Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
“Emersyn?”
Again, she stirs but doesn’t open her eyes.
“Emersyn!”
She jumps.
I wipe my sweaty forehead and rest my other hand on my hip.
“Zach?” she asks, squinting her eyes.
“What are you doing?”
She sits up, raising the back of the driver’s seat. “Napping. What are you doing?”
“I’m jogging.”
She nods several times, eyes still squinted like she’s fighting a headache.
I inspect her car, in particular the back seat and the hatchback space loaded with a shit-ton of stuff. Not just cleaning supplies.
Clothes.
Towels.
Boxes.
Harry Pawter.
A bag of cat food.
A black bra hanging over the headrest of the back seat.
Shoes.
Fast food bags wadded on the seats and floor along with a littering of empty water bottles.
Just … everything.
“So … it’s a little hot to be napping in your car. Why aren’t you home?” I tear my gaze from the piles of stuff and eye her through my own slitted eyes.
“Just an accident. I wasn’t planning on napping. We were enjoying the shade and breeze, then boom!”
There is no breeze.
“I drifted off to sleep.” She shrugs.
“It’s not safe. It’s hot as fuck. Really, your cat can’t be comfortable either.”
“Where’s Suzie?”
“Home with her sister. You should go home too.”
“Good plan.” She starts her car. “Nice seeing you. Hope Suzie’s doing okay?”
Again, I inspect the back of her car.
She clears her throat, bringing my attention back to her. “I’m glad to see you’re jogging. Suzie wants you to take care of yourself.”
I return an absentminded nod, not really registering what she’s saying because … this car is utterly disgusting.
“Well, tell Suzie I’ll stop by tomorrow and pull weeds in the garden.”
“You’re living out of your car.”
“I’ve been busy. I need to clean it out. Obviously.” She rolls her eyes. “But I’m not living out of my car.” She snorts a laugh, but I don’t miss the uneasiness in her eyes.
The fear.
The growing redness in her face.
As I stare at her, her gaze shifts to the windshield, to the people on the trail and the kids at the splash pad.
“Emersyn,” I say slowly, feeling confused. Is she homeless? How can that be? She has a job. A college degree. A boyfriend.
“Zachary,” she says without looking at me.
“Where do you live?”
“Why? You coming for a visit?”
A few seconds of silence and tension settles between us.
“Don’t mind if I do.”
Before she can mutter the slightest protest, I round the car and plant my ass in the seat next to her.
There’s a stench in the car, but I try to keep from wrinkling my nose.
Dirty laundry.
Cat piss.
Partially eaten food.
How long has this been marinating? All summer?
Emersyn starts the car and drives out of the parking lot.
First left.
Second right.
Another right.
Two lefts.
She drives me all around the city until there’s no other choice … then she steers the car back to my house. I remain quiet the whole time. I know she has nowhere to go. This tour of Atlanta has been to bide her time.
She puts the car in Park in my driveway.
“How long?” I ask.
Emersyn swallows hard as tears redden her eyes. “Not that long,” she whispers like she can barely hold it together.
“How long is not that long?”
She bats away her tears the second they escape. “Since spring.”
“Jesus …” I pinch the bridge of my nose and shake my head. “How? Why? I don’t get it.” I’m angry. Not at her. Well, kinda at her and the absurdity of this. Also … I … I just want to know how the fuck this is possible.
She averts her gaze out her window to the yard overgrown with weeds and in desperate need of mowing. I chose to use my hour of time away from Suzie to jog instead of mow the lawn. Is Emersyn thinking it’s rich of me to question her life when I’m clearly not the best role model?
“Don’t you have family? Friends? You had a boyfriend when you started working for us. How is it that you were living out of your car and not with your boyfriend?”
Silence seems to be her answer of choice.
I grunt a laugh, shaking my head. “Your boyfriend … you never told him. Did you?”
More silence.
“Was he just too much of a dick? Or were you too proud?”
She chews on the inside of her cheek, gaze affixed to the steering wheel.
“You can’t pay rent with the money you make cleaning houses?”
“No,” she murmurs. “I can pay rent … or I can buy medication for my epilepsy, pay my student loans, and have a basic cellular plan.”
“Yet … you got a cat.”
“I didn’t get a cat! My dick boyfriend got me a cat.”
I stiffen, anger building as I drum my fingers on my knees. “Because he didn’t know you were living out of your car?”
“Your yard looks like shit. I should mow it for you.”
She is judging me. “Fuck the yard. My wife is dying, and her new BFF is living out of a car … with a goddamn cat.”