Story Time #2: Math Is Hard

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Follow-up to story time! With bonus story! So, Mini-Winters is now 10. She was in fourth grade last year, and she had some math homework that she needed help with. I looked at it and sent in Mr. Winters, because I didn’t understand a damn thing. But I didn’t just wander away. I’m a curious person; I like to master new skills. I sat on the couch with them and watched him take her through the problem – and didn’t get it. I asked him to explain it two more times that night. I still have no fucking idea what he was doing.

Story Time #1: The Future

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Story time!

I’ve always thought that the year 2010 sounded like it was “the future”. Like, when I thought of flying cars and cool computers that talked and all that futuristic jazz, it would start in 2010.

Dippin’ Dots machines started appearing long before that, of course. But they were always out of order. ALWAYS. They proclaimed themselves “The Ice Cream of the Future”, and I had to believe it, because there was no way to sample any in that present.

Until – have you guessed it? – 20-motherfucking-10. I am not even kidding. I started seeing them working in 2010, and I haven’t seen a single one out of order since then.

Because I was right: 2010 was THE FUTURE.

Covenhouse Christmas (part 5)

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Someday, maybe, we’d get used to each other. I didn’t want to leave. I know you’ll think that was the best option – I had my settlement, all the millions of dollars and millions more in property that he’d given me just for being his child, and I could have gone anywhere, done anything, and never worried about a thing. Yes. All that’s true.

But I wanted him. I needed something to anchor me to the world, to remind me to be at least a semi-decent person. Grant did that for me. He’d come from nothing, been made in a time when nothing was expected from him, and he’d done all this. Black Industries, the covenhouse, the survival of a hundred and fifty years in a coffin. He’s the most amazing man I think I shall ever meet, not merely that I have already met.

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Covenhouse Christmas (part 4)

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Simmons stood in the middle of the south parlor, bags at his feet and on the sofas, pulling lights out of their boxes.

“Madam.” He sounded grateful. “You have a plan for all of this?”

“Of course. Tree in the corner.” I pointed to the right of the fireplace on the east wall. “Lights on the tree, around the front doors, and around the roofline. Net lights on the junipers outside. Wreath on the door.”

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Covenhouse Christmas (part 3)

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Did I ever. I spent almost three hundred dollars at Target on ornaments, tree lights, a stand, a skirt, and a lighted wreath for the front door. Then we went to the live tree stand up the road and spent another hundred-seventy-five on a ten-foot blue spruce. I was very glad I’d brought Jim, after all: How would a tiny little thing like me manage to get a ten-foot tree in the truck? Or, rather, out of it? Every man on that lot asked me twice if I’d need any help when I got home. I left fifty dollars in the tip jar. Flattery will get you pretty damn far with me.

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Covenhouse Christmas (part 2)

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The cab smelled like blood and soap. Mostly blood. I hadn’t realized it had been so long since I fed, and I was kicking myself for agreeing to take Jim with me. An hour’s drive to Denver, a trip to Target, a trip to the tree stand, an hour back…. It was excruciating. I had to distract myself. “So, how long have you been working – ” For me? At the covenhouse? – “under Simmons?”

“Couple months.” I felt his eyes on me, assessing. “Heard you were away with Mr. Black.”

I nodded.

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Covenhouse Christmas (part 1)

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Note: While this story is written within the context of the Josephine Series of novels (Black, Red, and Gold), it is considered non-canon. Why non-canon? The story was written for the holiday season without intent that it should fit Josephine’s overall story arc. For this story to make any sense in the arc, it would have to take place between Black and Red. However, for it to occur during the holiday season it would have to take place between Red and Gold. Since both cannot be true, non-canon.

“I want a Christmas tree.”

Grant looked up from the sheaf of papers in his hands, one brow raised. “And I expect you want me to control the weather and guarantee you snow, as well.”

Oh, man, would that be cool. “Can we do that?”

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