"It was a joke."
I didn't know whether she meant her crack about the chicken or the fact she refused to take the threat seriously. Either way, I was done messing around. "So, what day works for you?"
"For what?"
"For the security system, just like I said."
She searched my face. "Why are you doing this?"
I could've said the truth – that if something happened to her, I'd never forgive myself. But to keep it simple, I replied, "For safety. Why else?"
She made a sound – a half laugh, a half sob – that went straight to my gut. Looking ready to lose it, she asked, "Is it because you feel guilty?"
I wasn't following. "Guilty for what?"
Her chin lifted. "I don't know. You tell me."
I couldn't, because I didn't know either, unless I was supposed to apologize for living in a dump.That wasn't gonna happen.I hadn't apologized as a kid, and I sure as hell wouldn't be starting now.
Slowly, I picked up the wrench and turned it in my hand. "If you're waiting for some kind of apology, you'll be waiting a while."
She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
And now I felt like a dick.Shit. Ihadbeen a dick.But I was no liar.
One time in high school, I'd met this girl at a fair. She'd been soft and sweet – a lot like Maisie. We'd dated for maybe a month, and then I'd taken her home to meet Mom.
Big mistake.
Mom was terrific.
The girl, not so much.
She'd wrinkled her nose at the kitchen and asked my mom if she could read.
The girl didn't even realize she was being mean.My mom was pure country, but that didn't mean she was dumb.She loved books the way some women love shoes. And yeah, our trailer was small, and the kitchen was cluttered, but that didn't mean it wasn't clean.
I'd dumped the girl thirty minutes later – the amount of time it took to return her safely to her parents' porch.And that porch?It was attached to a big-ass house on the lake.
She'd cried.
I hadn't.
And now, over a decade later, the eyes filling with tears belonged to Maisie.
Something in my gut twisted. "Maisie…"
She held up a hand. "Don't say it."
"Don't say what?"
"Don't say anything." Her breath hitched. "Let's just end it, okay?" And with that, she turned and pushed her way through the connecting door, leaving me staring after her.
The scent of her hand lotion – vanilla with almond – lingered in the quiet space. It smelled like happiness and peace and everything in-between.
I dropped the wrench and took two steps to follow. But then I made myself stop.
She'd said it.Not me.