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I’m not that tired so I go back downstairs, click off the TV and the living room lamp, and grab a beer from the fridge, wanting to go out on the front porch to enjoy the quiet night.
Grabbing a beer from the fridge, I twist the cap off and flick it into the sink, landing it exactly where I intended. Amused by my minor achievement, I go to retrieve it but stop when I look down. A full cobbler dish is angled in the sink with a big scoop taken out. The remains of that scoop are splattered across a broken dish.
When I pick a piece of the shattered plate up, I notice the blood that has seeped into the jagged edges of the porcelain. I recognize the pattern of the plate as one Delilah always cherished. We were never allowed to use these floral-trimmed plates because they were her mother’s. When I look up, it’s easy to find the vacant spot among the display. She had to make quite the effort to eat off it. Wonder what spurred her to use that plate, and why did it end up broken in the sink with what looks to be perfectly good cobbler?
What’s even more odd is that Delilah lied. I can guess all night, but I’m not getting any answers until morning from the snoring beauty upstairs. I carefully pull the pieces of the plate out of the sink and put them in a brown sack I find in the pantry.
On the porch, I sit down on the steps after trashing the bag. If that plate weren’t so shattered, I would have tried to piece it back together. Much like she’s pieced me back together.
I hear the bugs and see the fireflies in the field. The light above Lorraine and Paul’s front door shines in the distance. I should probably go by tomorrow and say hello. I’m sure they know I’m in town, so it’s rude not to stop by before too much time passes.
With my feet kicked up on the railing, I drink my beer, feeling right at home here. If I’m not careful, I could fall asleep on this porch. There’s no way I want that to happen when I know what’s waiting for me upstairs. Thinking about her, I decide to join her.
But lights in the distance catch my eyes before I go inside. A car speeding down the main road approaches the curve just past the farm. They’re going to end up lodging that piece of shit in the fence or the field. But then it slows so much that I squat down. It comes to a stop at the end of the long drive that leads to the house.
When the lights are cut, I stand. Who the fuck is it, and what the fuck are they up to?
I maneuver off the porch from the other side and duck behind a tree in the yard. Making my way to the edge of the fence closest to the house, I stare. The driver remains in the car, and the inside’s too dark to tell who it is from here. I’m about to sneak through the field and approach from behind, but the lights flick back on and the car drives off. But not before I get the make, model, and license plate number.
I’ve not seen many BMWs around the county. It’s a rich man’s car when most here live mortgage payment to payment. Trucks are much more practical. So was that a wrong turn or something else? With no sign of the car returning, I go back inside the house. All doors and windows are double-checked on the first floor before I go upstairs to Delilah’s bedroom.
She’s still sleeping soundly, which relieves me. Knowing she’s comfortable gives me peace of mind. I hope she feels the same from me, that I can bring back the same confidence she once had, the confidence that motherfucking ex of hers stole.
Cole Cutler is lucky I let him go with a minor takedown outside Red River. I’m not sure how or when, but he better hope we don’t meet in a dark alley anytime soon.
I go through my nighttime routine like I live here, which makes me wonder if I eventually will. I’d never considered it since Delilah never thought she’d be living here after college, but plans change, life happens, and sometimes, we end up exactly where we were always meant to be. Standing over the bed, I stare at this stunning woman—snuffle-snorts and tattoos from drunken nights—and I’m starting to feel this might be where I was meant to be all along.
Shifting the covers on the free side of the bed, I slide her over. Her skirt scrunches up around her thighs, and I let my eyes follow the long lines of her legs. Reaching down, I toss the blanket to the end of the bed and slide down the zipper on her hip to shimmy the skirt off. I work her sweater from her shoulders down one arm and then the other, leaving her hopefully a little more comfortable in a bra and underwear. Pulling the covers over her, I lean down and kiss her head before slipping in next to her.
