“So, anyway, I need to get some stuff done.” I untangle myself from the quilt and rise.
He nods.
That’s it.
Just nods.
He doesn’t saysorry I crashed your getawayagain, but I can feel the apology hanging in the air between us anyway.
I pause before slipping down the short hallway to the bedroom. “When I come back, can we be normal again?”
His gaze snaps to mine. “Yeah. Of course.”
So not normal.
Not at all.
I stifle a sigh.
This is going to be a long, long storm.
7
Cash
Every timeI think I’m bored, I remind myself it could be worse.
The power has held for hours even if the internet is completely dead.
The snow’s probably two feet thick already. Other than seeing Aspen for a few brief minutes when she came out to get a mandarin and a hunk of cheese for lunch, I’ve been left to entertain myself.
I find a book on a shelf under the television, but it doesn’t hold my interest.
I shuffle through the cabinets and find a weird mix of dry goods and spices.
TV gets a few channels that seem to be coming from a satellite dish, but even that is cutting in and out. Every time a show stalls, I give it a few minutes while I lapse into the dozing kind of sleep and try again.
All. Day. Long.
While Aspen’s in the next room.
Sometimes I hear her humming. Then there’s strumming on her guitar, often with the same chords repeated while she works something out.
When she’s not playing, she mutters to herself every once in a while too.
Usually the same time the television loses signal.
She probably has a television in the bedroom too.
Once my pants are dry, which takes most of the day, I use the shovel to clear a path to our cars just to have something to do. When I step back inside, Aspen’s in the kitchen, poking around in the cabinets.
I shut the door behind me and shrug out of my coat. “There’s pancake mix in the cabinet.”
She looks down at my crotch. “Did you get your pants wet again?”
Dammit. They’re soaked. And also, there’s a little moredammitthat she’s not eyeballing the goods.
Don’t be an inappropriate creeper, asshole.
