I had to hurt him. I had to lie. I had to get on his level, and make him know this pain.
My hand shook above the note on the counter. After all these lies, what was one more? I swallowed, and then I scribbled a line at the bottom of the page: P.S. I slept with Seth.
Chapter 36
MATT
Mel followed me through the cabin as I packed.
I didn’t have much—just a duffel bag of clothes and toiletries, a few books, my laptop, and my writing supplies. I moved the perishable food to the freezer. I made my bed.
In my mind, I said good-bye to each room.
The master bathroom where I fucked Hannah in the tub.
The bedroom where we made love all night.
The guest bedroom, which I considered “Mel’s room.”
The cellar where I hid Kevin’s broken chair.
Good-bye.
I lingered in the open main room, the kitchen and living room with its many windows. Afternoon sunlight lay along the floor. It glanced off the counters and gleamed on my desk, which was not really my desk.
But it had been my desk, as much as anything belongs to anyone. I sat there and did good work. And when I needed a break …
I walked out onto the deck. Mel lurked, my petite shadow.
“Your hand,” she whispered.
I glanced at my hand. Something was broken; I’d made sure of that. Maybe a knuckle. Maybe one of those long fine bones between the joints. Nate would know, though I didn’t particularly care. I just wanted the pain—hard and real and punishing.
A pain to keep me in the present moment.
A pain to keep me from losing it, because losing it is the easy way out.
“It feels fine,” I lied.
I adjusted the bandage around my palm. It was Mel’s handiwork, a bulky mess of gauze and medical tape. I’d called Mel as soon as I got off the phone with Hannah. I said we needed to get to Denver—now—and then I started packing with one hand, swearing every time my swollen knuckles grazed a wall.
By the time Mel arrived, my hand was puffy and wine red.
“You’re sad,” Mel insisted, her small voice bringing me back to reality.
I shrugged. It seemed like a good sign that I wasn’t manic with urgency, and it also seemed like a bad sign. Like I was resigned. Like I was going back to Denver the way people return to a burnt home—not to salvage it, but to wade through the wreckage and suffer.
This. Is. Over. We. Are. Over.
“Not sad, Mel. Just saying my good-byes.”
I looked to the mountains, which were magnificent with snow and sunlight. They were horrible, too, because I almost died there. Good-bye. Good-bye to the aching silence and this white, unembellished peace. The incredible wind. The night full of coyotes, their ululating cries like laughter, and owls calling in the dark. Good-bye.
Melanie joined me at the railing.
That day, she wore her boots with fur flaps and her fur-trimmed canvas jacket.
“I thought you were scared of good-byes,” she said.
“I’m not scared of them. Why are you so happy? Don’t you know what this means?”
“I’m not happy.” She hunkered into her jacket. “I’m … accepting, I guess. I knew you couldn’t pay me to keep you company forever.”
I smirked and turned to really look at Melanie. Silly girl.
“I paid you to drive me,” I said. “The company, I hope, was free of charge.”
She smiled. “Yeah. It was.”
“Mm … I thought so.” Because we would be parting ways soon and there would be nothing more between us, I slid my fingers into Mel’s hair. The red mop felt as I’d imagined: heavy and glossy. She laughed while I fluffed her hair, but I could see her disappointment.
“This is all I get, huh?” She rolled her eyes up toward my hand.
“Yes.”
“You won’t kiss me?”
“No.”
“How about a hug?”
I tilted my head, frowned, and then I pulled her little body to mine. She wrapped her arms around my waist. She felt smaller than she looked. Fragile. “Listen, Mel. After you drop me off, I want you to go home. You understand that?”