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She gives me a look meant to level. “No, don’t be silly. She’s a little old woman. I’ll bet she couldn’t even arm wrestle me.”
Maybe not, but that’s not to say she couldn’t whisk her into a little white van—or find someone else who could.
“She have anything else to say?”
“She said she had some friends she wants to introduce me to, but I’m not dumb. Mom tells me never to go off with strangers, and even if she is my grandmother, she’s still a stranger.”
Well, damn. I don’t like that one bit, but I don’t let it show on my face. Instead, I distract her by telling her that I’m going to be representing a psychic at court—and, in turn, she fills me in on the latest Polly Pocket drama.
A few minutes later, Ruthie emerges, and the sight of her in that dress, again, nearly makes me fall out of my chair. I like that my coat is still layered over it, because it means her scent will attach to it—and mine will attach to her.
She seems to feel better, more confident, and she says, “Let’s go get ice cream.”
It’s about thirty degrees outside and it’s lunchtime, but I shut my mouth and nod. Because if they want ice cream, we’re going to get some fucking ice cream. I’m also going to stick around until I can talk to Ruthie in private, because I need answers before I can figure out how to handle this situation.
Chapter Sixteen
Ruthie
The nerve of that woman…
My mother didn’t show the slightest interest in me when I was a child, and now she thinks she can lay some sort of claim on my daughter.
I was practically shuddering with rage by the time I left the principal’s office. She assured me that the conversation between Izzy and my mother only lasted a minute, maybe two, before they ushered Izzy inside and asked my mother to leave school grounds. But a minute or two is a minute or two too much. It makes my skin crawl to think about Izzy being alone with her.
Maybe Shane knows all of that, because I keep expecting him to leave, and he keeps not leaving.
True: we did take my piece of shit car, but he’s an industrious man, and I have a feeling he has a passing acquaintance with Uber Black. Plus four friends who’d probably drop whatever they’re doing to help him out.
We get ice cream, a decision I can tell he judges me for—but when I order him a banana hammock to mess with him, he eats it.
We go back to the apartment and find the hell that Flower has wrought. Apparently, she’s the kind of soul who can’t be contained by a crate, whether it be zip-up or steel, and I can’t find it in myself to try harder to keep her imprisoned. I keep thinking about that year she spent in the shelter with nothing but a dirty hedgehog toy for company. And, sure, logically I know Josie and the owner of Dog is Love might have concocted all of that to make a “hard sell,” but it still tugs at my heart.
What doesn’t tug at my heart?
Coming home to step in a pile of shit, thoughtfully placed just inside the door, while Flower wags her tail like a maniac. There are also two torn-up books, a broken vase, and three shredded wires.
Shane offers to clean up the mess, his face pinched in a way that normally would have made me laugh. But I don’t. He’s giving me the chance to have a sit-down conversation with Izzy about my mother, and I’ll have to take it. That’s no laughing matter. I didn’t mention my mother in the ice cream shop because I wasn’t mentally ready to talk about her.
Truthfully, I’m still not.
“You can just leave,” I tell him, pulling off the soiled shoe with a grimace. “Izz and I will clean it up.”
Mrs. Longhorn opens the door across the way, her face instantly pinching when she sees the mess just inside my door. She opens her mouth to say something, but Shane shuts my door before the words can get out, essentially slamming it on her.
Surprised laughter gushes from me.
“Don’t get used to me cleaning,” Shane says, taking his suit jacket off. My laughter dries up, because I can see his muscles flexing under his shirt, and it’s a sight that’s dissonant with laughter. Then he has the nerve to roll up his sleeves and flash his perfect forearms. “I’m not going to be your Mrs. Doubtfire, but I’m staying.”
“I think you should let him,” Izzy says as she gives Flower some love. “I really don’t like picking up poop, Mom. It’s my least favorite part of having a dog.”
Preach.
Sighing, I say, “Fine, you can stay if you insist.” I pause, watching with something like disbelief as he grabs one of the thousands of plastic bags from their spot and prepares to clean. Then I remember my manners and say, “Thank you.”
I can feel his smile rather than see it.
Grabbing Izzy’s little shoulder, I say, “Why don’t we go to my room so I can change out of this dress while we talk?”
