“Honey,” Pearl sighs.
I look at the gray sweatshirt lying next to my pillow.
“I don’t care,” I whisper. “I want them to leave.”
“Do you?” Pearl asks. “Or do you just want to be right?”
The question hangs there, heavy and uncomfortable.
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” I complain.
“Because it’s obvious to everyone but you,” Pearl says. “Now, Winona found a first edition of a very spicy romance novel at The Dust Up yesterday. It involves a highwayman and a feisty heiress. I think you should come by and pick it up. Get out of that house for an hour. Let the air clear.”
I look out the window. The rain is coming down in sheets, turning the world into a gray blur.
“I can’t,” I say. “The roads are terrible.”
“Pish,” Pearl says. “Take the big truck. The one with the good tires. And bring that sweet puppy of yours. Dot made dog treats.”
“I...”
“Go,” she commands. “Now. Before I drive over there and drag you out myself.”
I let out a breath. “Okay. Okay, I’ll come.”
“Good girl,” she says. “See you soon.”
She hangs up.
I sit there for a long time, looking at the phone. Then I look at the sweatshirt.
I pick it up. I hesitate, then I shove it under my pillow, hiding it from sight.
I need to get out of this house. I need to get away from the scent of them, away from the tension, away from the confusing mess of feelings that are knotting my stomach.
I stand up. I pull on my boots.
“Wellsy!” I call out.
He comes trotting from the living room, Blue at his heels. I clip the leash onto his collar.
“Come on,” I tell him. “We’re going on an adventure.”
I walk out of the bedroom. The house is quiet. The men are out in the barn, I assume.
I grab the keys to Boone’s truck from the hook by the door. I’ll borrow it. He won’t mind. He’s the one who told me I shouldn’t drive my rental in the mud.
I step out onto the porch. The air is cold and wet.
I look toward the barn. I can see the light on in the loft. Shadows move across the window. I run back inside and scribble “gone to town, be back later” on a sticky note. I stick it to the fridge.
Then I load Wellsy into the truck and back out of the driveway.
As I drive away, watching the house disappear in the rearview mirror, I feel a strange mix of guilt and relief.
Guilt because I’m running away again.
Relief because for a few hours, I don’t have to decide if I want to stay or go. I don’t have to decide if I hate them or if I... something else.
