Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 150878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 754(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 150878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 754(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
The shade clattered as I lowered it, blocking the view that made my gut churn with that old longing. The bedding felt soft beneath my fingers, the sheets crisp and clean, but after a moment of staring down at it uneasily, I pulled the quilt from the bed and laid it on the floor. I grabbed a pillow and then made myself comfortable on the rug, knitting my fingers behind my head.
The whir of the ceiling fan above lulled me into a type of hypnosis, my eyes drooping. I’d been living on the outside for several months now, and yet my body was still programmed to go to sleep early and wake at first light. As I drifted, I swore I could hear the clank of metal and the various conversations happening around me, kept low so as not to catch the attention of the guards. Conversation, laughter, threats, both veiled and outright, personal bodily sounds that I’d never quite grown accustomed to.
I bolted upright, shaking away the slow dip into sleep at the unfamiliar noise that had roused me. My head turned toward the window as a horn blared in the distance once again. My shoulders dropped and I exhaled a slow breath. The ability to awaken quickly, even if it meant I was constantly on edge, had been a necessity for a long time. Now it just kept me from ever feeling truly rested. I wondered if I’d ever sleep deeply again.
There was a bookshelf on the far wall, and I pulled myself from the floor, walking over to it and perusing the titles in the dim light of the small table lamp I’d left on. A couple of them looked familiar for some reason, and frowning, I pulled one from the middle. Aqueducts and Water Supply. I turned it over, reading the description, the words coming back to me. This had been one of my books, one I’d been reading in the weeks before my mother collapsed and ended up in the hospital. I’d read it up in that loft in the old stable. My secret hideout. God, I hadn’t thought of that place in a long time. I tilted my head, staring down at the cardboard cover. How had it ended up here? Something about this particular book in my hands opened up a small wellspring of peace inside me, as though the very pages contained the simplicity of that time. The innocence. The joy.
Then again, books had been bringing me a measure of comfort for my whole life. Companionship. Distraction. They’d helped me survive my time behind bars.
I returned to my bed on the floor, propping the pillow against the wall so I could read. After a few minutes and feeling much calmer, I turned my head toward the window where shifting shadows barely showed around the edges of the blinds. The outside world. One I was now a part of. Only not really. Or at least…not yet. But I felt a tiny trickle of hope as Mrs. Swanson’s words from earlier filtered through my mind.
More people than you think believe in second chances. God, I hoped that was true.
six
Emily
“Tuck Mattice? Tuck Mattice?”
“Yes, Em, I did say Tuck Mattice,” my mom repeated into the phone. “And he needs a job.”
“I haven’t seen him in a hundred years, Mom, and you want me to hire him?” Along with the shock of hearing my mom say Tuck’s name, a strange and sudden bubbly sensation had erupted in my stomach, like an internal hurricane.
Tuck Mattice.
Or maybe I was just hungry. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
Only, that bubbly sensation? It was familiar. My body had always reacted that way to Tuck. And despite the years, it obviously still did. But flesh was dumb. And my body didn’t remember how Tuck had treated me, and how it had hurt.
It didn’t know who he’d become.
“He’s practically family, Emily.”
“Close,” my makeup artist, Sasha, said, and I closed my eyes so he could apply my eyeshadow.
“Family?” I asked. “He’s as good as a stranger to me. And, Mom, Nova. I need you to call me Nova when I’m getting ready for an event.” If I didn’t get into character, so to speak, I’d forget to respond to the stage name and look clueless. It’d happened before.
“Keep still, girl,” Sasha instructed.
“Sorry,” I murmured.
“I know he didn’t keep in touch,” my mom went on as though she hadn’t heard what I said about my name, “but you know what a rough time he had after his mom died.”
“Open,” Sasha said, tipping my chin. I opened my eyes, and he moved his gaze from one to the other, measuring. “Good. Louisa, she’s ready for you,” he called to my hairdresser in the living room, turning and beginning to gather his kit.
“Hold on, Mom.” I leaned toward the now-unobstructed mirror, turning my face in each direction. “Thanks, Sash. You’re an artiste,” I said, making the gesture for a chef’s kiss. He’d done a heavy nighttime look on me, and though it was dramatic, he’d kept it tasteful. He was truly talented, and I was lucky to have him as part of my team.