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“Liz—”
“No. I want to do this, and you know I won’t cheat on you, so you’re asking me to give up something I want to do just because you don’t like it. How is that fair? ‘Please don’t take that job because it’ll make me unhappy’. Who says that to somebody?”
“Probably a lot of people,” Vince said.
“Well, they’re all selfish bastards to put their happiness before the happiness of somebody else,” I said, going for broke.
“You’re putting your happiness before us.”
“I am not keeping you from doing something you want to do because I’ll feel unhappy. You can do anything you want to be happy, I won’t stand in your way. Which is what you’re doing to me, standing in my way. It’s different.”
“Liz—”
“I am not making my happiness contingent upon your actions. My happiness is my business, my responsibility. Your happiness is your responsibility. Do not try to make it mine, I won’t have it.”
He shook his head. “I don’t trust Cash.”
“Do you trust me?”
“Absolutely,” he said without hesitating, thereby sidestepping the tantrum I was about to throw.
“I’m going to work on those factory papers. Why did you cancel lunch?”
He frowned. “I told you, Bartlett called a stupid meeting.”
“What happened?” I asked. “You didn’t text me back. Why were you dirty and sweaty? More drywall?”
“I was in the ravine,” he said. “Jim Pitts is dead. Motorcycle crash. Rain is pretty certain it was a hit and run.”
I was quiet for a minute. I hadn’t been a fan of Jimmy Pitts, but I didn’t want him dead, either. “I’m sorry, Vince, I know you tried to help him. Who did it?”
“No idea.”
“Why did someone kill him?”
“I don’t know.”
The way he said it meant he didn’t want to talk about it, which I understood. He’d taken a liking to Jimmy, tried to help him, and now this.
He lay back down and was quiet for a while then, thinking Vince thoughts, whatever they were, and I sank back onto my own pillows, thinking Liz thoughts, which were many and frantic, and we lay there in that big bed, waiting for the next ax to fall.
I finally said, “I’m truly sorry about Jim Pitts.”
“Thanks.”
The silence dragged on.
“Are you going to give me an ultimatum about the factory?”
“No. I’m done being stupid for one day.” He paused, and then he asked, “Would it work if I did?"
“No. I’d say, ‘Fuck you’ and go. But I’d be really miserable without you.”
He slid his arm under me and pulled me close, and I wrapped my arms around him and felt infinitely better.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’d be unhappy, too. Let’s not do that.”
“No,” I said. “Let’s not do that.”
