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“I’m starting to think I should have figured this out years ago. Maybe I would’ve if I weren’t…” He shrugs, and I feel like a real fucker. I hate being the one to give Danny this thought—that if he were different, more typical, life would be easier for everyone.
“I didn’t figure it out,” I point out. I’d told myself I was helping her because it was the same as helping Danny. Because my mother had become a single mother unexpectedly, and if more people had helped her, she might be doing better now. But I’d also wanted to help Ruthie without shifting the dynamic between us, which I both enjoyed and drove me insane.
Even now, the thought of being in a relationship without an end date makes my skin prickle. It makes me think of losing my father.
“Well, you defended her to her ex, and you’ve gone out of your way to make sure she has what she needs without having to actually ask anyone for it…” He gives me a wry look. “I’d say you understand her, and it’s obvious you’re serious… I’m not going to say this isn’t weird for me, or that it won’t continue to be weird for me. But I love you, and I love my sister, and if you make each other happy, I have no objection. There’s every chance I’ll eventually be happy about it.”
I laugh, feeling a wash of relief so profound it almost makes me stagger. “Thank God. I’ve missed you, man.”
“I’ve missed you, too,” he says and hugs me. From the way he’s saying it, I get the sense that he’s not just talking about this last week, but the fullness of this time when I haven’t quite been myself. The past months of unemployment, plus the last couple of years at Myles & Lee, when I felt myself getting sucked into the machine and reshaped to be the weapon they needed.
I was on a path then, though, and now…
I don’t know where I’m going, but I’m enjoying the journey. Ruthie’s right about Freeman. He’s a good man, and there’s a chance that we can work together to push the firm to the next level. Maybe that would be enough to satisfy this thirst I feel. Maybe not. Either way, I’ve realized there’s something else I’ve been missing.
And that’s when Ruthie calls to tell us someone broke into her apartment to steal Izzy’s brush.
There are a couple of scuffed suitcases in my living room, a cardboard box full of toys, and a very excited dog who just peed right next to the door.
At least she tried?
Either that or she’s purposefully taunting me for the fun of it, just like her owner does.
It’s official—Ruthie and Izzy are temporarily moving in with me.
“Uncle Shane,” Izzy hollers. “Flower needs to pee.”
“That’s old news, buttercup,” Ruthie says, already dipping into the kitchen for the paper towels and cleaner.
They’re not the only ones here. My house, usually so empty it echoes, is stuffed full. Damien is still off searching for Rita, but Nicole, Danny, Leonard, and Burke are gathered around the now-too-small kitchen table, trading theories about what this all means. We’ve checked out the footage from this afternoon from the camera at Ruthie’s door, and the results are unimpressive. The only thing it captured was the top of a man’s head, verifying nothing but his shitty taste in hats.
Mira’s also here, along with Burke’s fiancée, Delia, and Leonard’s girlfriend, Shauna. It’s a full house.
My friends have come over a few times in the past, but my house has never hosted a gathering this big or loud. It feels surprisingly nice.
“Who wants pizza?” Leonard calls out, and most of the people present raise their hands.
“Yes, yes, yes,” Izzy cries in response, jumping. Her little pigtails fly in the air, and I think again of that brush. That fucking brush. Unless it’s solid gold, a ready explanation isn’t coming to me. Nicole says the intruder might have picked it up to fight off Flower, but Flower’s such a little thing. Sure, she’s got a jaw you don’t want latched around your body parts, but would a thief determined enough to set up this whole charade be so easily deterred?
Because this was a complicated job. The perp took out the camera at the apartment before breaking in and almost certainly arranged for the van to be destroyed. And then there’s the suspicious type Mrs. Longhorn saw delivering the Amazon package the other day. He managed to do it without showing his face on camera.
Also, not to be a dick, but what else could the thief have been after? Ruthie’s apartment isn’t exactly a goldmine. A point that earned me a shoulder shove when I made it earlier. I stand by its validity. If you’re going to go to such trouble to rob a place, wouldn’t you want it to be a place you’d walk away from with something other than a fifteen-year-old TV?
Did they do it just to scare her? To show her they could break in at any time?
Either way, I agree with the cops who came by earlier: it’s obviously personal, but how?
I don’t like this situation one bit. The only thing I like about it is that Ruthie and Izzy are here where I can look out for them. Even if it means getting some piss on the floor.
Ruthie tries to sweep past me to get to the piss, but I put an arm around her waist. “I’ll get it. Why don’t you sit down?”
She barely has, all day. She’s buzzed around, propelled by nervous energy and the need to fix things. It’s a need that animates me too—we’re both fixers, doers—but this situation won’t be resolved in one day, and Ruthie’s going to burn herself out if she keeps running on fumes.
“I can clean up a mess,” she gripes.
“Your apartment would argue otherwise.” Not a nice comment, but she’s not the kind of person who wants to be coddled. I want her to know that I’m still going to treat her like she’s herself.
Her lips tug upward. “You’re the worst.”
