Page 20 of The Woman in the Hollow
If I’d been eating junk.
I bit back the knee-jerk reaction to lie, to assure her that I was doing exactly what she raised me to do—count and villainize every calorie.
“So much,” I admitted. “Work has these awesome apple cider donuts. And this area has the best pizza I’ve ever tasted.”
There was a beat of silence, my mother trying to wrap her head around this new dynamic.
“Have you found any good gyms? Pilates classes? You can’t neglect your core as you’re aging.”
“I’ve been taking some hikes. And my job is very active,” I told her. “How have things been down there? How’s Hannah?”
The topic of my baby sister always got my mom off the topic of ragging on me. She talked about her for a solid twenty minutes before my break was over and I had to say my goodbyes.
I expected to feel the same twinge of homesickness I’d been feeling each time I talked to my family since the move. This time, though, all I felt was a deep sense ofrightnessabout where I was.
It seemed like the physical distance had finally allowed me to untangle the messy web of our mother/daughter relationship and emerge from it more independent than I’d been in Florida.
Grabbing my coffee, I took the last sip, closed my eyes, and leaned to look out the sunroof at the night sky dotted with stars.
Just a moment of calm before the chaos continued.
A loud knock on the window had me jolting forward, a scream caught in my throat.
My head whipping to the side, I caught sight of one of my new hires, a tall, skinny guy who played a really good machete-wielding psycho.
Half of his face was painted white; the other half, black. His entire outfit was tight and black as well.
He was too young for me, but I understood why so many of the teens and young women swooned over him when he came running toward them. Or, better yet, when he started slowly stalking around them.
The guy probably got twenty phone numbers a shift.
“Jesus, Ant, you scared the hell out of me,” I said as I opened my door.
“That is my job.”
“In the woods. Where you belong. What are you doing out here?”
“Well, there’s no easy way to say this, but someone in the last group blew chunks all over the path.”
“Oh, lovely,” I grumbled. “Good thing I don’t have a weak stomach. I’ll go grab a shovel.”
“You’re kind of the boss here. Why don’t you make someone else do it?”
“Feels unfair to make a bunch of kids making minimum wage deal with throw-up,” I said, shrugging.
“Why? It’s good practice for all the late-night basement parties in their future.”
“Speaking from experience?” I asked as he reached behind his ear to produce a cigarette, then flicked open one of those fancy, reusable lighters.
“Maybe,” he said, lighting the cigarette.
“Come on, isn’t your generation too smart for those things?”
“Could switch to weed when I’m working if that’d make you more comfortable,” he offered, shooting me a smirk.
“Yeah, no,” I said, getting a little chuckle from him.
“Just make sure you put that out before you get back to the guest areas,” I demanded, going behind the shed to grab one of the shovels.
