Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
I head into my place to grab my car keys, but while I’m there, I get the idea to look at the peephole on my side of the wall. When I get to the bedroom, it’s clear enough why my grandmother never noticed it. If you don’t know what to look for, you’d never see it because the hole is completely camouflaged in the swirling wallpaper pattern on the bedroom wall. Fuck that Lloyd guy. What an asshole.
When I come back out to the hallway, I tell Charlotte about what I’ve discovered on my side of the wall, and she surprises me by linking her arm in mine for our trek to the elevator and purring, “Don’t you worry, Auggie. We’ll avenge your sweet grandma together. I promise, we’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you can sleep at night and your darling, beloved grandma continues to rest in peace.”
10
AUGGIE
Charlotte’s phone rings and she connects the call.
“Hey, T. I’m good. I’m at the storage unit now, going through boxes. Thank you again for hiring that crew. You’re a lifesaver.”
Charlotte’s standing on the other side of the cramped storage unit from me. For the past hour, she’s been going through boxes and stacks of stuff on her side with Lucky at her feet, while I’ve been sifting through stuff on mine. When we got here, Charlotte and I drew an imaginary line down the center of the room, so we wouldn’t duplicate efforts; and, thankfully, so far, neither of us has found anything to indicate the former owner of Charlotte’s condo recorded a single illicit image or video through his disgusting hole in the wall.
“How’s everything with you, love?” Charlotte asks on her phone call. “Oh, good. Listen, I’m gonna hang up and get back to work. I’m on a roll. But I’ll call you later. Love you, too, girlie.”
That had to be Tessa. I’m relieved Charlotte didn’t mention I’m here with her, so she didn’t then have to explain why we came here together. If we find out the former owner of Charlotte’s condo made my poor grandma the second coming of Jenna Jameson, the fewer people who know about that awful secret the better.
As Charlotte stuffs her phone back into her pocket, I finish sifting through my current box. “Nothing in this one, either.”
“Awesome. No news is good news.”
“Absolutely.”
The thaw between Charlotte and me that started happening before we drove down here feels like it’s now morphed into a downright friendly flame. When we first got here to the storage unit, Charlotte asked me some questions about my grandma, so I told her my favorite stories about the Late, Great Althea Martin, and Charlotte seemed genuinely interested. After that, Charlotte asked me about vet school, so I told her about that. But now that Tessa’s call interrupted that particular topic of conversation, I realize that was a lucky thing—that it’s now high time for me to ask Charlotte some questions about herself.
As we continue sifting through our boxes, I ask Charlotte a string of questions and elicit some basic information about her. She was born and raised in LA. Went to Catholic schools with Tessa, from preschool to high school graduation. She loves the weather in LA. The beaches. The sunshine.
“I’m only planning to be in Seattle temporarily,” she says. “Long enough to fix up the condo and figure out how to make a profit on it. Hopefully, I’ll get a job by then and be able to hire someone else to get the place in shape to sell.”
I blush, suddenly remembering the job interview Charlotte didn’t make it to the other day, because of me. “What do you do for work?”
“Well, nothing right now. I was a flight attendant for twelve years, but I got laid off.”
I wince. “Sorry about your interview the other day.”
“It’s okay. That was only going to be a temporary side gig, anyway. Something to bring in some money while I’m looking for a new flight-attendant gig. It’s not like it was my dream job or anything.”
I’m surprised and relieved she’s letting me off the hook about all that, so completely. I ask, “You liked being a flight attendant?”
“So much. It was more than a job to me. It was my identity. I can’t wait to get another job in the skies and get back to my old life.”
I ask some questions, and Charlotte tells me about her old job and why she loved it so much. She tells me about her favorite perk of the job: free flights. The ability to visit friends and family and travel on a whim. She lists all the places she’s been and says she’s still dying to see so much more.
“Since getting laid off, I haven’t felt like myself at all,” she confesses softly, and my heart physically squeezes at the vulnerability she’s showing me. “Unfortunately, you met me at my worst, Auggie. I’m sorry I’ve acted like such a nightmare toward you. I think I’ve taken out all my stress on you.”