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In my flash of insight, I’d almost forgotten he was still on the phone. My blood was boiling. I was done with the lies.
“Drake?”
“Yes?”
“You know we’re through, right?”
Five long seconds of utter silence followed. Drake was thoughtless, selfish, and stubborn too. But if there’s one thing he wasn’t, it was stupid.
“Yeah,” he answered finally, with a dejected sigh. “I—I know.”
“Good.”
The finality of it was refreshing, even if it hurt like hell. It was like ripping a Band-Aid off in one quick motion, rather than slow-playing it.
“Answer one last question though?” I asked. “And be brutally honest with me?”
Another bout of silence followed. Then: “Of course.”
“Two possibilities exist,” I went on. “One, you met that girl when we bought the tree together. You saw she obviously liked you, and you went back later on to start something up with her.”
I paused, trying not to let my voice crack. I took one last shuddering breath.
“Or two… youalreadyhad something going on with her,” I continued, “and for some twisted reason youstillbrought me to that particular lot to pick out our Christmas tree.”
More silence. The other end of the phone was so dark and cold it was pure oblivion.
“So which is it?” I prodded him. “It’s over anyway. You owe me that much.”
For an uncomfortably long time, he didn’t have an answer. Until finally…
“It’s the second one.”
My heart sank as my body went limp. My head dropped into my own hands.
God, I’m so stupid!
But hey, at least he wasn’t insulting my intelligence.
“Thanks for that at least,” I grunted miserably. “You can pick your stuff up anytime.”
Slowly I tore the photo in half, straight down the center. I felt nothing.
“Sloane, I—”
“From the front lawn,” I added satisfactorily, and hung up.
Two
SLOANE
The next morning was miserable, mostly because it took forever to get ready. Ice cubes and cucumbers brought the swelling down around my eyes, and Visine took care of the whites.
Drake had wisely stayed away, although the stuff out on the lawn was gone by now. I’d heard the unmistakable diesel engine of his friend Jay’s truck sometime just after dark, right about the same time I was uncorking my second bottle of wine. There was no knock at the door though. No text-message or phone call, either.
And all of that was fine by me.
Glancing at the clock I could see I’d be late for work, but not by much. Having taken the rest of yesterday off for what I was calling a family emergency, I was confident my boss would understand. As busy as the foundry was this time of year, the kind old man who’d started the company “on a jar full of mercury dimes” loved me like the daughter he never had, or so he was so fond of telling me, anyway. His partner was a little more strict and by the book, but I also knew he appreciated my work ethic.
