Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
“Hmm.” It’s all I can manage for a brother-in-law I’ve never met. Mom swears I’ll love Jon once I get to know him, which to me is code for “You’ll want to punch him in the throat at first impression.”
“That’s their place up there.” He gestures toward the ridge in the distance.
I can’t see anything through the mist. “A big log house, from what I hear.” Easily double the size of my parents’ place.
“Gotta fit all those kids Sarah keeps popping out.” My dad shakes his head, but he’s smiling, seemingly more relaxed now that he’s home. “She said she’s definitely done after this next round.”
My step falters. “Wait. You mean she’s pregnant again?” That must be recent because Mom hadn’t mentioned it in her last letter. “I thought they were done. What’s that, number six?” My sister’s forty—two years older than I am.
“And seven. Another set of twins.”
“Holy fuck. They aiming for a baseball team?”
He snorts. “Jon always wanted a large family. Anyway, Sarah decided that was where she wanted her house to be. Took nearly three years to finish it.”
The corner of my mouth curves slightly with nostalgia. I know that spot. We spent many evenings up there. Best view on the entire property, especially during the longest days of summer when night doesn’t fall until after ten. I’m not surprised Sarah would want a porch to enjoy the sunset. “It’s a good place for a house.”
“Yeah, we thought so too. Jon had to be convinced. He thinks it’s too far from the main buildings.”
“He should be happy with whatever he’s given,” I mutter. My family has spent over a hundred years clearing and farming this land. No doubt he’s got his sights set on it.
“Jon is like a son to me,” my dad counters sharply before pursing his lips.
Maybe he thinks he’s wounded me with his words, but I feel nothing. I already know where my father stands as far as I’m concerned. He made that obvious long ago. “How’d Mom convince you to come get me, anyway?” The question I’ve waited hours to ask.
With a heavy sigh, he admits, “If I hadn’t gone, she would have, and she’s juggling too many things with that market of hers.” He nods at the window above. “They cleaned up the apartment for you. Got a new fridge and stove, even set up a computer. We thought you’d be more comfortable up there.”
“I’d be more comfortable, or everyone else would be?” I ask before I can help myself. What does my family truly think about the infamous Landry son returning? How does dear Jon feel about his convict brother-in-law around his brood of kids?
I’m not stupid. I know my mother is the only reason I’m here now.
“This is gonna be an adjustment for everyone, Logan. Don’t make it harder than it needs to be.”
My gaze veers beyond the garage and my new, segregated home, to the yellow house across the field. It sits just past the property line, as if our two families made a pact long ago to live within shouting distance, out here in the middle of nowhere. A navy-blue Ford Expedition is parked out front. A light glows in the kitchen, revealing movement within the window.
“McAllisters still live next door,” my dad offers. “Emery is divorced and moved back here with her daughter, Isla. Clive died, oh, seven years ago now. Sandy, about three.”
A cheating husband, a heart attack, and a brain aneurysm, in that order. I already know all this. I knew about it when it happened, on account of Mom’s letters, each one written with painstakingly detailed descriptions of the minutest chatter from around Cold River, including what was happening with the girl next door.
Even in those early years when I wasn’t returning Mom’s letters, I was reading them. Memorizing them. I remember when Emery dropped out of university. She told her parents it wasn’t for her. She left for the police college not long after. That was always her end goal, anyway—she might as well have come out of the womb holding a badge. She finished at the top of her class and could have gone anywhere, but she decided to come back here and take a job at an OPP detachment forty minutes away, where her dad wasn’t in command.
I was floored when I heard Emery started seeing Dillon Sanders again. They dated back in high school, and he screwed around on her. I broke his nose for it. Worse, she married the idiot the second time around, in a shotgun wedding after she got pregnant.
I acutely remember the letter detailing the night Emery caught Dillon at a motel with another woman. I was torn between self-righteousness and sympathy. She moved back in with her parents, a six-year-old in tow. The affair was kept under wraps for her daughter’s sake. The official story was that they’d gotten married too young. I don’t know that anyone around town believed it, but it didn’t stop them from electing him mayor—the youngest in Cold River’s history.