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I hold up the hardware bag. “I’m with you because you’re helping me fix my toilet.”
“Yeah, I guess.” He sounds reluctant. “I don’t like lying to my kid, though.”
“It isn’t a lie. But I get what you’re saying.” To a smart eleven-year-old boy, it will seem like a lie if and when we come clean about our relationship, something we agreed wouldn’t happen until next summer. But every minute we stand outside the store debating this, that kid is sitting in his house, listening to a fight that is bad enough it made him call his dad, crying. It’s a no-brainer. “Then we go and get him now.” I slip my fingers through Shane’s. “And we don’t lie.”
After a long moment, he nods.
Shane parks his truck behind Penelope’s silver Acura. Next to it is a black BMW. I assume that’s Travis’s.
“Nice house,” I note, taking in the impressive two-story new build. It’s a cookie-cutter house with no character and nothing unique, save for the landscaping and the porch decor. To my left and right are houses nearly identical in size and style, in one of three brick color schemes, chosen by the builders with community aesthetics in mind.
“They bought into the subdivision a year after it was built,” Shane explains, cutting the engine.
At least my dilapidated little home has personality, I think to myself with petty satisfaction, recalling Penelope’s not-so-subtle dig. Plus, I have mature trees and a lot that could fit five of these tedious houses.
“You should probably stay here.” Shane rubs my thigh with his palm, as if to soften the suggestion.
I smother my urge to laugh. “You think?” I have no interest in adding myself to the volatile mix.
“Be back in a minute.”
Shane’s body is tense, his face stony, as he strolls up the interlock pathway, past a Japanese maple and life-sized Freddy Krueger to a steel-blue front door. I wish I could crawl inside his body for just a moment, to know exactly what he feels for the mother of his son, to understand what it’s like to share a human being you love fiercely with a woman you wish you could have nothing to do with for the rest of your life.
Before Shane has a chance to ring the bell, the door flies open.
Travis storms out, scowling. He stalls a step when he sees Shane, as if startled, but recovers quickly. “Where’s the bro code, huh? Why didn’t you warn me that she’s batshit crazy!” I hear through the open driver’s side window. He doesn’t wait for Shane’s answer before marching to his car, keys dangling from his finger, a steady glower on his handsome face.
Our gazes connect for a split second. “Oh, just fucking great. That’ll help things,” he mutters, then dives into his car. In seconds, the BMW is peeling out of the driveway and speeding off.
Penelope is at the door now. I can only see her legs and her shoulder—Shane’s massive body effectively blocks my view.
“He shouldn’t have called you,” she says crisply.
“Well, he did, and now I’m here, so let me take him back to my place for the night.” Shane’s tone is deceptively calm. Beneath it, I hear his anger bubbling.
“It’s my weekend with him.”
There’s a long pause. I imagine him leveling her with a long, hard look. “He called me because he was scared. He was crying, Pen.” There’s a touch of pleading in Shane’s voice that claws at my chest. “Let me get him out of here until Sunday morning so you two can sort out your shit without him having to listen to it. That’s not fair to him.”
After another long moment, I hear her say, “Fine.”
Shane disappears inside, shutting the door behind him, leaving me alone in the driveway. I kill time by texting Justine and scrolling aimlessly through Instagram.
They emerge a few minutes later. Cody has his backpack slung over his shoulder, his head bowed. Even still, I can make out his splotchy, red face.
“Where’s my hug?” Penelope calls out.
When he doesn’t respond, Shane stops him with a hand on his shoulder and coaxes him with, “Come on, buddy. Give your mom a hug goodbye.”
Cody turns around and drags his feet all the way back. He embraces her with reluctant arms, pulling away before she has a chance to enclose him in hers. He darts back to Shane’s side as if seeking solace there.
I don’t miss Penelope’s flinch at her son’s obvious preference. “I’ll see you on Sunday morning, okay?” she says in a light, shaky voice. “We can go shopping for your Halloween costume.”
“I’m too old to go trick-or-treating,” Cody grumbles.
With a gentle hand on the back of Cody’s neck, Shane guides his son down the path.
“Thank you,” Penelope calls out, almost as an afterthought, her arms curled tightly around her body.
In that moment, I feel a twinge of sympathy for the she-devil. She almost seems human—vulnerable, emotional, caring.
