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Even worse than the fact that he played me this entire week, there’s another massive problem: I can’t believe he really thinks I stole from him! I know I’m splitting hairs here, but there is a difference between almost stealing from someone and actually going through with it. Is he so rich he doesn’t realize all his cash was still in his wallet when he came back to retrieve it? Does he think I skimmed some off the top?
I freaking wish! At this point I wish I’d taken every cent from that man just to flush it right down the toilet.
There’s the possibility that the wallet never made it back to him in the first place, which might be why he thinks I stole from him, but I know he has it. I asked the bartender about it a few days later while waiting for Jeremy to pick me up after a shift at the motel. He said Ethan came back to grab his wallet that same night. Everything should have been smoothed over. The only thing Ethan should have been upset about is that I never showed up at his motel room like I promised I would.
God, I’m more glad than ever that I had a change of heart. I can’t imagine what would have happened if I had joined him in his room that night. A man like that? With a temper like that? And a frame that size? Hands that big? Eyes that dark? I’m getting carried away. The point is, everything worked out for the best.
I won’t be seeing Ethan Stone again.
No, wait, I will see him once more—in seventy years, when I find his grave and do a little jig on top of it.When I get home, McKenna bursts through the front door of the trailer, nearly tripping down the rickety wooden stairs on her way to get to me.
“You’re home! You’re home!”
Her arms wrap around my middle and she lugs me up off the ground. I laugh and tell her to put me down before she hurts herself.
“Here, let me get your bag,” she says, very gallantly, grabbing my duffle from the front seat of the truck before waving goodbye to Jeremy. He’s heading to meet Khloe and I know he’s excited because he talked about it for most of the way home. I heard it all. He misses Khloe. Khloe misses him. They hardly talked. Cell reception was bad near the bunkhouses too. He had to borrow Max’s new iPhone to get a good signal, but apparently absence made the heart grow fonder because one-fifth of his first check is going into his engagement ring fund. By comparison, one-fifth of my check will cover the cost of a Taco Bell dinner.
I am really looking forward to that grave-top jig.
“Tell me everything!” McKenna says, tugging me toward the couch. “Was it weird being away? I tried to call you a few times and it said the call couldn’t be completed as dialed. Are you really that far from civilization? In the middle of the woods? Did you see a bear?!”
It’s no surprise my sister doesn’t stop asking me questions until well past dinner. I’m exhausted since I haven’t slept well all week and I could probably stay asleep all the way through Sunday if given the opportunity, but I am not given that opportunity. She talks to me while I kick off my boots, wince in pain, and head for the shower. She talks to me while I wash my hair, close my eyes, and let the water rinse away the last vestiges of my fury. She talks to me while I rub antibiotic ointment on my blistered heels and then cover them in Band-Aids. And she’s still talking as I lie down on the couch and close my eyes, telling myself I’m only going to rest for a little while. I conk out.
Saturday morning, my mom wakes us up at 5:30 AM with pancakes. I want to hate her for it, but I can’t. She has to leave extra early because she’s catching a ride with a friend to get to Livingston for her classes and she has to get on the road by six. This way, we get to have breakfast together before she leaves. She doles out pancakes on my plate and kisses my hair, and it’s still dark out and we don’t even have syrup, but I don’t mind one bit. My heart is full.
As soon as she’s gone, McKenna and I run for the couch and huddle under blankets. We spend the whole morning watching whatever random shows our antenna manages to pick up, trying hard to become fused with the couch fibers. We do a pretty good job of it until I have to begrudgingly get up to make us lunch.
