He thought about the girl at the front desk. The way Judah had looked at her coming down those steps and then very deliberately stopped.
“The new one,” Billy said. “She going to notice things?”
“She's been here five days.”
“That's not a no.”
Judah said nothing, which was also not a no.
Billy reached over and picked up the small wooden cross from the desk. He'd been touching crosses — playing with crosses — occasionallyburningcrosses — since they were teenagers and Judah had never once stopped him, which he figured meant something. He turned it over in his hands. “She actually believe? The God stuff?”
“Yes.”
“For real, or the Sunday kind?”
“For real.”
Billy set the cross down. Looked at Judah, who was looking at his desk, his jaw set. He was debating a particular something that he didn’t want to put into words just yet.
“You're going to do something stupid,” Billy said.
“I don't do stupid things.”
“Youdo. A certain kind of stupid.” He stood and picked up his sunglasses. “You're patient about it first so it doesn't look it. But it is.”
Judah looked up at him.
Billy held up one hand, already moving to the door. He stopped with his hand on the frame. “God help her,” he said. “Genuinely.”
He left before Judah could tell him to.
I was ready. I waited. Clock kept ticking, mocking me with its long hands. I decided he wasn't coming, and then…
Then came the knock.
I'd done everything right. Showered — at Darlene's, again, with considerably more self-control than Wednesday — changed into something that wasn't trying too hard, which required two attempts because the first thing I put on was tryingextremely hard. Made sweet tea I didn't want — and which now was shoved deep in the fridge because it reminded me ofhow hardI was trying not to look like I wastrying.
I sat on the couch with a book I didn't read. A romance that wasn’t rated PG.
I watched the clock move from eight to eight-fifteen to eight-thirty.
He's not coming,I decided at eight-forty.Billy pushed him into it and he thought about it and decided against it and that's fine. That's probably better.
I changed into sleep shorts and a tank top and washed my face and was reaching for the light when the knock came.
I stood in my bathroom doorway for a second.
Then I went to the door.
He was in a plain white t-shirt and jeans, which was the first time I'd seen him in anything that wasn't a dress shirt or a suit jacket, and it did something unfair to the general situation. Not to mention he hadtattoos!I meanholy shit— apologies, Lord, but this isnottaking the good Lord’s name in vain because… Well. I mean that took me aback. Not to mention he had a small toolbox in one hand. He looked at me — at what I was wearing, at my clean face, at the very obvious evidence that I'd given up on him — and said nothing about any of it.
“You said eight,” I said, trying very hard not to stare at the ink on hismusculararms. Yes, I noticed that he probably spent a good chunk of the week in a gym. “It's eight-fifty.”
“I'm aware.” Something moved in his expression. “Were you asleep?”
“No.”
“Good.” He held up the toolbox. “Show me the bathroom.”
