“Um.” He sticks his hands in his pockets and shifts from foot to foot. “Do you need any help?”
“Nope.”
“I just wanted to say—” He casts another quick glance at Lola. “That you’re welcome to stay here for as long as you want. Forever, even.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. I can’t handle the looks from these two. The guilt trips. The subtle pressure to not follow through with my plan, which they have both known about for months. They should understand.
I’m still upset about everything with Jake. I know why he did what he did. It was to protect me. But I hate that he lied to me for so long, and I fuckinghateShane.
Now Jake and Lola look at each other. For fuck’s sake. I’m encouraging an alliance between them. It’ll be a disaster when I leave town and they have no supervision.
“This is happening.” I glance back and forth between them. “I’m leaving.”
“When?” Lola manages, her voice cracking. “When do you think you’ll go?”
I look around the room. My eyes land on the blue folder sitting on top of my dresser. The divorce papers will be processed on Monday after I drop them off. I’ll leave Portland then, destination Seattle. The long cross-country drive will clear my head. I’ll sign up for summer classes, which start in June. It’ll be enough time for me to get settled and then dive into the program.
My stomach flips. Will I really be able to drive away from here? Away from the city I’ve lived in my whole life? Maine? My brother? Lola?
Wes?
Now it’s not my stomach that flips, but my heart. This was always going to feel awful while it was happening, right? But it’s the right thing to do.
And itishappening, so my heart better get on board. But no matter how many times I try, I can’t get excited aboutmoving on. I don’t feel the same joy and freedom that I thought I would.
I kick Lola and Jake out of my room but can’t focus on packing anymore. A short drive will clear my head. I’ll go to the water and listen to the waves crash on the rocks at my favorite spot along the coast right outside of town.
Jake isn’t in the family room when I head to my car with a few things in my arms. The cold air is a welcome relief outside of the apartment building, but I speed up my walk when I get to the dark parking garage. I pull out keys, my car within sight.
That’s when everything goes dark.
Chapter 37
American Pie
WES
“Hello, dear.” Ruth appears next to me, her white curls tight to her head, reading glasses halfway down her nose.
She’s really playing up this whole fucking sweet grandma persona. I squeeze my hands into fists.
“Ruth.” I nod my head and cross my arms. Noah’s conspiracy theory crosses my mind. Maybe he’s fucking right about this woman being a fellow serial killer.
We’re standing with the other bakers a respectful distance from the pie contest table. There’s also a rope barrier, as if the queen’s jewels are in the center, not a bunch of apple pies. Half a dozen judges with clipboards look at each pie, whispering to each other and scribbling notes.
“It’s wonderful to see you again, Weston,” Ruth says loudly enough that a few people look over.
“It’s Wesley,” I say through gritted teeth.
Ruth ignores my correction and lowers her voice, not looking at me, but turning in my direction so her voice carries to only me. “But your top crust looks soggy. Did youcarve a child’s rubber ducky into it? Wait—no. You weren’t attempting aloon, were you?”
She looks straight ahead again, and I let out a low growl.
I will not fight with a mean grandma. I will not fight with a mean grandma.
“At least I’m trying to elevate my pie game. You bring the same pie every year.” I attempt to keep a smile on my face while I deal with this monster. It won’t look good if a thirty-year-old man is being nasty to a seemingly sweet old lady. Does no one else realize she’s a cutthroat monster?
Of course they don’t. Look at her.
