“This morning I walked to the grocery store. I needed ingredients for a new dish I’m trying.”
“Oh yeah? Need a tester?”
“Not unless you want to eat sour beef.”
I make a face. “Sour…beef? Why would you eat sour meat?”
“It’s not for me.”
My whole body tenses. There’s someone else? Have I missed something entirely? I hate having to ask the natural follow-up question. “Who’s it for?”
“Walt. It’s his favorite.”
Angry breath pushes through my pursed lips. “Brynn, I told you about him. He’s crazy.”
“He is not.” Her volume increases, and she sounds irritated. “I ate dinner with him last Monday. He is lonely, and grumpy, but he is not crazy.”
“Brynn, you just arrived here. Take my word for it, okay?”
“No. I make my own judgments, and I say he’s sane.”
I smack the heel of my hand on the steering wheel. Why won’t she listen to me? Wouldn’t most normal people hear the wordcrazyand automatically turn in the opposite direction?
“A few years ago, Walt backed his car into a young girl’s car at a red light.On purpose. They both got out of their cars, and Walt told her that she deserved to be hit, and then,” I shake my head, angry I even have to say this part to her, but if she’s not going to listen to my warnings, she needs to hear this. “He told the girl he was going to rip her fucking heart out.”
True to form, Brynn is silent.
“I’m sorry,” I finally say.
Her response shocks me, but maybe it shouldn’t. I should be shocked at myself for expecting her to be anything other than oppositional.
“Were you there?” she asks, her voice angry.
“No, but—”
“Did you talk to Walt about this yourself?”
I sigh. I see where she’s going, I just don’t want to follow her there.
“No.”
“Have a nice day, Connor.” The line goes dead.
“Fuck,” I yell into the empty space and toss my phone onto the passenger seat. Why is it everything I do manages to push Brynn farther away? I thought we could at least be friends, but now I don’t even see that happening.
I press down a little harder on the accelerator. Now I really need to punch something.
7
Brynn
My phone rings again,and I’m certain it’s Connor, calling to apologize.
He should be apologizing. To Walt, not me. Connor doesn’t know what he’s talking about, and he’s as bad as the people who judged me. Doesn’t he know you can’t judge a person based on what other people say about them?
“What?” I snap into the phone.
“Honey?” My mom’s voice is fuzzy and far-away sounding.
