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“You’re good at it,” she said simply as he punched three more holes in the top of the jar he held.
He didn’t respond to that.
Instead, he set the jars down. Then headed down the steps.
She heard the door rattle.
As if he was suddenly in desperate need of getting out of the attic.
Yeah, same.
“Dammit,” she heard him mutter.
He stomped back up the steps. “Why the hell is the door locked?”
“I have no idea.” She’dtoldhim it was locked.
“It locks from the outside.”
He’d mentioned that.
“You’re saying someone locked it?”
He ground his back teeth together. “Yes.”
This seemed very obvious to her, but she wasn’t sure if he’d had the same realization she’d had yet.
She’d realized what was going on about three months ago.
“So…someone locked that door,” she said, slowly. “On purpose.”
He shoved a hand through his hair. “Yeah.”
“Knowing we’re up here.”
“Well…” Then he muttered a “fuck” under his breath, and said, “Yeah.”
She pressed her lips together. His frustration was palpable. But he’d come up here, knowing she was up here. He wasn’t opposed to being with her. Even alone. In a small space.
But he was definitely suddenly restless.
She decided to just put it out there. “You know your mom did this, right?”
He finally made eye contact.
“You think so?”
“You don’t?”
He sighed again. “I’m afraid so.”
Becca looked around and noticed three wooden chairs that looked like they’d once been a part of a kitchen set.
“Yes, I think you can sit on one of those safely.”
She glanced back at him. “How did you know that’s what I was thinking?”
“I know you.”
