Miss Trailerhood by Carina Taylor (the top 100 crime novels of all time .txt) 📗

“Okay, let’s not be too mean. She probably meant to be kind.”

Wren looked at me with a deadpan look in her eye. “I’m disowning you. You’re not getting a single penny from me when I die.”

And then we both cackled like crazy people as we peeled out of the trailer park.

Chapter Twenty-OneRiley

Wren and I ended up going to the theater and watching a scary movie. It was a poor choice. I ended up lying in bed, texting Nate late into the night, until he finally asked what was wrong. He kindly came over and slept on our couch at two in the morning.

“Hey, I’ll make breakfast,” Nate offered when we finally dragged ourselves out of bed. “Sam and Elise have been giving me lessons.”

I kissed his cheek and squeezed past him into the kitchen. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll make breakfast.”

I pulled out three different types of cold cereal and a gallon of milk. “Ta-da.”

Nate chuckled and squeezed my hip when he leaned past me to grab a bowl out of the cupboard. “You little chef extraordinaire.”

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

We sat down to breakfast, ate in relative silence, thanks to the late night of worrying what was under our bed, then Wren headed over to Marni’s to help do a bride’s wedding makeup. I wondered what the women thought when they pulled into the trailer park to get their wedding makeup done. But you couldn’t argue with the magic Marni conjured up.

Once she left, I got ready for the day while Nate did—well, I’m not sure what he ended up doing, but when I came out of the bathroom, he’d made another pot of coffee and had his laptop open, editing photos.

I sat down next to him and opened my laptop. I needed to put the finishing touches on my social media marketing course.

“I told Dad to tell Nola and Bane this morning,” Nate said in between clicks.

The air seemed thinner in the trailer. Someone must have been sucking the oxygen out with a garden hose or something like that. It was the only reasonable explanation why I was having difficulty breathing.

“Right. Right.” I smiled brightly. “That’s great. Thanks for doing that for me.”

“Stop smiling like a drunk monkey. It’s okay to be nervous.”

He set both of our laptops down and pulled me against his chest, wrapping those long arms around me and holding me close. “This is nice,” I said.

“I know; I’m pulling out all the stops on this hug.”

“Well, you’re doing great. As far as hugs go, I’d give it a ten out of ten.”

“Was it the small back circles that made a difference or the intermittent squeezes?”

“I think a combination of the two. And you smell good. Hugs aren’t as beneficial when you have to hold your breath.”

“You’re a goof.” He leaned back. “Why don’t I pour you some coffee? Sound good?”

“Yes, please.” He pressed a kiss against my forehead and busied himself making coffee for me.

A knock sounded on the door. I turned around three times, trying to decide what to do—where to stand, where to sit. How to not look like the world’s biggest coward who ran away. I settled on taking both our laptops into the bedroom then trying to quickly polish my coffee pot.

Nate squeezed my shoulder reassuringly as he walked past and opened the door.

“We were expecting you.”

Nola and the man with her stepped through the doorway. My trailer was growing smaller by the second. How many people could you fit in a travel trailer before you screamed hysterically? Was a trailer big enough to handle a possibly irate best friend?

She looked great. She’d matured in the past couple of years. Her features were more refined—along with her eyeliner. Her brown hair had grown out of the short, A-line haircut she’d had the last time I saw her.

She stopped in front of me, the man with her standing right behind her. They made a formidable couple.

Nola dropped her purse and launched herself at me. I caught her just like I had every other time she’d launched herself at me. It didn’t matter that she was several inches taller. She still acted like I was as tall as her brother.

“You’re alive!” Her arms tightened around my neck. I wouldn’t be for long if she kept this up.

My face heated as I realized tears were running freely down my cheeks. I tried to take a deep, steadying breath. I furiously blinked at the tears. But it was too late. I couldn’t stop the floodgates.

“You don’t even know how happy I am to see you,” Nola said as she held onto me. “You have to tell me everything. Everything.”

“I will, Nola. It’s so good to see you. I’ve missed you.” My voice wobbled like a first-time tight-rope walker. This was not good. I was turning into a crier.

Nola still didn’t let go. We stood there a few more minutes before the man who came with her walked over and pried Nola’s arms from around my neck.

His face was close to mine as he did so. He smiled. “Hi. How are you? I’m Bane.”

“I figured you might be.” I smiled back through my watery eyes. Once he peeled Nola loose—she acted as though he did that type of thing every day; maybe he did—we sat down on the futon together.

Nola and I sat in the middle. Nate sat down next to me, and then Nola pulled Bane onto the couch next to her.

“Where have you been? What happened?” Her hands latched onto my face and squeezed my cheeks together.

“Whish wsh fishter,” I tried to say.

“Why didn’t you call? Have you been hurt?” She squeezed my cheeks tighter.

“Mmnu,” I managed. I could feel Nate shaking with laughter next to me.

Bane’s hands covered hers and gently pulled them down. “Nola. If you want answers, you’re going to have to let her talk.”

Poor Bane. He probably didn’t realize this was perfectly normal Nola behavior.