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“He did? He dumped you?”
Her son’s incredulity should have been flattering and funny, but she didn’t smile. Couldn’t. “I guess he did.”
“That asshole!”
She couldn’t summon the energy to reprimand him for his language. “It’s his prerogative, Cyril. He’s allowed to decide who he does and doesn’t date. It doesn’t make him an...what you said.”
“Well, he is. And I’m sorry he upset you.” Cyril raised his arms, hesitated, and then hugged her.
She couldn’t remember the last time he’d initiated an embrace. He was thin and reedy but his shoulders were square and his arms wiry. Her cheek pressed against his collarbone and she felt a familiar shock as she rediscovered her son was taller than her.
“I’ll be okay.” She whispered the words, a promise made to herself as much as to Cyril. “I’ll be okay.”
Chapter Thirty
After Penta left, Cash got drunk.
It was a deliberate decision. He didn’t have anything other than a couple beers in the apartment, so made a special trip to buy a bottle of whiskey. By the time he was holed up again, a summer storm had rolled in. The heat wave broke with a thunderous crash, a fusillade of rain battering his front window.
He didn’t bother with a glass. The first swallow burned, leaving him gasping from its long-forgotten bite. The second went down easier. He didn’t bother counting after the third.
Monday morning, he woke with a head that echoed as if the remnants of last night’s tempest had found refuge there. He lay stomach down on his sofa, one arm hanging off the side, the other crushed beneath his chest. Through one half-open eye, he spied the bottle of hell water on the floor within arm’s reach. It was half full.
God. When had he become such a lightweight? That amount of booze shouldn’t have destroyed him this badly.
Then he remembered Penta and how he’d sent her away and wondered if his current state had more to do with losing her than the whiskey.
Dragging himself upright, he found the cap for the bottle, sealed it, and placed it in the cupboard above the fridge. Then he took a long hot shower and, feeling almost human as a result, soaked up any alcohol still swirling in his gut with four pieces of toast.
After that, he had nothing to do but contemplate the desert of his life.
He’d been perfectly fine on his own—before Elle, before Penta. If he could forget the last two months, he’d be fine again.
He should really get back to work on the Baby Bonnie. It was so close to being done. Yet, he couldn’t bear to touch it. The plans he’d made to roar down the highway with Penta riding the Bonnie taunted him. He should have known better than to hope for such joy in his future.
Also, his shop was riddled with the ghosts of both Penta and Elle, and the thought of spending a day with them as his only company made him growl in frustration.
He’d have to get over that. Tomorrow.
Today, he’d clear his head with a visit to Camp Chance.
He took his truck instead of his bike. Memories of Penta followed him there, though it had been weeks since he’d brought her and he’d returned alone several times between then and now. He never neglected his commitment to the youth patching their lives back together, no matter how busy he was, so he’d already spent hours in the very workshop where she had kissed him.
The kiss that had changed everything. As he parked outside the main building, he admitted the truth of that.
Penta had changed everything. She’d accepted him—his struggles and sins, his failings and faults. He hadn’t asked her to, but she had anyway.
A group of teenage boys emerged from one of the residences and sauntered to the peeled log pavilion. He watched them dully for a moment, stroking his beard, gathering the energy to get out, to walk to the workshop.
He’d done his best to redeem his past mistakes. Staying away from Elle, volunteering at Camp Chance, keeping his head down and his nose clean—it had all been his way of making reparations for a life lived on the edge of lawlessness. And for two brief months, he thought he’d done enough. Thought maybe, just maybe, he’d paid the full price.
One of the camp counselors stepped out of the main building and waved an enthusiastic greeting in his direction.
At least he was still welcome here. He climbed out and waved back.
He might have given up on himself, but he wasn’t giving up on these kids. If he could keep one—just one—from making the same mistakes he had, it would all be worth it.
FELIX AND CYRIL WERE both out of the house. That didn’t stop Penta from taking her laptop and hiding in her bedroom. She had decisions to make and needed privacy to make them.
