Page 14 of Small Town, Big Storm

No, I want this fucked-up trip down memory lane to be over with.

Want to not be here.

Want to not⁠—

Fuck, I don’t even know what I don’t want, except that I don’t want—no, that I can’t be here.

“Fine.” I toss my hands up. “Do what you want with the house. I’ll sign whatever papers you need.”

He grips the chisel tighter. “What about your shit?”

There’s nothing important for me here.

There never was.

I turn for the hall.

“Burn it, trash it.” I shrug. “I don’t give a fuck.”

“Seriously?”

“Yup.” I shrug again. “Nothing here matters.”

“Nothing?” he asks. “Or no one?”

I spin back to face him. “I think you know the answer.”

Hurt ripples across his face and I hate that it makes me feel even more like an asshole than normal.

Hate it when he says, “Cool, man. That’s nice,” and goes back to chiseling that the guilt sinks deep, makes itself feel at home with the rest of my fucked-up emotions.

But I don’t apologize.

And I don’t help him remove the tiles, don’t so much as look at the broken water line in the laundry room.

I just go upstairs, get dressed, grab my phone, my wallet, my keys.

Then I walk out the front door without any intention of looking back.

And…oh how the universe laughs at me for even thinking that’s possible.

Five

Poppy

I’m just lifting my ice cream cone to my lips, the taste of rocky road oh so close to my tongue when Holly blurts out,

“Look, Mom! There’s your friend!”

I drop my hand, sending a wistful glance to my cone, then glance out the window to where Holly’s pointing.

Just in time to see Storm…well, storm by.

His face is stony, his strides short and rapid.

“He looks like he can use some ice cream,” Holly says solemnly.

“Yeah,” I reply just as solemnly. “He certainly does.”