Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“Okay, good luck, mija. You use that brain of yours, and be smart.” She cups my cheeks in her hands, almost nose to nose with me, as if she can will it so. I nod, only able to make a tiny movement, and she releases me. She makes a clucking sound with her tongue that somehow sounds like concern and love rolled into one. “I’m off to feed Leo dinner. If you need something, ring me.”
She takes off her apron as she walks to the kitchen, muttering in Spanish so quietly and quickly that I can’t catch a single word. But it sounds like a prayer for me. Maria doesn’t know what’s going on tonight, but anything that has Mom and me riled up isn’t good in her book.
We sit in awkward silence for a few minutes, and then the doorbell rings. “I’ve got it,” Mom tells me, virtually running for the door. I hear her greeting whoever’s arrived first. “Come on in the front room.”
I hold my breath and squeeze Jesse’s hand. This could be it, the fire lighting the fuse.
Etta comes in with Mom at her back. Etta’s smiling, but gives me shit. “Hey, girl, am I early for the start of the show? Does that mean I get to watch the previews and get a sneaky-peek at what the hell you’ve got going on?” She scans the room like a bogeyman might jump out at her.
“No previews, I’m afraid. But there’s pepper jack cheese and tiny toast. And some of Daisy’s Blue Balls.” I point to the table with Maria’s prettily arranged spread.
“I leave blue balls everywhere I go,” Etta quips back, pushing her hair behind her ear. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it down. She almost always has it in a braid, and if not, it’s wrapped up in a bun on top of her head. She picks up a cake ball and a napkin before sitting in a chair, seeming more refined than usual. She’s wearing cutoff jean shorts and boots, looking like exactly what she is . . . a country woman who owns a damn good bar, but there’s an attempt at fanciness in the way she’s moving and sitting.
Chrissy arrives next, looking comfortable with an invitation from Mom until she sees Etta. “What’s going on?”
“We’re waiting on everyone to get here, and then I’ll explain,” I tell her. She sits down but is looking at Etta warily.
For her part, Etta says, “Heard you went for a little joyride and did some heavy-duty property destruction?” Chrissy’s eyes fall in embarrassment until Etta adds, “Good job. I went for putting Coke in his gas tank. I was too young and stupid to be creative back then.”
Chrissy raises her gaze in surprise. “That was you? He loved that car!” she says reflexively. But a second later, she laughs. “He loved that car! You have no idea how many times I heard him whine about the engine blowing up out of nowhere.”
The two women seem to bond over some decades-old revenge that they now both appreciate.
Maggie arrives next, waving to Chrissy uncertainly. “Thanks for having me, Pamela.”
I know they’ve met at various Christmas parties, but Mom and Maggie are basically acquaintances connected by Two Degrees of Kevin Bacon—my dad and Jed.
There’s a quiet knock on the door, and I meet Mom’s eyes. But before she can go, Jesse hops up. “I’ve got this one.”
I sit frozen, listening as I hear Jesse say, “It’s fine. I promise. Just come on in and listen. You can leave anytime.” Lucy must agree, because she appears in the doorway with Jesse behind her. Her eyes go wide at seeing the congregation of women all staring at her, and she takes an involuntary step back, bouncing into Jesse’s chest.
“Oh!” she exclaims.
Jesse steps away from her, holding his hands out peacefully. “Not holding you hostage. Just standing here,” he chuckles, trying to put her at ease. “You’re all good here.”
But Lucy’s eyes have landed and locked on to Chrissy, whose anger is beginning to burn hot again.
“What are you doing here?” Chrissy demands, her tone as icy as her gaze is ablaze. She stands, her hands fisted at her sides and teeth clenched.
Fearing a catfight between the two, I stand, playing hostess, though it’s my mom’s home. Holding out my hand, I say, “Lucy, I’m Wren Ford. Nice to meet you.”
She takes my hand, shaking hesitantly, but keeps her eyes on Chrissy, not forgetting her question.
Etta pipes up, “Welcome to the Jed Ford Support Group. Thought we’d go ahead and start your initiation ceremony. You brought the rubbing alcohol and tattoo needle, right?”
“What?” she balks in fear.
“Aunt Etta, don’t.” Jesse’s warning is fully ignored. “You’re gonna scare her.”
Etta doesn’t seem the least bit apologetic, but she does explain, “We’re all victims of Jed, one way or another. And Wren’s got something to tell us. You can go if you wanna, but I’d listen to her if I were you.”