“He’d probably enjoy it,” Gloria says. “We don’t want to do anything that might give him pleasure.”
I snort. “In that case, we should call Charlie’s brother to surgically remove Patrick's left hand.” I glance at the door, as though he might enter the cafeteria at any moment. “Maybe he’s telling the truth, and he has changed. He seemed to be wearing his heart on his sleeve.”
Angela rolls her eyes. “Honey, that splotch of red isn’t his heart. It’s a flag.”
“When you’re wearing rose-tinted glasses, red flags just look like flags,” Gloria adds. “But you’re not wearing them now, right?” She sounds ready to rip the glasses off my face and crush them beneath her flip-flop.
“Definitely not.”
“What about Charlie?” Angela asks. “Any rose-tinted glasses when you look at him?”
“I see Charlie quite clearly, thanks for asking.” I wish I didn’t. I wish Charlie Thorpe was nothing more than a barely discernible shadowy figure instead of a man in danger of burning my retinas with the brightness of his presence.
Gloria pins me with her most maternal look. “It’s possible to have an incredible connection with someone who isn’t right for you, you know.”
Her words hit hard.
“Charlie, on the other hand, is a catch,” she continues, “which isn’t a sports reference, although it sounds like it could be.”
I nearly choke on my relief. Patrick. She was talking about the Prick. “I thought you didn’t trust Charlie either.”
“I didn’t at first, but I’ve changed my mind. Everyone’s entitled to grace.” She pauses. “Except Patrick. He’s already shown us who he is. Now we need to believe him. Right, Cricket?”
“Listen, maybe cut him some slack. You don’t know all the crap Patrick went through as a kid.” I struggle to share without breaking his confidence. “The women in his life … we were the collateral damage in his war with himself.”
Gloria pinches my arm.
“Ouch!”
“Don’t you dare do that.” Her voice is low and menacing.
“Do what?”
“You have compassion coming out the wazoo and you’re using it to justify someone else’s shitty treatment of you. You’re prioritizing his feelings over your own.”
Was I? “Patrick’s therapist told him he was using me to fill a void, but he insists it was more than that.”
Angela offers an inelegant snort. “More like he was filling your void.”
“He’s single now. That’s why he wasn’t here last week. He was moving out of their house.”
Gloria’s scowl deepens. “I don’t care if he was flying the Millennium Falcon. He has no business coming back here after how treated you.”
“Are you considering giving him another chance?” Angela asks.
“Definitely not.”
“Because of Charlie?”
“No, because of me.” Patrick isn’t the only one who’s changed. I’m not the person I was two years ago either. Present Cricket doesn’t try to make a meal out of breadcrumbs. She deserves nourishment for her mind, body, and soul—whether Charlie is the right chef for the job, however, remains to be seen.
Chapter Seventeen
With Patrick once again infiltrating my sanctuary, I go out of my way to avoid him. As luck would have it, the only empty cabin outside of the residential cabins is the aptly named Escape Room. I’m thrilled when Charlie offers to join me there.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be outside?” I ask. “It’s a gorgeous day.”
“Consider me your emotional support camper.”
