It works out in my head to look pretty cool, but we’ll see what happens when it’s all said and done.
I make it through a total of three bookshelves before I need a break. For the next several days! Even with pre-cut pieces that are specifically designed to fit together, this is maddeningly time-consuming.
It’s going to take me a month to get through this.
On a positive note, I’m really happy with how they look all put together. I opted for a rich, dark cherry color, and it’sstunning. My thought was to hire Timothy Vaney, the local woodworker, to put some ornamental details over the seams of the bookshelves and along the top. In the end, this room is going to look totally out of place in my seventies-era, two-bedroom island house. Like I took something out of a rich Victorian mansion and plopped it in a rundown neighborhood.
It’s going to be beautiful. A perfect place to house my gay romance books.
For now, I need a break. Something to eat. Maybe a nap.
I shut the bedroom door and head into the kitchen. There are leftovers in the fridge that I heat up and eat, leaning against my countertop. Just as I finish, there’s a shout from outside that makes me pause. Probably just a kid.
Even though there’s always drama somewhere on the islands, it’s usually something ridiculous, like who holds custody of newborn kittens. Who has a crush on whom? Did you hear what Sally told Ricky? That kind of thing.
Most drama generally takes place in private and is repeated later in a game of telephone. It’s rare that something actually happens publicly.
So when I hear shouting outside, I’m instantly curious. However, when I recognize the voices shouting, that curiosity changes to a pit of unease in my stomach. I, like many others at this point, rush outside to see what’s going on.
Lie is running down the road toward the docks while Nason yells after him, and Miranda stands in the door looking horrified. The things that are coming out of his mouth make my blood boil.
“What is wrong with you?” I yell, causing Nason to spin around and face me. His face is almost purple with anger. “Do you even hear yourself right now? Not only are you yelling at your son in the fucking streets, but the vomit you’re spewing is disgusting.”
“Go to hell,” Nason says.
“Believe it or not, I’m already living it.”
“I can’t believe I let you around my child. My young, innocent child. Look what you did. This has been your plan all along, hasn’t it?”
I know that engaging with him isn’t going to accomplish anything at all. But with every word he speaks, nails dig into my back, carving down my spine. Making me bleed. Fury bubbles to the surface.
“The only one hurting that young, innocentchildright now isyou. His father.”
“I’ve never laid a hand on him,” Nason spits. He’s still shouting. Still yelling everything as if he wants an audience to hear him. “How dare you suggest as much!”
“Doesn’t feel good when the tables are turned, does it?” I snap.
“I didn’t seduce your child!”
“No. You’re verbally abusing yours!”
“How fucking dare you!” Nason stomps over to me, and I snap. I lose my fucking shit.
As soon as he’s within range, I haul back and punch him as hard as I can. It’s hard enough that he’s sprawled on his back on the grass. Miranda is screaming.
Nason looks at me in shock. His anger is almost forgotten and gives way to total surprise. I take several steps away from him before I continue to hit him until he’s feeling the same amount of pain he’s causing Lie. Miranda crouches beside him, tears running down her face. There are people in the streets now. Every neighbor within a six-house radius is watching.
“Stay out of our lives, Nason,” I say. “You’ve hurt him enough. It ends now.”
“You can’t—that’s my son!”
“No. Whoeveryouare, you sure as fuck are not Lie’s father.”
He doesn’t answer. Somehow, maybe I’ve finally gotten through to him. He stares at me, still in surprise, and not moving. I look away, stare down the road in the direction Lie went, before turning back to my house.
As soon as I’m inside, I call Lie’s phone. It rings and rings and goes to voicemail. I try two more times over the next ten minutes. When I continue to get voicemail, I call Cash instead.
“Hey, old man,” Cash greets.
