“That sounds like a great idea.”
“How did it go with the detective?”
“I sense that she thinks I’m a drama queen.”
His brows rise. “Someone just tried to run you over. I feel like you’re entitled to a moment or two.”
“Mm.”
Detective Hahn talks to another officer near the car wreck. Screens are being erected to shield the site from both the media and the general public—to stop them from getting a gory picture. Who knows how long it will take to remove the body from all the twisted metal. There’s a sea of lights from cameras behind the police lines. No doubt some of those news crews are filming us right now.
Noah leans in and places a kiss on my forehead. While Auggie takes the opportunity to lick me on the chin. Such a very good boy. One day my life will be normal. Not today, obviously. But one day.
“Wish I knew what I’d done to deserve you two,” I say. “Because guaranteed I would do a whole lot more of it.”
Noah smiles. And that smile almost makes getting flattened like a pancake seem worthwhile. Almost.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Laura cries in such an aesthetically pleasing fashion. It’s sort of disturbing how good she is at it. Over the next couple of days, I watch her on the news and various other shows. The woman has turned her prospective mother-in-law’s attempted homicide and head-on collision with a tree into both a very sad thing and a publicity boon for the #justiceforryan movement.
“The immense sadness and pressure that Dianne was under these past ten years…that dear sweet woman was tormented by what happened to her son.” Insert a tear rolling over the smooth curve of Laura’s cheek here. “How his life was derailed by this one dreadful relationship. Is it any wonder she snapped and acted so out of character?”
You would think the whole trying-to-run-me-down thing was an unfortunate mishap, or accident, according to this woman. Her sweetness and sincerity along with the vaguely trad wife vibes she’s giving off are working wonders for the cause. Since neither Noah nor I release a statement, Laura’s spin on things gets good airtime. Though thankfully some people are pushing back and questioning her narrative.
The official ruling on what occurred will take time. But Dianne’s actions over the last few days and the tire marks on the road tell a definite story. Her intentions are clear, for those willing to see. But burying the truth and confusing the situation is how her son got away with the lesser charge of manslaughter. It’s how he’s hoping to have the charge dropped to accessory with time served. No wonder they’re trying to pull the same trick again now. Dianne might be beyond caring about her reputation. However, it still matters to Ryan and Laura. They’re all aboutthe thoughts, prayers, and monetary donations to help cover his ongoing legal costs.
Some news crews stood in front of my house on the day after the crash. But they eventually got bored and went away. My policy of not feeding the media beast is helping to protect our privacy. Sort of. I can’t actually stop them from hanging around and attempting to get a soundbite out of me. Auggie gave them a good barking at before turning his back on them and going to sleep. Such is his disdain for the press.
Meanwhile, Mateo gave me a high-five for not getting hit by a vehicle. He even took it easy on me since we were working out the night after the crash. I didn’t have to do a ridiculous amount of pushups for once. We still did some sparring, however. Sore muscles and gross scabby elbows will only get you so far.
On the second night after the crash, I decide to cook for Noah. Normalcy is needed. Though I also want to show him I am not completely useless in the kitchen following the French toast debacle. My grandmother would doubtless haunt me if I didn’t make the man her favorites—regional dishes she served me from a young age. These include a boiled dinner, which is corned beef cooked with garlic, peppercorns, a bay leaf, cabbage, and a variety of root vegetables served with mustard. And a homemade apple pie with a chunk of cheddar cheese.
“I’m not sure about this,” he says, inspecting the slab of cheese. “Don’t get me wrong…apple and cheese are great together. But I feel like accompanying apple pie is more of a sweet sort of situation.”
“Welcome to Vermont.”
“You’re not going to serve me sugar on snow?”
“Grandma was old school when it comes to sugar on snow. She didn’t agree with using shaved ice. So we have to wait for the right time of year for that one.”
“I respect her wishes.”
“Thank you. That means a lot to me.”
The corner of his mouth edges up some. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
We’re seated at the dining table. Which I actually managed to clear of bills, books, and other assorted shit like an adult. Candles are burning and music is playing. There’s a vague air of romance to the scene. We’re even using Grandma’s vintage stoneware dishes and her heavy-ass wineglasses. The ones I used with Grace. It’s a bittersweet memory.
Dinner started at ten thirty since that was when he got back from work. What time of the night or day it is doesn’t bother me. So long as we’re spending time together. Much more of this and I’ll be drawing hearts around our initials in my notebooks. The truth is I don’t know how to handle being this happy. But I like it a lot.
Noah spends the night here every night. He’s done so since we got together, and is showing no signs of stopping. His clothes are on my bedroom floor, and he has his own toothbrush in the bathroom. We have officially entered a state of domestic bliss. A place where I would love to linger for a good long time.
“Muriel has invited you to bingo, by the way,” I say as he chews and pulls thoughtful faces. Noah takes his tasting duties seriously.
“I’ve never been to bingo. This is interesting. Excellent pie crust.”
“Glad you approve. Do you want ice cream now?”
