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Again without any sign she’d seen Penta, she crossed the room and left.
Chapter Four
Penta should have slipped out when the blond woman began berating Cash. But it had happened so quickly she’d barely had time to comprehend what was going on before it was over.
The silence after the angry woman stormed out was as brittle as cracked crystal. Penta inhaled and exhaled in shallow sips, afraid too deep a breath would shatter the calm.
Cash smoothed his beard in a casual gesture that was belied by the suppressed tension humming around him. And though his expression was flat and unreadable, his gaze arrowed over Penta’s shoulder in the direction of the door like a heat-seeking missile locked onto its target.
With a suddenness that made her jolt, he straightened, turned his back, and continued their conversation as if there had been no interruption. “Bring Cyril tomorrow and Wednesday.” Picking up a wrench, he replaced it on the pegboard and reached for another tool. Penta had the distinct impression ingrained habit had taken over and he wasn’t aware of what he was doing. “I’m still totalling the damages. So far, he owes me at least a hundred hours based on the minimum wage. Figure out a schedule. Let me know when he’ll be here.”
She stared at his set shoulders. His motions were harsh and jerky, as if he wasn’t quite in control of his muscles. She didn’t know him, but if she had to guess, she’d say he was hurting.
The woman’s diatribe had been a flood of facts that Penta was only now absorbing.
Cash had been to jail.
He had a daughter he had agreed not to see.
That daughter had recently appeared at his shop.
The girl’s mother was furious and terrified.
Sympathy tugged her in opposing directions. Penta could completely understand the other mother’s need to protect her daughter. Yet, the man was in obvious pain. Despite the fact his appearance did not instill confidence, he hadn’t done anything sinister in her presence.
Threading her way past the bike, she came to a halt at his elbow. His gaze remained abstracted as he rubbed a grimy rag on the pitted wooden top. The scent of oil and grease mingled with pine. She laid a tentative hand on his forearm, the flesh warm and vibrant beneath her palm. She’d half expected to be able to feel his tattoo under her fingertips, but of course she couldn’t.
“I’m sorry.” She said it softly, the way she would if one of her children had had their heart stomped on. He stopped wiping, his arm tensing and flexing though no longer moving back and forth. Too shy to look at him directly, she kept her eyes down. “I don’t know what that was all about, but it obviously upset you.”
He remained silent.
She patted his arm and stepped back. “Cyril will be here by three-thirty tomorrow. I’ll pick him up at five-thirty so he has time for dinner and homework and email you a schedule for the rest of the hours.”
Cash nodded.
When she closed the door behind her, he was standing in his workspace, his back to the door, hands pressed onto the counter, head bowed.
PENTA DROPPED A GRUMBLING Cyril off on Tuesday as promised. She didn’t go into the shop, telling herself it was because there was no need, but knowing it was to avoid any awkwardness lingering after the scene she’d witnessed. Cash didn’t seem the kind of guy who appreciated being caught at a disadvantage. He probably never wanted to see her again. A stab of regret tickled her throat at the thought.
Somewhere in between daily visits to her widowed father, chauffeuring Abra to dance lessons, assisting at Delilah’s soccer practices, and making meals only Felix thanked her for, she drafted Cyril’s schedule. One hundred hours was a lot to fit between end of season track and field events and studying for final exams. No matter how she arranged it, she couldn’t avoid his sentence stretching into July. She emailed it to Cash and received a terse acknowledgment of receipt in return.
She told Mark about Cyril’s misdemeanors when he called to discuss weekend visits. Maybe she should have called him sooner, but she avoided talking to her ex as much as she could.
“The little rat.” Mark’s tone was disappointed but not surprised. They’d discussed Cyril many times since their separation and shared concerns about their son’s recent choices. “I’ll have a talk with him.”
“That would be good.” Cyril had always listened to his father more than her. It rankled, but it was the truth, and she’d learned to accept it. “You’ll pick him up from Absolute on Friday, keep him overnight, and bring him back Saturday to do his next shift?” She hoped he would spend quality time with Cyril, and not be distracted by his second family.
Mark had stunned her when he’d asked for a divorce. Would it have been easier to accept if he’d fallen in love with someone else? But that hadn’t been the case. He’d simply wanted out.
He’d blamed it on her focus on their children. “You don’t see me,” he’d explained, “and I can’t live like that any longer. I want a wife, not just a mother for my kids.”
Which made it even more humiliating that, when he chose a new partner last year, she was a woman a couple years older than Penta with two teenage children of her own. She hadn’t even been replaced by a younger model. She’d been replaced by a more outgoing, adventurous version of herself. One that went on solo vacations, belonged to clubs and committees, and had figured out how to raise her sons and still give Mark all the attention he thought he deserved.
She tuned back into the conversation.
“Yeah,” Mark said. “And you can be sure he won’t be sneaking out of my house.”
She bristled. “Are you blaming me?”
