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She must have read that flicker of expression wrong. “If I do, I’ll have less time to help here.”
“I’m sure I’ll manage. I think getting a job is a great idea. If there’s anything I can do, just let me know. ” He opened his book as if the conversation were over.
A sinking sensation kept her rooted in her seat. “Don’t you want me to come over?”
He closed the book again and slid her a shamefaced glance. “You know I appreciate everything you do, and you are welcome to visit whenever you like. But maybe it’s time for a change, for both of us.”
"How long have you thought this way?” How long have you been wishing I would just leave you alone?
He sighed and answered obliquely. “You always seemed so pleased to help out. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
Humiliation prickled her cheeks. She’d spent much of the last year looking after him and now he was acting like he had been doing her the favour. He placed the book on the table and folded his arms across his belly. “I’m grateful for all you’ve done this past year, I really am. But I’m a grown man. You don’t really think I do nothing but sit in this chair and read, do you?”
She kind of did, but she wasn’t going to admit it. “I know you go to church most weekends. And I guess I don’t buy everything you need.”
“No. And that’s not a slight on how you care for me.” He laid his hand over hers. She was struck by its thinness, the tendons and veins sharply marked on the back. “I suppose this is partly my fault. I should have had this conversation before now, but I like having you around. You have your own life, though, and I understand if you want to get back to it. Maybe we both needed this time together after your mother passed. But things are settled now, don’t you think?” His eyes twinkled with familiar mischief. “I still expect frequent visits, and certainly won’t say no to any meals you’d like to share. But don’t feel guilty for moving on. That’s the last thing your mother or I want.”
It was ridiculous to feel rejected. Was it too much to ask that he’d at least pretend to be upset?
She kissed his cheek in farewell. Normally, she would utter a breezy “See you tomorrow” as she left.
Today, she just said goodbye.
CASH HAD RUN INTO A serious roadblock in his attempt to apologize to Elle.
He didn’t have her phone number and didn’t want to show up at the house uninvited, so had sent a carefully worded text to Linda on Sunday evening. After twenty-four hours of resounding silence, he sent another, even more humble and apologetic. Another twenty-four unresponsive hours later, he sat in his one-bedroom apartment above the shop and wondered what he should do next, mouth bitter with failure.
He wanted to hear Penta repeat her assurances that everything would be okay. But he hadn’t seen or spoken to her since their ride on Sunday. He’d thought he might have a chance that afternoon, but Felix had picked Cyril up.
Had she changed her mind about being friends? Had his volatile temper once again destroyed something precious? The thoughts burned like battery acid, eating away at what little composure he had left.
Wednesday went by with no word, and when he woke Thursday morning—Elle’s birthday—he came to two grim conclusions. Penta was avoiding him, and reconciliation with his daughter wasn’t going to happen. Even if Linda had kept his attempts to reach her a secret, Elle had braved her mother’s wrath to talk with him twice before. Her absence now must mean she no longer wanted him in her life.
He focused his despair and self-loathing on the Baby Bonnie, which was now stripped down to its frame. A few customers ventured in to break his concentration and he managed to be civil to them. At least, he thought he did. When Cyril arrived for his after-school shift, he directed him to the back room to unpack a shipment of parts and supplies. It seemed safest to keep the boy out of his way.
All he wanted was to be alone. It was better for everyone.
He tinkered on the Triumph for several minutes in solitude before Cyril sauntered into the room holding a box about the size of a carry-on suitcase. “Are you sure these are the right filters? It’s just that—”
“Of course they’re the right ones. I ordered them, didn’t I?” Cash heard the snarl in his voice, but even if he hadn’t, Cyril’s startled expression would have warned him.
“Jeez, what got up your ass?” The youth’s eyes widened further. “Sorry. I didn’t mean... I shouldn’t have said that.”
At least the kid was learning some respect for his elders. If only Cash deserved it. “Ignore me. I’m in a pissy mood. What were you saying?” Cyril rarely wasted his time with stupid questions, a fact he wished he’d remembered before snapping.
“I was checking everything against the order sheet, like you taught me. These filters are the right size and all, but not the same brand you usually get. I just wanted to make sure.”
Cash took a closer look at the box. Sheepishness made him even surlier, though he tried not to bark. “You’re right. They aren’t what I asked for. I’ll call the parts store later. Don’t unpack them.”
Cyril nodded and turned to go.
“Hey.” The boy hesitated, his back to Cash. “I shouldn’t have shouted. Thanks for checking with me.” A shrug was his only response, though the skinny shoulders relaxed a little. “Who’s picking you up tonight?”
“Mom.” He answered the question without curiosity and disappeared into the back.
The news chipped a tiny sliver off Cash’s gloom. Maybe all wasn’t lost with Penta.
Chapter Fifteen
