All I own in this world (minus my jewelry, some bottles of wine and the unity candle from our wedding) is on a truck somewhere in the Rocky Mountains. While I've been waiting for it to arrive, I've had ample opportunity to read. And drink coffee. Sounds heavenly, right? Well, it should be....but it isn't thanks to Mr. Grisham and Gray Mountain.
Everything was right with the world when the book started. Interesting characters (a hotshot lawyer, his loyal staff and a new female lawyer in town fresh from NYC), a well researched topic (strip mining in rural Virginia), drama in the form of a possible murder....all the classic Grisham was there. And then with about 100 pages left, I noticed there no way this book was going to wrap up in the usual Grisham way. As I kept reading, it became more and more evident. And I was right.
Look, I read John Grisham because he and his books are something I can count on. They are a constant in my never-constant Army wife world. When they don't deliver, it makes me mad. The book can't end without me knowing some very specific details! Does Samantha stay or go? Does the mining company go after her too or not? What about Jeff? Does he come back? Ugh.
It's frustrating enough that I've had to wait over a week for our household goods. I don't need one of my go-to authors adding fuel to the fire. Wait, is that the moving truck I hear?