Until There Was You(103)
Joe died before he even got there.
Liam took him down to the marsh and buried him, still wrapped in his T-shirt, and damned if he didn’t sit there and cry, harder than he had when his mother had died. He should’ve found a way to hide Joe in his uncle’s garage, or made him a shelter or something, but no, he’d just let Joe stay in the alley, feeding him until that f**king car came by and hit him.
It was the look on the little cat’s face that did it, as if shocked by the pain…but accepting it just the same. Like Joe knew cans of tuna behind the Dumpster were just too good to last. As if getting hit by a car, while horrible, was more the type of thing that happened to a stray cat who’d been alone most of his life.
It was the same way Cordelia looked tonight.
And even though breaking up with her was the right thing to do—he’d save her a lot of misery, and the Tates might get off his back, and he could focus on keeping Nic on the straight and narrow—even so, it felt like the best part of himself had died back there in that bar.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“HE CALLED ME POSEY.”
“Well, that is your name, right? I mean, I haven’t been calling you the wrong name your whole life, have I?” Kate asked, shifting in her La-Z-Boy. “God, these hemorrhoids are killing me.”
“Sorry to hear it. Officially, my name’s Cordelia.”
“Right, right. I always forget that.”
They were sitting in Kate’s living room, Sunday night—five days and four nights after The Dumping. Posey had barely left the house since, but Kate had come over this afternoon and put her gym-teacher muscles to use, practically carrying her to the car. Back to Kate’s house, where crappy wine and excellent ice cream were administered. Posey took a bite of Ben & Jerry’s Super Fudge Chunk ice cream, then offered some to her dog, who licked the spoon agreeably.
“How much longer should I give you on the pity party?” Kate asked. “Not that I’m not enjoying myself, mind you.”
“I don’t know. A year? A decade?” Shilo sighed and put his head on her lap. The dog had been a trouper these past few days…the cats, not so much.
Someday, these feelings of rejection (there was no other word for it)…they’d be gone. This phase, this…ache would slowly lift off her heart. It was just that lying in bed this morning at 2:47, surely the loneliest moment God ever invented, she couldn’t help the tears that leaked out of her eyes and slid into her ears. Shilo had taken it upon himself to lick them, so at least she had that.
Back in high school, she’d loved Liam from afar, and he broke her heart. First love, young love, crush—it was called crush for a reason, wasn’t it, because it certainly had crushed her—whatever name you gave it, it had hurt.
But this time, she’d loved him up close. This time, she’d seen what could have been, had felt in little flashes and small moments what it was like to be loved by Liam Murphy. Just a little bit, and even the loss of that possibility, those sweetly tender, unguarded moments, hurt so much that it was stunning. And at 2:47 a.m., with a 140-pound dog and thirty-seven pounds of cat wedged against her, tears slipping out of her eyes, she cursed herself for not believing what Liam had told her from the start.
So she’d been dumped. Liam Murphy had dumped her, as he’d dumped so many women and girls over the years. And he’d called her Posey. Back in high school, it seemed that calling her Cordelia was a way to mock her…sort of like you can call yourself whatever you want, but you still have that bulky, endless name. But then…recently…the way he said her name, like it was so special and lovely, and Cordelia sounded less like the poor naive slob killed by her sisters in King Lear and much more like a Victoria’s Secret model, inspiring slathering lust in every male within a thousand-mile radius.
“Don’t you think so?” Posey asked, taking another bite of Super Fudge Chunk. “Didn’t it sound like foreplay when he said it?”
“No more wine for you,” Kate said. “And look. You can always adopt. Look at James and me and how happy we are. The foot rubs that kid gives? Amazing. James! Give Posey a foot rub!”
“No thanks, James,” Posey called, turning her head. Ew. That ice cream–wine combo might not have been the best idea after all. “About James, Kate… Maybe a little less mother-boy time, don’t you think?” Posey offered another spoonful of ice cream to her dog. One lick of the giant tongue, and the ice cream was gone.
“Oh, save it. I already know. Signed him up for some mentoring thing. Big Brothers or the Boys and Girls Club or whatever. Guess who he got?”
“Whom? Whom did he get, Teacher. Please.”
“I teach gym. We’re not famous for grammar.” Kate drained her wine. “He got that guy. Used to play for the Red Sox. You know the one.”
“No, Kate, I don’t know.”
“The cute one with the sloping forehead. Looks like a hot Neanderthal? Matt Damon?”
“Do you mean Johnny Damon?”
“I don’t know. Hockey’s my sport. Anyway, James has a role model with a penis. I hope everyone’s happy now.” She shifted again. “I happen to think James is the best person on the face of the earth. I might be doing a great job.”
Posey softened. “You are, Kate. He is. He’s great.”