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Chapter Seventeen
Shane
This place is a dump, with peeling paint and a carpet that smells like pee from dogs who haunted these rooms before Flower was a glimmer in her parents’ eyes. Sure, Ruthie’s tried to spruce it up by painting the walls and putting out flowers and some of Izzy’s drawings dressed up in frames, but there’s no disguising that essential fact.
I don’t like that they live here. I like it even less than I did last week, because if Rita Traeger’s poking around, she’d be able to weasel her way into this place, no problem.
I pace in the living room after I finish cleaning, the little dog pacing with me. “What are we going to do about this, Flower?” I find myself asking the dog in an undertone.
Representing psychics. Talking to dogs. Getting married. I’m really going for the new year, new you bullshit. But the dog answers me, no joke, giving a little whine followed by a bark—which is a passing of the buck if I’ve ever witnessed one.
“Yeah, you’re right. I guess I can’t expect a dog to do anything about it.” She wags her tail and then licks my hand, which would be more exciting if she hadn’t just eaten a mushroom that probably rolled under the fridge before Christmas.
The dog’s kind of a pain in the ass, but I still like her. She reminds me a bit of Ruthie—she’ll ruin your life but wag her tail and look cute as hell while doing it. Of course, if Ruthie knew I was mentally comparing her to a dog, she’d flip a shit—a thought that makes me want to smile, but I can’t stick the landing right now.
“You’re a good dog,” I say, scratching her behind the ears.
A throat clears, and I glance into the hallway. There’s Ruthie in those barely-there shorts, a different sweatshirt over them. Damn, she looked good in that dress, beyond good, but this combination makes me even crazier. Those shorts are the bane of my existence and also the cherry on top of a shit sundae.
“Are you talking to my dog?” she asks with a little smile.
“What’s the point of wearing a sweatshirt if you’re wearing those shorts with it?” I ask, because her shorts are messing with me. From the satisfied expression on her face, maybe they’re meant to.
“Mom likes this look,” Izzy says, appearing from behind her with a stack of dish towels that she puts away in the kitchen. “It’s her usual around-the-house look. I think it’s because Uncle Tank told her that she has nice legs.”
This fucking guy.
“Interesting,” I say, glancing at Ruthie’s muscular thighs and tapered calves. She does have spectacular legs, but he’s a small-minded man if he doesn’t find plenty to admire elsewhere.
“Tank’s an old friend,” Ruthie says dismissively.
“So am I. Does that mean I get to tell you which parts of your body I like best?”
I didn’t mean to say it. I particularly didn’t mean to say it around Izzy, but this is a day of firsts and fuckups.
“No,” Ruthie says pointedly, “because you’re Danny’s friend, not mine.”
I grab my chest as if wounded, even though what we have couldn’t properly be called a friendship. It’s not nothing, though, and she’s lying to herself if she thinks otherwise.
“That wasn’t very nice, Mom,” Izzy says. “You should apologize and ask Uncle Shane to stay for dinner.”
I grin and reach out my hand for a high five. Izzy steps in and gives it to me, the little dog dancing around her feet.
My mood lifts. Other than seeing Danny last week, I’ve spent most of my time fixing up my mother’s house, trying to motivate her to eat something other than cereal for dinner and stop looking at old photo albums. To get a new therapist who won’t serve her platitudes with cheese sprinkled on top.
That’s gotten me nowhere, but at least I know her refrigerator is full of food and the friends who have stuck by her have returned from their vacation and are aware of the problem.
Truthfully, despite Ruthie’s shitty apartment and nosy neighbor, it’s nice being here.
Ruthie grins at Izzy. “At least I’ve taught you right, daughter of mine.” Turning to me, she says, “Shane, what do you say, will you stay for dinner?” She puts a hand on her hip, bringing my focus there. “There’s pasta and tomato sauce and frozen vegetables. You’re welcome.”
“How about I order takeout for all of us?”
Her eyes glimmer, and she shakes her head. “Pasta and frozen vegetables or I rescind the invitation.”
“What does rescind mean?” Izzy asks, a furrow in her little brow.
“It’s something only rude people do,” I say, giving Ruthie an arch look. “So I guess your mom must have been joking.”
