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“But…”
“Oh, I forgot my purse.” I run my fingers through the top of my hair and bolt for the house, not letting him finish as I rush away.
I don’t want to argue with him, and I’m afraid if he says anything else, I’ll start crying.
I don’t want to leave, but I know I have no right to be here anymore, and maybe he’ll come into the bar from time to time to visit, right? Maybe I’ll see him around more now that I know him, and I’d recognize him.
Of course, I’m upset about Cole, too. I’ve spoken to him practically every day for the last three years.
But I want to be away from him. I don’t really like leaving Pike.
Who’s going to make him converse with people, and who’s going to sneak in the vanilla extract and cinnamon he doesn’t realize he likes in his coffee now?
I blink away the sting in my eyes, growling at myself. He’ll be fine. He survived thirty-eight years without me, didn’t he?
Plucking my purse off the couch, I open it, doing a visual inventory: cards, keys, wallet, phone…. And I close it, doing a mental check and making sure I grabbed my phone charger, my razor and shampoo from the shower, and any remaining laundry in the washer and dryer.
Shit. I forgot to replace his loofah, didn’t I? Oh, well…
I finally take a deep breath, realizing I have everything, I guess.
Walking back outside, I fix a half-smile on my face and straighten my spine. To the left, Kyle Cramer trails inside his house with a couple kids who I assume are his, but I don’t make eye contact. I don’t want the neighbors getting nosy.
“Jordan…” Pike starts in one me.
But I cut him off. “Thank you so much again. For everything.”
I head to the driver’s side and open the door, my stomach knotting into a thousand little balls, each one getting tighter and tighter.
“Jordan,” he calls again. “That car’s not ready to go. It’ll stall every time you stop.”
I give him a shaky smile. “I’ll deal with it. Really, I’m all panicked out. I don’t think much will upset me anymore. I’ll be fine.”
Pulling out my keys, I climb in. “Thanks for all the work you did on it already. You definitely didn’t need to do all that.”
“Wait,” he blurts out, sounding urgent.
I stop, unable to look at him, but I feel him take a step forward. He hesitates like he’s searching for words.
I glance up.
“Just…” He shakes his head, looking exasperated. “Move the stuff into the back of my truck. I’ll take you.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off.
“I need to finish the VW,” he says. “It needs to stay here for a couple more days. And don’t give me attitude about it. Can you all of a sudden afford a mechanic?”
Pike
Meadow Lakes. I want to laugh. There’s no meadows or lakes, and there’s certainly no lake on a meadow. It’s a sixty-year-old trailer park full of dumps propped up on cinder blocks.
Did she actually grow up here?
I’m starting to think Cole didn’t have it so bad, after all. I look around, taking in the ancient silver Airstreams mixed in with some double-wides from the 80s, broken blinds barely visible behind muddy windows, and termite-rotted exteriors, green with mildew and exposed insulation. This whole fucking place is a fire hazard waiting to happen. I don’t want her here. She doesn’t have to stay at my house, but just…not here.
Jordan sits in the seat next to me, slowly running her palms across each other and staring down blankly, lost in thought. I can’t shake the feeling that she’s trying to put o
ff looking out the window as long as possible.
