He’s an inch from the front door, staring at it in shock. His right hand hangs loosely from the doorknob.
“What happened?”
Joe doesn’t even look at me. “The door,” he says finally. “I just opened the front door, and it slammed shut on me.”
I shrug. “Maybe it’s the wind.”
He frowns and takes a small step back. “Thereisno wind,” he says quietly. I look over my shoulder to the blackwood tree. The top branches are still and silent. Joe’s right. There’s not a breath of wind.
“I pushed the door open and went to step inside”—Joe replays it in a high, nervy voice—“and the door slammed shut like someone kicked it.”
My eyes sweep the barren fields. The flaking porch. The front door Janet Campbell burst out of, fleeing for her life.
“Maybe the house doesn’t want you back,” I murmur, eyes on the blackwood tree.
Maybe I don’t either.
I shake my head and open my mouth to apologize, but Joe whirls around, eyes flashing. “Thanks for that,” he says shortly.
I’ve stuffed this up so badly I could cry.
“I’m sorry,” I say automatically. “I didn’t mean it.”
I don’t think I did, anyway.
We wait in tense silence. Joe swipes a hand through his too-black hair, muttering something under his breath. I can’t stand it anymore.
Slowly, I walk past him, push the door open. “You coming in?” I ask timidly.
I’ve left the door open wide for him, and he stares longingly at his car. Then he straightens up. “Oh, wait. I forgot,” he mumbles.
He steps off the porch. “I’ve got something for you,” he calls over his shoulder.
A present for me? I can’t remember the last time he bought me anything. I sit on the couch and wait nervously. Reaper appears from nowhere and jumps into my lap. He looks up without interest when Joe comes back inside.
“Here.” Joe stalks across the floorboards and dumps a package over my shoulder. It’s a medium-sized envelope the color of sand. I don’t know what to say. I stare at the present uneasily while Joe hovers behind me. This doesn’t feel right.
“Open it,” Joe insists.
Slowly, I unwrap it. The house feels too quiet, like it’s watching, waiting, listening. I fumble with the wrapper, hands cold and trembling until I see what the present is.
I drop it so fast Reaper lifts his head in surprise.
It’s a DVD.Good Will Hunting.
An image of my sister flashes in my head so clearly, it’s like she’s sitting right next to me. She’s curled up on the couch, a soft pink blanket pooled around her knees.One day I’m going to be a therapist.
Shakily, I stand up. Reaper bolts out of my lap and perches atop the DVD. But it’s my husband I fix my eyes on.
“What the hell is this?” My voice comes out all wrong. It’s like someone’s grabbed my throat and I’m squeezing out strangled words. Joe raises his eyebrows, and I want to hit him. I actually want to hit my husband. My heart burns so hot ithurts.
“What do you mean?” He’s giving me that feral-cat look that says,Is this about to turn into a fight?In the past he’d have backed down at this point. Now he straightens his spine, stares me down.
“The post office emailed me today. I had some time after work, so I thought I’d pick it up for you.” Under his breath he mutters, “And I stupidly thought you’d be grateful.”
He thrusts his hands deep into his pockets.
“Why would the post office emailyou? Is this your idea of a sick joke?”
