“Why do I get the impression you wish I said something else?” Her eyebrows pinch together.
Instead of answering, I pose a question of my own. “What time tomorrow morning?”
“Eight sharp.” She’s still eyeing me in confusion.
“I’ll be there.” As I round Smurf’s hood, I hear her call my name. She asks again if something is wrong. But I don’t stop. I hop behind the wheel and crank over the engine.
Sometimes, when you’re hurting this bad, the only thing you can think to do is run.
Chapter Seventy-six
______________________________________
Cash
Some kinds of heartbreak make you flee. Others bring you home again.
Experienced both in my nearly twenty-nine years. Not sure which hurts worse.
But maybe that’s the whole damned point. Maybe if we never suffered the pain of heartbreak, we could never appreciate the joy of life.
That’s what I tell myself as Luc drives away and I watch Maggie look around like she expects the reason behind his abrupt departure to pop up from the sidewalk like some handy-dandy jack-in-the-box of illumination.
“What am I missing?” she demands of me.
“What amImissing?” I ask in return, and she quickly looks away.
Right. Mum’s the word because…whatever they got going, neither of them is ready to spill.
Sighing, I stand from the stoop. “Still want to go sing karaoke? Or would you rather come inside and thumb through furniture catalogs to help me pick out some stuff?”
She stares down at the bag of rice balls and then up at me. Something crosses her face, but it’s there and gone so quickly I can’t name what it is. Her shoulders are decidedly droopy. Luc’s departure has made her festive mood fall directly into the shitter. Eventually, she asks, “You got any milk?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
“Then let’s pick out some furniture,” she says without an ounce of enthusiasm, motioning for me to lead the way,.
So this is what it feels like to be second best, huh? To be the runner-up in her affections?
Didn’t think it was possible to respect Luc more than I already do, but this does it. Because this sucks balls.
Inside, I hit the switch on the wall, and my attitude experiences a little lift when I hear a loud gasp behind me.
“Oh my gosh,Cash!” She rushes into the middle of the room, her eyes wide with wonder. “I can’t believe how different this place looks from the last time I—”
She stops herself. Last time she was here was New Year’s.
To fill the awkward silence, I say, “Demolition, plumbing and electrical, installing new walls and windows, stripping and sanding every solid surface…that takes a long time. But now that we’re down to the cosmetic work, we’re trucking.”
“I love the color on the walls,” she enthuses.
“You should. You picked it out.”
“And thesefloors.” She presses a hand to her chest. “They’re gorgeous.”
“You don’t think they’re too dark?” I had to go a shade darker than I originally intended to cover the bloodstain that no amount of sanding could hide.
“Oh, no. They’re perfect. And the light fixtures!” She points to the slightly industrial-looking chandelier in the dining room and then to the iron sconces above the fireplace mantel.
