Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
CHAPTER 8
Tillie
This may have been the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. What started as an elaborate prank cost me a lot of time—and money—and now it’s costing me more time as I clean up.
As well as dinging my pride.
I suppose I can’t be surprised that the man was so pissed at what I’d done he had threatened to call the cops. And while I don’t know if he’ll follow through, I’m not willing to risk handcuffs.
Besides, his deck is kind of trashed from the birds—something I had not considered—and I don’t like causing destruction.
The first thing I do upon arrival is attack the deck. I’m armed with a broom, trash bags, cleanser, and scrub brushes. I also brought resealable bags, into which I dump the seed and nuts, close them up, and leave them by his back door in case he wants to use the stuff in the future.
Probably not, but it’s not worth hauling back to my house. I have plenty to feed the wildlife in my own backyard.
Pulling up the salt lick spiral stakes takes much longer than putting them in the ground, but I have to admit… they were a great idea when I thought he’d be the one getting them out. I set them in a pile at the back of his yard near the tree line we’re battling over. I’ll pull them off the metal stakes and repurpose them on the trails when I get a chance. I’ll have to build some post stands, but nothing I can’t handle. In addition to being an artist, my dad was an amateur woodworker, and I learned a thing or two over the years.
Plus, I have all his tools and equipment he left behind when he died.
A sudden longing hits me square in the chest, deep within my heart. It was only a year and a half ago that I lost my parents on a wintry night after their car spun off the road and hit a tree.
I try to push the pain down as I make my way to the bird feeders hanging from the trees, but it’s not easy. I was close to my parents.
I lived with them my entire life, outside of my four years at the Savannah College of Art and Design. When I moved back home after graduating with my bachelor’s in fine arts, concentration on painting, I never once thought about getting a place of my own.
And I didn’t stay with my parents for financial reasons. I had a job and could afford my own place.
It’s just… I not only loved them, but I liked them so much I always wanted to be around them.
Sure, it made me look a little odd, still living with my parents at twenty-five. Cici and her girl gang tortured me over it with snide comments, but I’m used to that stuff.
Losing my mom and dad, though… it’s a pain that hasn’t lessened, and I wonder if it ever will.
It’s why I want to build this studio so badly, as a means to honor them. My parents were amazing artists and made their living off their work. More than that, they taught their skills for free to anyone in the community who wanted to learn, and I want to carry that on.
We weren’t well off and living on artists’ wages did indeed mean I had to shop discount for my clothes, but we were happy and filled with love and inspiration and beauty every day. Such a simple life, and I’m only trying to recreate it for my new self.
For the me who exists without them.
“I expect you to get all the deer food and seed off the ground.”
I jump in shock, whirling to see Coen walking toward me. In one hand, he has a folding lawn chair, and in the other, a small cooler.
Frowning, I disregard the comment about the seed. No way I can get that shit off the ground.
I’m more than a little curious what he’s doing. Is he… bringing me something to drink? A chair to sit in while I disassemble the salt licks?
It comes as no shock when he unfolds the chair with a snap of his arm and plops down in it. He sets the cooler next to him, pulls out a beer, and twists off the top.
He hoists the bottle in mock salute. “Cheers. I thought I’d provide encouragement and direction.”
I roll my eyes and give him my back. I start at the trees closest to me, meticulously untwisting the wire hangers I created. I’d never let him know, but each of these feeders was lovingly painted by me, Ann Marie, Hayley, and Erica yesterday. They answered my call for help, and we drank wine and laughed as we decorated them. My friends stayed well past midnight to help me plant all this stuff on Coen’s property. It took us a good hour to set it all up, and I’ve already been here for over two trying to take it all down by myself.