and unhooking a pink leash from a small rack on the wall. “If she’s smart like you, Mirna, she’ll be sticking around for a while.” He winked and disappeared again with the cow-colored, dog-sized, pig grunting after him down the hall.
His words were disguised as a polite invitation, but I knew what they really were.
A warning.
When Mirna and I were finally alone I turned back to her, prepared to launch into a million questions when she yawned. Her eyelids were heavy. “I think you and I have some catching up to do, my dear,” she said, rubbing her temples. “The only cost of rent here is your honesty. I expect that you’ll tell me everything.” She turned my hand over and ran her fingertips up the raised scars on my arm, inspecting my shame. “And I do mean everything.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mirna patted my hand. “It seems things have changed quite a bit for the both of us, haven’t they?”
I glanced at the wall that separated us from him, like I could see him through it, and wondered what game he was playing at. “Yes, it seems they have.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
PREPPY
During the days that Dre was comatose I poured myself into work, determined to have two more Granny Growhouses set up by the end of summer, which was going to be hard, considering the amount of work each one took and I had no one around to help me. Work was all I did.
Well, and I watched some porn.
And then there was that wee bit of blow I did.
While watching porn.
And the smidge of weed I smoked.
With that waitress from Presto’s who takes it up the ass like it’s her fucking job.
I motherfucking digress.
While Dre went through her withdrawals as a vegetable, I checked in on Mirna like usual. She did manage to have a few moments of clarity, but most of the time she was back to thinking she was in her twenties and waiting for her husband to get home from the war.
During one of her clearer times she talked about Dre, and it was obvious that she adored her granddaughter, smiling and laughing while telling me stories of her devilish childhood, where apparently Dre had spent a lot of time breaking shit. There was even love in her voice when Mirna told me that she’d received cancelled checks back from the bank in the mail to the tune of $1,700. All made out to cash. All forged. She’d closed the account, but it wasn’t until Dre showed up that she knew who was behind it.
I wasn’t exactly in a place to reprimand someone for their life choices, but ripping off her own grandmother made me so pissed, I was surprised that when Dre woke up that I hadn’t immediately grabbed her by the throat and pushed her out the door.
Shit, if Mirna hadn’t come in and been with it, I just might have.
I made a mental note to look into getting a trustee set up for Mirna’s finances so there was no chance of anyone ripping her off while her condition continued to get worse. Fuck, she shouldn’t even be living on her own anymore.
“Why didn’t I get on that bus?” Dre asked from behind me. I turned to find her standing next to the table, her hands fighting with the sash of the robe that swallowed her small frame in billowing white cotton. Her long black hair was wild around her face. Her deep-brown eyes burned holes into me as she waited for me to answer.
I turned my attention back to the stove where I’d burnt yet another pancake. “Motherfucker.” I tossed it into the trash bin and started over again, pouring a ladle of batter onto the hot pan. “Seriously, is this making pancake business some sort of holy magic? Do I need a wand and a Harry Potter spell?” I grumbled. “Maybe there is something wrong with this stove.” I adjusted the heat setting and again read the side of the box of mix to make sure I didn’t do something to it that somehow made the magical pancakes flammable, almost instantly burning. “Where’s Mirna?” I asked, ignoring her question and flipping my newest attempt which landed on the side of the pan, batter splattered on the burner with a hiss.
“She’s laying down for a while.”
“Excellent!” I exclaimed, pointing at her with my spatula. “It will give us a chance to have a little breakfast, a little chat, and a little bit of threatening. Doesn’t that sound nice?” I pulled out a chair from the little dinette table and made a grand sweeping gesture with the spatula for her to take a seat.