The way he bares his teeth, a bubbling of spittle in the corner of his mouth when he speaks…
“Where’s Nina?”
ChapterTwenty-Eight
LARK
I rubthe back of my aching neck as traffic slows where I-49 turns into Highway 90. Sleeping on a cave floor for three solid hours might not have been a good idea, but at least I woke up sure of what I need to do.
Make things right.
At least make peace with Stella and my roommates, even if there’s no hope of her and I working things out. And let’s be honest, why would there be?
I went into this knowing that I didn’t deserve her and then I proved myself right. End of story.
But I’d like to do what I can to repair the damage. Move her from hatred to maybe just indifference. Or if I’m lucky, tolerance.
Because I don’t want to leave Stella’s house.
Not at all.
I love her.
And I can’t see past loving her. Meaning, I can’t see a time when it will stop.
So if I can’t be in her heart, in her bed, I still want to be in her home, in her life. I still want to see her every day. I still want to look out for her. I still want to eat breakfast with her in the morning. Watch her laugh while I tease Maisy and let her call meBark.Take over for her in the kitchen when she’s had a long day so that she can take a hot bath. Be the one to give her that.
I want to see her launch her business. Help her if I can. And, God, she’ll be in that house all the time once it opens.
And I want her to see me finish my last semester of school. Maybe by May, she will have forgiven me enough to come to my graduation.
I’d like that. I’d really like that.
And who knows what might happen then? Maybe there will be a chance for us.
But I know if I can’t stay in that house—that rambling, creaky, magical, joyful dream house—there won’t be any chance at all.
I glance over at the passenger seat and my peace offerings.
When I left Kisatchie, I went ten minutes out of my way to Lea’s Lunchroom in Lecompte. Lea’s pies are something of Louisianal legend. People go much more than ten minutes out of their way to get them. The place has been open since 1928. Allegedly, Bonnie and Clyde were regulars. Lea’s homemade pies are to die for.
Lucky for me, Thanksgiving is still a few weeks away because they sell out early anytime there’s a holiday.
But I made it fifteen minutes before they closed. I had my choice of lemon meringue, apple, and bumbleberry—the sweetest mixed berry pie around—so I got all three, hoping to please every palate in the house. That is, I got three pies and the only sandwich Lea’s has on the menu, baked spiced ham with mayo, lettuce, tomato, and pickle.
Since I’d only eaten a couple of protein bars since this morning, I inhaled my ham sandwich on the drive back home in about four bites.
But just now, as I make a right onto Willow Street, that ham sandwich might as well be a cinder block in my stomach.
I want to be in Stella’s house. I want to see her. But I also have no idea what to say.
I’m sorryis unforgivably lame.
I love you,as far as Stella is concerned, would be unbelievable.
I brought piemight be the best I can do. Considering that it’s Lea’s, it’s better than the average apology, and Stella may doubt me, but she can’t doubt pie.
I almost laugh at myself. Until I make the left onto University Avenue and I’m that much closer to her.
