Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
I followed her through a swinging door into a small kitchen, the yellow fridge and Formica countertops indicating the Sharp’s lack of desire to spend their wealth. I scraped plates into the trash, the small space quiet with our sudden isolation from the men.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted out, her voice soft. “For what Spencer said. About you not dating Brant.”
“It’s fine. Really.” I didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to give the hundred nosy questions inside me an opening to spill out. My prying would only damage this fragile connection. I looked for a safe topic. “It’s wonderful that you allowed Brant, at such a young age, to take off school to build Sheila.”
“Sheila?” Mrs. Brant looked over from the sink, confusion clearing from her face when she understood my reference. “Oh—the computer. I’d almost forgotten; it’s been so long since it was referred to as that. It was kind of a memorial thing… the name didn’t stick. Apple didn’t want the negative connotations attached to the project.” She turned off the water, taking the dishes from my hand and sliding them into the soapy water.
“Negative connotations?”
She glanced over. “Oh—I forgot—you were too young. Sheila Anderson. The little girl who was murdered all those years ago. It was the summer Brant started working all the time. They never found her killer—or her body for that matter. Just…” Her voice faltered. “Just her clothes. Bloody. Not far from here. A few girls disappeared that summer, but she was the first. And… Brant had always had a crush on her. He took it hard. That was around the time… well.” She stopped talking, glancing over my shoulder, the kitchen suddenly smaller as I felt Brant move up behind me, his hand wrapping around my waist and pulling me into his body.
“Mom putting you to work?” He planted a kiss on my head.
“Barely. She was just telling me about—“
“Old memories,” she interrupted. “Thanks for bringing her by, Brant.” Grabbing a hand towel, she wiped at her palms. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Layana.”
I smiled. “Thank you. It was wonderful to meet you both.”
“You leaving?” The large body of Brant’s father closed off the doorway, and the space was suddenly claustrophobic.
“Yes. Thanks.” Brant clapped his father on the back, and we squeezed our way out of the kitchen and made our exit.
I was quiet during the ride home, my mind walking me back through the evening. I wondered at the reasons behind Jillian and Mr. Sharp’s aversion to our relationship. Wondered whether Mrs. Sharp had agreed with her husband, despite her apologies for his statement. Wondered about Sheila Anderson and why Brant didn’t mention that she had died. I could have asked questions. But I didn’t. I looked out the window and thought.
Chapter 12
2 YEARS, 6 MONTHS AGO
I stuck my head in Brant’s office, his head popping up, hands furious on keys, un-pausing in cadence as he smiled. “This is a nice surprise.”
“Don’t get too excited yet,” I teased, walking around the desk, his fingers keying at a rate faster than humanly possible, his eyes glued to me, his mind capable of more simultaneous action than mine. “I’m kidnapping you.”
“Sounds…” He finished his typing, picking his hands up and swiveling his chair to face my approach, his hands reaching out and pulling me into his lap. “Interesting. Where are we going for this kidnapping?”
I shook my head. “Nope. I’m not telling you that. That’d ruin the fun. How much time do you need before we can go?” I glanced at his computer screens, three side-by-side monitors that each displayed file download progresses.
“I’m yours. Steal me away before Jillian reminds me about the budget meeting that starts in fourteen minutes.”
“Shoot.” I hopped off his lap, snagging my purse off the floor. “Then let me get you out of here.”
“You make me so bad,” he murmured, his eyes dark as he snagged me back for one last kiss.
“Oh yeah,” I giggled. “Skipping budget meetings. You can get fitted for your leather vest now. Stick with me and you’ll be going to bed without flossing. Getting really crazy.”
I pulled him around the desk, peeking out of his door with an exaggerated gesture before turning back and putting a finger to my lips. “Run on three,” I whispered. “One…two…” I opened the door and sprinted.
“Here?” Brant looked out the window at the homes before us, my car settling into a spot out front. “I’ve been here before.”
“At the ribbon cutting. I know. I was there too. That didn’t count. Get out.” I opened my door and stepped out, taking a few steps back and snagging a stuffed unicorn off the lawn.
Brant’s door shut and I looked over to see him, his posture awkward, his eyes sweeping over the compound, five brick homes, a fenced yard connecting them, three kids clustered in the shade of an oak, a dog sniffing the edge of the fence and eyeing us as if wondering whether to attack. Brown eyes hit me and his tail started to wag. I stepped toward the gate and flipped the latch. Squeezed through and squatted, running my hands over the collie. “Hey Buster.” I ran him through his three tricks: sit, shake, and down, glancing over when Brant entered the yard and crouched to our level.