Page 81 of Life, Love and the Pursuit of Happiness

It’s over.

Besides, she never said she loves me. I told her, though. I said those three crazy-ass words. More fool, I!

It’s over.

But Harry says there are two sides to any story. Maybe I should ask for an explanation.

No, it’s over.

It has to be.

Definitely.

Probably.

Maybe.

“Another thing . . . and I know you don’t need another thing at the moment, but your family has been trying to contact you all week.”

They’d been trying to contact him, too. He’d just hit delete on both voice mail and text messages. From everyone.

“Your mother is in a hospital in Hatteras.”

“What? Oh, shit!” He’d thought they were gone by now, back to Jersey. “What’s wrong?”

“I have no idea.”

It had to be serious. His mother was the type who abhorred strange places for intimate things, whether they be the bathroom in a restaurant or a doctor’s examining room in a strange city. She would prefer her own Princeton Medical Center and longtime GP Dr. Phillips.

Once he’d left the building, he hopped onto Delilah’s cycle and rode through town, aimlessly. The skies were getting darker and the wind was picking up, a prelude to the predicted storm to hit tonight or tomorrow. Which did nothing to lighten his mood.

As he rode, he thought, Did I really think this morning that life is good?

Talk about jinxing oneself!

Life sucks!

Could he forgive her? Would she even want his forgiveness? That was the question.

No. The better question was, where could a guy go at three in the afternoon in a staid little town like Bell Cove to get knee-walking drunk?

Chapter 16

Who was it that said trouble comes in threes? How about fives or tens? . . .

It was a day of highs and lows for Delilah.

High, when reunited with her daughter, and the knowledge that soon she would reap rewards from the treasure that might finally make her financially stable. And high, of course with the anticipation of being with Merrill later. Maybe tonight would be the night she would be able to say those three magic words. She certainly felt them. High on love. The best kind of high, she decided.

Low, when she had to deal with her grandmother and all she’d been up to in Delilah’s absence. The woman was freakin’ unbelievable.

Nobody was home when she arrived at the diner/motel property. Her grandmother had never been an early riser unless she had to be. Where could they be in the morning? And what a mess the place was! Dirty dishes in the sink. Unmade bed. Laundry on the floor in various rooms. Wet towels on the floor of the bathroom. Avon products all over the damn place.

Her grandmother had never been a super house cleaner, but it had never been this bad. Not in Delilah’s memory, anyhow.

In her defense, her grandmother hadn’t known she’d be back so early today. But this just showed how they lived when Delilah wasn’t around. Unacceptable!

There was a binder notebook on the kitchen table, the kind her grandmother always used to keep track of her Avon customers, what they’d bought, the price, the date, a notation where they would need a reorder on a certain date, or observations about the person that might lead to a sale.