But the table Ingrid was looking at—the one with clay pottery—takes the brunt of Cash’s anger.
“What are you doing?” Ingrid shrieks as she steps back from the mess.
Cash has broken nearly every single piece of pottery.
A gift shop worker rushes over.
“What in the world—”
“I’m sorry,” Cash quickly says as he stands. “I’ll buy it all.”
He pushes past me as Ingrid’s hand wraps around my forearm.
“What happened?” There’s nothing accusatory in her voice, but I feel guilty.
Sometimes, I forget beneath that rich boy exterior, Cash is insecure. Sensitive even.
Fanny made sure Cash looked great on the outside, but she destroyed the inside every chance she got.
“I was just messing around and he took it the wrong way,” I tell her.
She takes a sobering breath. “I’ll be outside.”
I walk over to the smashed table and pick it up, hoping to salvage what I can from the pottery collection. But Cash’s tumble into it has ruined mostly everything. Only a few small objects remain.
Carefully, I collect those pieces, then set them on table I’ve righted.
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” an older woman says as she fusses with the broken pieces. “We’ll get this cleaned up.”
I swallow hard. “I’m really sorry.”
“It happens sometimes.” She waves me off with a swipe of her hand. “Your friend seemed very excited to be here. I’m sure he feels terrible.”
I feel terrible. I can’t imagine how Cash is doing.
“I can clean this up,” I say quietly.
“No need. I’ll grab the broom.”
Not sure what to do, I shove my hands into my pockets and head outside.
Ingrid’s standing off to the side, her hands on her hips as she stares in the great abyss that is Imperial Valley.
“Hey,” I say to her when I reach her.
She takes a deep breath but doesn’t say anything.
“Are you ignoring me now?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. “No.”
“What are you doing then?”
“I’m thinking,” she says, as if the answer is obvious.
“You’re mad,” I guess.
“Not mad,” she returns as she faces me. “I just…” she trails off as her hand lands on her chest. “I think this road trip was a bad idea.”
