Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
I can’t help but laugh at her. The rift in our relationship wasn’t some one-sided mystery. She was there at Grandma Rose’s funeral. She knows exactly why things are the way they are and all the reasons why I wouldn’t want her here in the first place. Though, I can’t deny I’m definitely wondering what happened to make her think it was worth coming anyway. “Very perceptive of you.”
“So…can I come in, or…?”
Can she come in? Ha. At this stage in our relationship, we may as well be strangers. I know zip about her fancy life in New York, and she doesn’t know shit about mine either.
I quirk a defiant eyebrow at her. “How about you tell me why you’re here first, and then I’ll decide.”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got time,” I challenge, crossing my arms and leaning into the doorjamb. I level her with a look and study the very real fear in her eyes as a million thoughts flit through her mind.
“I just needed a break.”
“You left New York because you needed a break?” I ask, pressing her to be bold enough to lie to me a little more. She clearly thinks I was born yesterday, and I don’t know if that’s all Eleanor’s influence or if she’s truly just that naïve. “And why do you need a break, exactly? Life getting a little hard in the penthouse?” I laugh. “Or maybe you’re low on maids and overwhelmed at doing your own laundry? Or, I know, maybe you’re distraught because Hermès won’t let you buy the latest bag?”
Her cheeks pinken, and her face turns stony as anger stirs her backbone. “I know it’s probably bringing you great enjoyment to find me on your front porch like a stray cat, but I just took a nine-hour Greyhound bus ride and got dropped off in the middle of nowhere and had to hitchhike another ride from a complete stranger who also happened to be the world’s grouchiest man, which ended in me walking here from the center of town, and I’d really like to just sit down,” she rattles off with her head held high and her mouth moving a mile a minute. “And maybe…you know…drink some water to stave off a hospital stay for dehydration.”
There’s a glimmer of the sister I used to know somewhere inside there, and I take a little bit of pride in watching her stand up for herself.
“Could you find it somewhere in your apparently cold, dead heart to let me come inside first before we get into all the tragic details of the current state of my life?”
I consider her closely, wondering if she’s had enough of Eleanor Ellis and the phony, money-driven life she wants for Norah back in New York to truly listen to me when I talk or if she’s still puppetting all the things our mother has spent years teaching her. I consider, if I let her stay, whether it’ll end in a truly healed sisterhood or if it’ll be just another mistake I’ve made.
I don’t need to add another to the list.
“Please?” she begs then, a single tear finally freeing itself from her eye and falling slowly down her cheek. “Show your sister some mercy?”
“It’s not bringing me enjoyment to see you cry,” I assure her, trying to maintain the strength I need to protect myself without being unfairly cruel to her. “Not at all, but it’s been five years, Norah, and it’s not like you were the nicest person to me the last time I saw you. Actually, you were a total bitch.” She stood there and watched our mother destroy me. And she didn’t say a word.
“Josie, you have to admit that you weren’t being nice either. You told Mom to ‘get the fuck out’ in the middle of a funeral. Actually, you screamed it. In front of everyone. It was quite the scene, if I recall.”
All the pain I was feeling that day crawls into my chest and reminds me it’ll never be gone completely. Norah doesn’t know…she has no fucking clue, and it’s ridiculous that she’d pretend that she does. “It’s not my fault that Eleanor decided to show up somewhere she was definitely not welcome.”
“Josie.” Her eyes are wide and her voice pleading. “It was Grandma Rose’s funeral. Pretty sure that wasn’t the time or place to go off on our mother.”
“I think it was the perfect time,” I refute, holding my ground. “After Dad died, Mom treated Grandma Rose like shit. For years. The last person she would’ve wanted at her funeral was Eleanor. You and I both know that. Not to mention all the other evil shit she’s done.”
After our father passed away from a brain tumor that took his life within six months of diagnosis, our mother didn’t even shed a single fucking tear. If anything, she started planning her exit from Red Bridge the instant he took his last breath. It was so sick and calculated and emotionless that I often wonder if she’s a true sociopath.