Arrogant Devil(13)
Her mouth flattens in a thin line. “They say there’s no such thing as a stupid question, but does that mean you have to try so hard to think of one? It’s damn annoying.”
I can’t tell whether she loves me or hates me, so I play it safe and just keep my lips zipped after that, watching as she continues going through the bags, taking things I wouldn’t have had the courage to grab before. There’s fresh white linen and towels. She gives me everything. My trash bag is bulging.
“I know this isn’t enough. I don’t have any shorts for you—you’re too damn skinny to wear mine—but those jeans you’re wearing should work until we can make it into town.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
I’m surprised by how overwhelmed I feel.
“No. Stop. If you cry right now, I’m taking all this to the burn pile. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s blubbering. Now listen, my grandson is a tough cookie, an arrogant devil through and through. I tried to talk him into letting you stay in the house, but he’s got his mind made up, something about teaching you a lesson. If you ask me, there’s more likely a lesson in there for him, but this is his house and I won’t disrespect him by sneaking you in here.”
“Your grandson?” I ask, cutting in.
“Was that another question?” She pauses her work and glances over to me. From this proximity, there’s no pretense between us. I can see every shade of blue in her hard eyes, every wrinkle etched in her tan skin. I have no doubt she can see the absolute despair reflected back at her. She can probably also smell the peanuts on my breath. “Oh, hell. All right. We haven’t been properly introduced.” Her hand darts out for mine. “Edith McKnight, the devil’s grandma.”
I take her hand and shake it, surprised by how strong her grip is.
“Meredith Wilchester—er, Avery. Meredith Avery,” I say, catching myself and dusting off my maiden name, the one I’ll be reverting back to from this day forward.
“Pleased to meet you, Meredith. I wish it were on better terms, but we’ll make the best of this situation. Now here, take this. It’s too heavy for me or I’d help you.”
She hands me the bag and pushes to her feet. She brushes her hands on the back of her jeans then turns to walk away, just like that, as if she didn’t just turn my entire day around.
“This doesn’t make sense,” I call after her. “Why are you helping me?”
Without bothering to turn around, she rambles off a string of countryisms. “My grandson is a good man, but he often thinks the sun comes up just to hear him crow. He could strut sittin’ down. I mean, I love him, but sometimes it’s like hugging a rose bush.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I’m helpin’ you because I know he can’t yet, but when you get to be my age, you learn that a wounded bird eventually needs a peaceful nest.”
It’s like she’s speaking a foreign language.
6
Jack
I’ve got big plans for today: I’m going to keep my temper simmering near a low boil, I’m going to avoid the princess, I’m not going to let my ranch hands pull any shit like they did yesterday with the pigs, and I will have my inbox empty by the end of the workday. This is the plan—at least, it was. My alarm clock is still due to go off in five minutes, but I’m already up on the edge of my bed in my boxer briefs, listening to Christine talk my ear off. Alfred is snoring at my feet. I think dogs sometimes like to rub it in.
“You promised you’d come to San Antonio later this week.”
I blink sleep out of my eyes and chance a glance at the clock beside my bed: 5:10 AM—too damn early for a fight.
“And I explained that it’s just not possible. Helen left last week and—”
“You’re kidding me. Jack, do you know the last time you made the effort to come here? To show me you care even the tiniest bit?”
I rest my elbows on my knees, squeeze my eyes closed, and pinch the bridge of my nose. I really could’ve used those last five minutes of sleep. “I’m sure I could come up with a good example if you hadn’t called at the crack of dawn. I haven’t even had my coffee.”
That response doesn’t go over well.
“You are the most emotionally vacant man I’ve ever met. We’ve been together two years—TWO YEARS—and I get the feeling you wouldn’t care if I broke up with you right here and now.”
Has it really been that long?
“Chrissy, c’mon—”
“No. Don’t bother.” She pauses, inhales a deep breath. When she speaks again, her voice is softer, sweet. “I’m just…I’m upset. I miss you, that’s all. We hardly see each other.”
“You know I’d be there with you if I could.”
“Would you?”
Just then, my alarm clock starts blaring loudly. BEEP BEEP BEEP. My eyes pop open and I reach over to slam my hand down to turn it off. Alfred hops up and starts wagging his tail, flaunting the energy from his extra sleep.
“Chrissy, I gotta—”
“Yeah, I know, you gotta go. Going’s what you do best.”
Her words are meant to sting, but they don’t.