Page 45 of The Right Kind of Wrong

And, at least financially, she’d succeeded in that endeavor once she’d started selling her work for obscene amounts of money.

But Blake had somehow burst through her mom’s screen door and right into a role of support in her life. Which made the radio silence since yesterday sit even more strangely in Monroe’s gut. So much so that she’d decided to go straight to the source. She was an in-person person, if that made sense. Laying eyes on someone. Hearing the tone in their voice. That helped her get to the truth of a matter.

It was part of what, she believed, made her a great artist.

She tried not to overthink her decision to stay away from home for a little while longer—only knowing that she absolutely didn’t want to return to its emptiness and silence alone—as she took a different direction out of the daycare parking lot, heading up to Main Street instead of taking the back roads that led to their neighborhood.

It was hard to believe that it was almost July. The businesses along the street were all advertising the Fourth of July festival and fireworks, which would happen at the edge of town this weekend, out at the high school.

Monroe couldn’t say that she was especially itching to go back there, but she knew Maisie would want to go, so she’d tried to settle the idea in her mind.

A nervous, fluttery feeling took up residence in her chest as she got closer to Gumby’s. It was likely the prospect of seeing Blake for the first time since she’d cried like she’d maybe never cried before on her new friend’s shoulder.

She’d be lying, though, if she said she hadn’t looked out her window at multiple points last night, just to see if Blake was home.

She’d thought about texting her, too, just to check in.

But that had felt . . . Well, she didn’t exactly know how it had felt, except that she hadn’t given in to the temptation.

In the fort, she and Blake had agreed to be friends like they were first graders making a solemn vow. Then, they’d each taken a swig of the wine that Monroe had been nursing to seal it.

Monroe smiled while she waited at a red light, thinking that maybe an apple juice shot would have been more appropriate.

Blake was fascinating to her, and that in and of itself was a reason to stay away. She didn’t find all that many things interesting outside of art, and it was making Monroe a little skittish whenever she thought about it.

And maybe, if she was being honest with herself, it was a little insane that the girl—now woman—she’d had a crush on in high school, had suddenly insinuated herself into Monroe’s life, wanting to be a part of it.

Maisie was her top priority—without a question. But Blake, in spite of Monroe’s best efforts, had crossed her mind more than a few times this weekend, especially given that she kept sending little messages of support or just checking in, asking if Monroe had needed anything.

Even if they’d spent that evening in the fort dealing with Monroe’s life and trauma and insecurities, her mind was itching to understand more about Blake.

Like, how was she so goddamn resilient in the face of her entire world upending? Truly, it was something Monroe needed to study, given the instability of her own life.

Also, how had she managed the strength not to burn down Noah’s house? Or, at the very least, not to key whatever obscenely large truck she just knew he drove.

Never in her wildest dreams would she have expected herself and Blake Bettencourt to be thrown together on her return home. It was that much more shocking that Blake seemed to want to lean into it as much as she did.

That was happening, right? It couldn’t just be her imagination.

But, no. Even without Blake’s gentle offer of support, which Monroe still worried was borne from pity, Blake had shown up or been invited to her house—it still felt weird to think of it as her house even though it always legally had been—three times now.

And each time, Monroe had gotten the sense that Blake would have stayed longer if she hadn’t thought that doing so would be an imposition.

They’d only crawled out of the fort after the sun had long set, with a promise forced upon Monroe that she would let Blake know if she needed anything.

Monroe felt the strangest tingling in her limbs, realizing that Blake had well and truly meant it. Especially after this weekend.

Even though it was only a mile or so into the downtown area from her neighborhood, cars in Cypress Falls absolutely crawled wherever they were going. People treated the Main Street drag like a promenade, a social event in and of itself.

She resisted laying on her horn through the downtown district, knowing it would attract even more unwanted attention. She felt supported in that decision when the car in front of her finally turned and she could see the driver—a man who had to be pushing ninety years old.

So, yeah, kudos to her for not giving anyone an unnecessary cardiac event.

Finally, she made a left off the street, into a large parking lot filled with cars.

All the bays were full when she pulled into the mechanic’s shop, and exhaust hung heavy in the air filtering through the slightly open window of her SUV.

Men, who she was tickled to see did actually wear the full jumpsuits, were moving at varying speeds, popping in and out of the cars like a game of whack-a-mole.