Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 153946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
I still couldn’t get it out of my head.
“As promised, breakfast has arrived.”
I pushed off the engine when my old buddy Kingston strode into the garage in expensive jeans and a designer T-shirt, two large grease-spotted sacks in one hand and a drink carrier full of orange juice in the other. He handed one bag off to Dalton and was preparing to toss the other to me when I held up my grimy hands.
“Need to clean up first,” I told him.
I’d been in the middle of replacing a couple of broken exhaust manifold bolts, but the pickup obviously had an oil leak somewhere too because the whole engine was coated with dirty black gunk. I’d wash it out with degreaser and track down the leak later.
Walking over to the sink, I did a quick scrub, drying off with a couple of blue shop towels. The men were already eating where they stood, but I felt like getting some air so I jerked my head toward the back door and Kingston followed me out to our unofficial break area—a picnic table on a tiny patch of mostly dead grass beneath a big old oak tree. It was still early enough to be almost cool out, though it promised to be another brutal day.
When we were settled at the table with two ice-filled juices and a small pile of sausage-and-cheese breakfast sandwiches between us, I gave him a look. “I thought you said you were bringing us egg white omelets with spinach and feta this morning.”
“I was weak,” he said unapologetically. “And finding healthy takeout isn’t as easy here as it is in New York.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
I didn’t know it firsthand since I’d never been, but Kingston had lived there for years. Tall, confident and sexually adventurous, the Black filmmaker no doubt fit right in there. He made documentaries on subjects like the plight of the homeless, or Big Ag and the evils of high fructose corn syrup. Now he was back to guest lecture at U of H for a few semesters in the land of all things fried and barbecued.
“Morgan’s in Italy by now.”
I nodded while I finished chewing.
“How’s she been doing with all that?”
I shrugged and took a swig of my juice. “You know her. She’s not big into sharing her feelings until she’s got them figured out. This trip should give her a chance to do that.”
She hadn’t wanted to talk about her mom at all after the memorial.
Kingston and I had been friends with Morgan for the same amount of time, since I’d known him from the first grade on, and he’d met the Rettas twenty-four hours after I did. He’d had it bad for her for about six months, but after she’d turned him down on the same day a cheerleader asked him out, he’d been fine settling for friendship instead. Besides Morgan, he’d always been my closest friend. Not that I ever had as many as he did.
In high school, he was voted most popular. Class clown. Sexiest AV club member. “Hollywood Haywood,” they’d called him. Most likely to be a famous director or the first openly bisexual president of the United States.
They were right about the fame part. He was more than well-known now. Like August, only with films instead of fantasy books. She built worlds out of thin air and my wildest dreams, and he showed a harsh reality that was painful but necessary to know. It hadn’t surprised me that they’d both found their way to entertainment hubs on opposite ends of the country while I stayed right here in the center where I’d always been. What was surprising was that they’d both come back for longer than a short and sweet holiday visit.
“It’s been two years of this, right?”
I didn’t have to ask what he meant. “Almost. The consulate shit got complicated and then they had to save up to pay for the flights and the cruise. Luckily, they have a friend there, so there wasn’t a time limit or anything.”
“I don’t mean to come off like a callous ass.” Kingston frowned thoughtfully. “Sam was the best. She introduced me to her connections, was always there when I needed advice, and I’m not blowing smoke when I say I wouldn’t be where I am without her. I was just thinking it’s been almost two years since her celebration of life, and this must be bringing it all up again for both of her daughters.”
Was that what was going on with August? Maybe. Morgan had mentioned money being tight as the reason she’d backed out of the trip, so that probably wasn’t helping either. They hadn’t even gone out to celebrate August’s birthday this year, which I was sure they’d do, since they’d skipped last year’s because she was sick. I couldn’t help feeling like I was missing something.