My lips quirked at that ‘it wasn’t our fault.’
Everyone says that.
“But really, it wasn’t,” Mable called.
I looked at her and allowed my eyes to take her in.
She was wearing my sweatshirt.
She also had on my socks.
How did I know this? She was sitting on the back of the couch like a cat, her feet pressed between the couch and the glass window.
“How about you let me in so I can apologize profusely,” I begged.
She scrunched up her nose. “I don’t think that’ll work.”
“Why won’t it?” I asked.
“Because we’re just too different,” she called out. “You’re you. So handsome and you fit in at the country club. And I’m a boring woman that thinks mascara makes my eyes stick together.”
“You could never wear makeup again, and I’d still want you, Mable,” I pointed out. “I didn’t fall in love with the makeup. I fell in love with the woman. What your makeup looks like is beyond me. You’re beautiful, whether you’re fully decked out or getting out of the shower with not a stitch of eyeliner or mascara or whatever the fuck else women put on their face.”
Mable pressed her forehead to the glass window, and I moved so that I was talking directly to her face. “Let me in, baby. I promise that I’ll never leave like that again. I’ll always take you with me.”
That’s when Brawny had enough of the back and forth and came outside to bark at me and ask, “What’s taking you so long to come in?”
“Can I please come in?” I begged.
She scrunched up her nose. “I guess.”
I blew out a sigh of relief and walked into Mable’s house.
When I got there, I noted the empty wine glasses and wine bottles.
They’d gone to town on the alcohol if the four bottles—not including the one in Cody’s hands still—were to go by.
“Can we talk in private?” I asked to the woman who was still sitting with her back to me, facing out the window.
Brawny bumped me with his huge head, and I gave him a good rubdown before walking to the couch.
Cody and Birdee whispered something quietly, and then they were slipping into the kitchen, taking Brawny with them.
“Mable, please?”
Mable didn’t move.
“How drunk are you right now?”
Her shoulders hunched. “I did something bad.”
So they’d said.
“What did you do?” I asked.
She pressed her forehead to the window hard enough to make a sound. “I think if I admit it, it might be really bad. I think I need a lawyer.”
That had my belly tightening. “What happened?”
