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There’s another part of me, a more cynical one, that thinks whatever happens next is going to be horrible. There’s a part of me that thinks the sheriff is going to get to his office and suddenly decide that I’m not worth fighting for. It would be easier to just brush everything under the rug and forget about what Finley and I told him.
That would be the simpler move.
It would be far better for him to conveniently forget what we talked about. Is that the kind of man he is, though? He was always a workaholic. He was always busy and away, but he was also always fair. I just hope that no matter what he decides, he chooses to be fair this time, too.
I head into the bedroom and realize that my extra clothes are in the wash. I head downstairs to Finley’s washer and dryer and pull my stuff out, and then I get dressed. I hear a meow and realize that Echo is hungry.
Again.
“You’re always hungry,” I tell the kitten, but I say it in an affectionate way because I don’t actually mind that Echo wants to snack. One of the wonderful things about being a kitten is that you can do whatever you want. Kittens get to be as hungry as they need to be.
Sometimes I miss the simplicity of being young. Sometimes it seems like being a kid would make things so much easier.
I grab the food and top off Echo’s bowl, and then I start looking through what Finley has in the fridge and the cupboards for dinner tonight. There are several choices we could start on, but I think spaghetti is a safe choice. Who doesn’t like spaghetti?
There’s a knock at the door just then and I look at the clock on the stove. It’s only just after noon. Who could be coming by? Maybe it’s the main carrier with a package that needs to be signed for. I have no idea. I should call Finley, but I don’t want to interrupt her shower. She’s had just as crazy of a day as I have.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I cross my fingers and hope that it’s not Sheriff Peterson. I appreciate the fact that he wants to do the right thing. I just hope he actually follows through. Finley’s got an older house with a sort of awkward design. Simply put, there’s no keyhole, so I have no way to check who is at the door. Not that it matters, anyway. Chances are whoever it is won’t recognize me and will quickly be on their way.
Only, when I swing the door open and see the gun pointed at me, I realize that
I am quite mistaken.
“Hello Neil,” Marcy says. “What a surprise.”
Chapter Thirteen
Finley
The shower is chilly when I get in and downright icy when I’m done. One of these days, I’m going to need to invest in a better water heater. I get that. That’s no surprise. That said, I grab a towel, wrap myself in it, and head to my bedroom. I grab a pair of sweatpants and slip a t-shirt over my head. I decide to go braless because, well, I don’t think we’re going to be leaving the house again today. We’ll need to eat at some point, sure, but we can either order in or have sandwiches.
Neil is going to need something calm and stable in his life today, and I don’t think there’s room for anything that’s going to cause him chaos or stress. Cooking and making decisions? Those aren’t things we need to do today.
I head downstairs and as soon as I reach the bottom of them and see into my living room, I wish that I’d grabbed my cell phone because I came downstairs.
“Hello, Finley.”
My heart seems to stop beating within my own chest.
“Marcy,” I manage to say. “W-W-What are you doing here?”
Shit.
Why am I stuttering?
I never stutter.
I’m a brave, badass woman, and I don’t stutter. That’s so not my style. It’s just not something I’m interested in. I’m more interested in making sure that I always present myself as strong and in control.
Stuttering is not the right way for me to do that.
“Ted and I noticed you being weird at the library yesterday,” she says coolly. She’s standing beside him and she’s holding a gun. Neil is sitting on a chair with his back to me, and I can tell even from here just how damn tense he is.
Once again, helping Neil to have a relaxing adjustment back to life as a free man isn’t exactly going the way I planned.
“Is that so?” I ask. My eyes dart from the gun to Ted to Neil and back again. What the hell is Marcy playing at? My cell phone is upstairs on the charger, and I don’t have a home phone. As far as I know, Neil hasn’t gotten a phone yet, so unless Sheriff Peterson decides to come back because he forgot something, we’re kind of on our own.
There’s no way this is going to end well for any of us. It couldn’t possibly, but it’s up to me now. If Neil tries to move, she’s going to shoot him. That’s just obvious.
