Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97409 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97409 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
I slide him a playful glance. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say you are more turned on than I am right now.”
He parks in my driveway behind my car. I wait for him to stop the truck and turn it off before I open my door.
“I’ve got your bag,” he tells me, walking to the back door of the truck.
The heat hits me right away as I walk in.
“Why aren’t the fans on?” he asks from behind me.
“Because I wasn’t home.” I turn on the fan in the bedroom while he sets down my bag. “It would be a waste to have them running for no one.” I start for the kitchen to turn on the other fan.
“Wait, there’s something I have to tell you.” I stop in my tracks. “While we were gone, I had some work done to your porch.” I look toward the front door. “Not that porch, the one in the back.”
“What?” I go out through the front door and around to the back. There’s a brand-new patio, bigger than the one I had. “What in the world?” I walk up the steps, and none of them feel like they are going to snap under my feet. A small cast-iron table with a matching chair is in the corner, but leaves enough room to move. “Theo . . .”
“It’s not for you”—his hands are on his hips—“it’s for the baby. I know how you like to sit outside, and this will give you the chance to do just that.” He comes up to the porch. “If you had given me your keys, I would have had the door changed so you wouldn’t have to walk around to get here. We can do that next time.” I’m about to argue with him when he kisses me. It’s long, it’s wet, and by the time he lets me go, I’ve forgotten what I was going to say.
“I’ll call you later, before I come over, to see if you need anything.” He kisses me again. “Now walk me to the truck.” He slips his hand in mine and pulls me toward the front, and stops beside his door. “Try not to miss me.” He wraps his arms around my waist. “I know it’s going to be hard, but I have faith that you can survive it.”
I throw my head back and laugh, giving him the opportunity to kiss my neck. “I don’t know how I’m going to make it until then.”
This makes him laugh as he kisses me and then gets in his truck. I wave him goodbye before turning and walking back into the house. “Your father built you a porch that you won’t be able to enjoy until you are about maybe six months old,” I tell the baby. “I don’t know what to say about it.” The sound of my phone ringing from my bag has me going to the table to retrieve it.
It’s my landlord/seller, Mickey. “Hello,” I say, putting the phone to my ear.
“Hey, Collins”—his voice is soft, just like his father’s—“how you doing?”
“I’m okay,” I answer, confused. He almost never calls, and he certainly doesn’t check up on me.
“Listen, I think you know why I’m calling.”
The back of my neck tingles. “I actually have no idea why you’re calling.” I look out the window. “Is it because of the new porch? I am so sorry, I would have run that by you first, but I had no idea that it was being done.”
“No, it’s about the check for this month.”
“Okay”—I feel like I’m going to vomit—“what about it?”
“It bounced.” I have to put my hand on the table. “Came back two days ago.”
“That’s . . .” I shake my head. “That’s impossible.” I get a sick feeling in my gut. “Can I call you back? I’m going to check with the bank right now. I know there is money in there. There is always money in that account.”
“I figured something was wrong. Call me back after you get off the phone with the bank.”
I hang up the phone, pull out the chair, and open my bank app on my phone. I blink my eyes twice. My account is showing a twenty-three-cent balance.
“No-no-no-no-no.” I press the account to see the transactions. Right under the forty-three-dollar fee for the returned house payment check is the check I made out to my father for one hundred dollars. And under that is another check for one thousand dollars, also made out to my father. I press the check number to see the image. My signature is definitely forged. “Oh my god.” I drop the phone and put my hands on my head. “This isn’t happening.”
I pull up the last number I had for my father, and an automated voice message states: The number you have dialed is not in service. I’m not surprised it’s disconnected.