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)
“Are you telling me it takes a village? Is that what yoga has done to you, B? Are you a walking motivational poster now?”
“You laugh, but it does take a village, in spite of your silly Retta rules.”
I pressed a hand to my chest and gasped. “What is it you Hudsons have against our rules?”
“They’re hypocritical. You, Sam and Morgan made us family in every way but one—you shared all the good and none of the bad.”
Shaking my head, I said, “I don’t think that’s true.”
“Come on, August. We didn’t know about Sam’s triple bypass until it was over. We never know when Morgan’s having a rough patch. And you shut us out the same way.”
“I do not.” She’d obviously given this a lot of thought, but did I have to point out all the ways her family had been helping me through my rough patch recently?
“I’ve been thinking about it, how unfair I’ve been to you when you’ve always been there for us in the ways that counted. You kept me sane during my pregnancy.” She was ticking off fingers again. It seemed to be her day for lists. “You put Phoebe’s college fund over the top with your first big check and never forgot to be there for all her special moments, despite the distance. You even filled out your sister’s dating app when she was hesitant, and then nagged her continuously until she poked Gene back, so you get to take credit for their happiness too.”
Okay, I did like to remind her about that every anniversary. “You’re welcome, Morgan.”
“You bought your mother a place here so she could be happy near your sister and a good cardiologist while still being independent,” she went on. “You gave my brother somewhere to stay that wasn’t my couch, even though you’d barely spoken to us in years and I’ve been a bitch to you. You’ve done all of that and more, and yet whenever you’re in trouble or hurting, we only hear about it secondhand, when it’s too late for us to be there for you.”
I reached out and squeezed the hand she’d been counting on for a moment before letting it go. “You’re being here for me now. And I don’t think Mom meant for you to feel excluded, Bernie. I know Morgan doesn’t. They’ve just always been sticklers for taking care of things on their own.”
I thought about my reaction to Morgan reading the journals. Bernie said I was like them, but it had never felt true to me. Morgan had protected me from bullies when I was younger. Mom had always been there, giving me a hand up when I needed it. And unlike Morgan, I’d needed it more than once. Was that what I’d worried about finding between those pages? Evidence that, as close as we were, she secretly wished I was more like them?
This was getting too maudlin.
“As for Phoebe,” I said, lightening my tone. “She’s my godchild and that was entirely selfish on my part, since I missed my baby window and she might be the only one willing to take care of me when I’m old and crotchety.”
“It’s not too late for you to come to the dark side. I hear forty-three is the new thirty-three.”
“That doesn’t feel remotely accurate. Oh, this is our exit.”
I slowed Jiminy to a crawl after turning down a street that I realized was leading directly to an actual racetrack. The clues had been there and I should have known, but maybe I’d just been so relieved the workout was over, I didn’t care what came next.
“Don’t worry, we’re only going to look around,” she assured me before I could whip a U-ey in the driveway. “Things are less frightening when you can visualize them.”
“Visualizing. Sure. Then what are the helmet and gloves for?” I asked suspiciously.
“You’ll see.”
My grip tightened on the wheel, but I turned in anyway. There was no one working in the guard shack, but Bernie said she had permission, so we drove right through and did a slow tour of the facilities. She pointed out the various garages and covered paddock spaces, fuel pumps, skid pad, viewing stands with bleachers and tables underneath and, of course, the closest parts of the track. I was surprised and a little dismayed to see so much concrete everywhere. I’d heard the guys talking about “the paddock” and assumed there’d be more of a Kentucky Derby vibe, with plenty of dirt and grass to horse around on.
“What’s the skid pad for?” I asked anxiously as we passed it. The black circle on the concrete told the tale of thousands of smoking tires doing endless screaming donuts.
“Don’t worry, it’s not for us. The skid pad is mainly for testing a car’s handling. Lemons is about driver endurance, not vehicle performance.”