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I hear her inside before I reach it.
I push it a little farther with my fingertips and find absolute chaos.
Roof problemwas an understatement. The apartment was trashed. Chunks of plaster everywhere. The living room is soaked. The TV is lying facedown in the middle of the carpet, obviously broken.
“Bristol.” It comes out more like it would at the office. Brusque and irritated.
She hurries out of a side room, a clear garbage bag dangling from her hand. Her dark hair is pulled into a bun at the top of her head. Her cheeks flush when she sees me. “What are you doing here?”
“What the hell happened?”
I don’t sayI didn’t believe you.I don’t say,I didn’t think you were coming back. And you know what? That would have been the right thing to do. I don’t deserve to touch you.
Bristol’s shoulders sag. “This happened. The roof caved in during the storm last night.”
I barely noticed the storm last night. There were a few moments of loud rain on the windows of my apartment. It was background noise in my clean, spacious two-bedroom with my original Van Gogh and my custom furniture and carpet so soft you could lay on it for hours, if you had to.
“Where are the twins?”
Her eyes come up to mine, and I can see her wondering if I’m going to fire her. I can see her debating whether to bring up last night and the way I left her standing there on the sidewalk.
Leaving her before she could leave me.
Regret is an arm locked around my neck. Knuckles colliding with my stomach. I can’t undo it. I can never undo it. Walking away is always final.
But I could try. I could try, if she lets me stay.
Bristol should refuse to answer me. She should kick me out of this destroyed apartment. I brace for it. Accept it before it can hurt.
Her shoulders let down. “I sent them to school. It was dry, at least. They had enough clothes to get through the day. It’s better for them to be there while I pack everything up.”
“And your father?”
“He already took his things and left. He bails whenever things get tough. I have to find us another place to live. The management isn’t going to rush to fix this for us.”
“Why wouldn’t they? Do you not pay rent on time?”
“Because it’s a sublet. We’re not even really on the lease. Somehow, this is going to come back on us, and then—” A deep breath, and she turns away. “I just need to get our things together and figure out a plan before the twins get out of school. I’m sorry I called in, Mr. Leblanc. I told them how you take your coffee.”
“Fuck the coffee.”
Bristol steps out of sight. I follow her through the natural disaster of the living room and into a tiny bedroom. It’s barely large enough to hold a twin bed and a basket. I recognize some of her clothes, folded neatly. The dress she wore to dinner last night is draped over the dresser.
The bed’s already been stripped. Blankets and sheets are in another clear garbage bag on the floor. Bristol kneels on the bare mattress, taking something down from the wall. A postcard held in place by a thumbtack. She handles it gently, like a work of art, and tucks it into a book.
The book goes into the garbage bag.
“Why are you here, Mr. Leblanc?” Bristol looks over her shoulder at me. She looks tired and sad and still so beautiful. “To yell at me? I don’t think I can take it. To fuck me?”
“No. I’m taking care of this.”
“Taking care of what?” A despairing laugh. “You know how to fix a broken ceiling?”
“I know people who can fix a broken ceiling. I also know people who can clean this up. They’ll start work as soon as we’ve cleared out your personal things.”
“Do you know people with a spare storage unit that they’ll let me use for free?”
“Yes. And I have room at my place for everything else.”
