Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
I had no experience with babies.
I had a lot to learn in a short amount of time.
But if Nave really did want to be a villager, it seemed like he was a resource I could rely on.
“This is it,” Nave said, gesturing to what barely appeared to be a driveway. You’d have missed it if you didn’t know it was there.
The driveway was lined with overgrown shrubs and old shade trees, blocking anything having to do with the property from view.
It wasn’t until we lost sight of the road behind us that the area yawned open to a clearing.
The driveway curved into a circle with three small residences set around it.
One was a sweet little wooden tiny house with pretty pink and yellow flowers spilling out of window boxes. Another was an all-black tiny home with white flowers lining the front beds.
And finally, there was the place that I figured was going to be my home: a lovingly cared-for motorhome with solar panels on the roof and large water catchment barrels on either side of it.
There weren’t any flowers or beds. But someone had clearly spent their morning hammering in a small fenced-in area with a gate around the front door, so I could easily let Edith out on her own.
“Welcome home.”
CHAPTER TEN
PAST
Lolly
“Welcome home,” Ben said, waving out at the glass house that mirrored the forest back at me.
I couldn’t explain the sensation of dread that had been flooding my system since we’d pulled off the highway and the cars and houses up and disappeared. Yet we kept driving. Kept climbing. Kept moving deeper and deeper into the woods, further and further from society.
I should have been over the moon.
We’d discussed this. At length.
We talked about how peaceful the woods were, how nice it would be to get away from the lights and sounds of town.
I guess I just imagined a ten-acre plot or something. With neighbors, if not in screaming distance, at least close enough to see flames if a fire broke out.
And while I was no expert, it felt like we were hundreds of acres away from anyone else.
The trees closed in around the big glass house.
Instead of comforting, it felt… menacing.
I shook those thoughts away and plastered a smile on my face.
“It’s exactly how you described it.”
That was at least true.
The problem was that in my mind, I’d romanticized it. I’d softened out the sharp edges; I made it feel cozier, more home-like.
“Wait… is there only one staircase?” I asked as we toured around the space.
“Yes.”
“Isn’t it the law that there needs to be two exits, though?”
He looked quickly away at that, then shrugged. “It wouldn’t look as good with two exits.”
At the time, I couldn’t hear the lie in his words. It would take many months for my ear to adjust to his half-truths and full fallacies.
I just took him at his word.
I just tried to muster up some excitement as we made our way up the stomach-droppingly steep stairs toward the side door, figuring that the inside would be warmer, more inviting.
“Wow, what is that noise?” I asked, hearing this loud whooshing sound as soon as the door opened.
“The HEPA filters.”
“Multiple?”
“I have allergies,” he said, nudging me inside.
Confused by that, I looked back, watching the way he watched the door close, then listened to something click, and, finally, a red light flash on.
For reasons I didn’t even try to analyze, my heart dropped at that moment.
I put it out of my mind, though, as he led me through the cold, sterile space, trying not to sound disappointed when each time I made a suggestion to make the space cozier, he immediately had a reason that it was a bad idea or it couldn’t be done.
“We’re still not going to share a room?” I asked after he showed me his room. Well, he showed me the door to his room. Which he kept shut and locked. I knew because it was another door with a red light on it.
“We’ve discussed this, Lolly. Don’t be difficult.”
I bristled at those words, but chose to tamp down my hurt feelings as he led me to my room. I had a door. But no lock. Not even on the inside.
My personal bathroom didn’t even have a lock.
“Settle in,” Ben said. “I have to shower the woods off of me.”
I turned and watched him go, closing the door behind him.
Alone, I looked around more closely, finding a sheet of paper—printed and laminated—attached to the inside of my door.
With a list of my daily and weekly chores.
Two lists, in fact.
One for the household.
One for my personal hygiene.
“What the hell?” I mumbled to myself, frowning at the paper.
You didn’t write lists like that for partners. That was something you did for employees. And as far as I knew, I wasn’t exactly employed by Ben any longer.