ChapterEight
SKYE
I ignore Seth when he tells me to let go. There is not a chance I’m doing that. From the little I’ve read about P.T.S.D., his being on his own is probably the last thing he needs.
What was it that Facebook post said about sufferers self-medicating?
I can’t believe I’d lost it like that, and over a stupid car of all things. The other realization I’ve come to is why he might have abandoned me the night before. Personally I love thunderstorms, but I can see how they could impact someone suffering as Seth does.
The problem was I’d been too aroused to think straight at the time. I also hadn’t been aware of just how badly his flash-backs, or whatever they are, affect him.
I’ve got my cheek resting against his back when one of the firemen walks over. Rather than look at Seth, he looks at me.
“I’m taking it the car is yours?”
It’s an educated guess on his part with no-one like Seth ever owning a car of that particular hue. “Yes, it was, ah is.”
“Yeah, well, can I have a word?”
That he wants this to be out of Seth’s hearing is confirmed when he walks back to stand next to the smoldering wreck that was once Pinkie Pie. Only when I’m right next to him does he speak again.
“If this is for insurance, I don’t fancy your chances.”
I stare up at him open mouthed. “My what?” I eventually manage to splutter out before indignation takes over and I find my words. “Of course it’s not. Seth can vouch for that, he was here when the blaze started. I’d just got home from work.”
On looking over at the front porch I find Seth is no longer sitting there. The engine on his truck roars to life a second later, and he’s gone.
“Yeah, well, the fire is out, but you should get it moved as soon as you can. The city won’t be happy if you leave it here.” He’s taken a couple of steps toward his truck, when he stops. “Seth should be able to deal with it for you.”
The fire truck has just left, when I put in a request for an Uber. I’m not finished with Seth Adams. Not by a long shot. If he thinks he can sneak off like that, he doesn’t know how hard it is to run a bakery.
The Uber arrives surprisingly quickly leading me to believe one of my neighbors must be moonlighting.
After I climb in the back, the soccer mum behind the wheel turns from looking at the steaming remains of Pinkie Pie, to look at me. “What on earth happened?”
“I’ll explain on the way, but can we hurry, please?”
The woman peels out of there as though she’s got the oranges and is late for half time at her kid’s game. I’m brief with my explanation of the vehicle fire, because the facts are definitely lacking. It’s enough to satisfy her curiosity though, and she falls silent.
On pulling up out front of Seth’s place, I know he won’t have been home for long. Although long enough for his truck to be parked inside and the enormous roller door, with its ADAMS TOWING livery, shut tight.
The driver turns, her concern at leaving me here, evident. “Do you want me to wait?” She then waves her hand around, as if to draw my attention to the deserted industrial park. As if I haven’t noticed this for myself.
I smile brightly to convince her I’ll be fine, although I don’t think it works for either of us. “No need to wait. I’m visiting a friend.” When she still doesn’t break into an answering smile, I open the door. “I’m expected. Have a great day.” Any further arguments on her part are cut off when I close the door.
Conscious of my guardian angel still watching me, I hurry around the side of the gray block building. There I’m faced with the metal staircase that leads to the Seth’s apartment.
I take my time climbing the stairs. As to why I’m being deliberately quiet, I wouldn’t have a clue. Perhaps it’s because I’m unsure of what sort of reception I’ll get. If nothing else, I need to apologize that my awful behavior caused him to shut down.
Never in a million years when I’d woken this morning could I have imagined I’d be here now, apologising. Every scenario had been quite the reverse.
SETH
I’m pouring my second drink, when there’s a gentle knock at the door of my apartment. “We don’t want any!” I yell out. The only people who ever come calling here are either after money, or trying to sell me cable.
Well that sort, and my twin brother, and I avoid him as much as I can, these days.
I only half listen as I take another large mouthful of my bourbon. I don’t bother savoring it, that’s not what it’s for. Dammit, whoever they are, they haven’t left. Great, they’ll be just the sort for me to take my frustrations out on.
