“I want to kill him!” he said between gritted teeth.
“Sebastian, please don’t.”
“Don’t what?” he snarled.
“Make things harder for me.”
He blinked, his expression changing from fury to hurt.
“How am I making things harder? I just want to help. I love you!”
“I know that, but right now what I need is for you to be calm and in control. If you keep charging in on your white horse to save me, people will start to notice.” If they haven’t already. “And the last thing, the last thing I need right now is for anyone to see you treating me as anything other than just another member here. Do you understand?”
“Of course I understand: I’m not a fucking idiot!”
“Good. Then please tell me why you’re here, making a scene in front of that receptionist, when Ches was looking after me?”
Every emotion was transparent as it scrolled across his face: surprise, anger, hurt – again – and then understanding and shame.
“I’m sorry. It’s just… I go a little a crazy when I think you’re hurt.”
“I know, tesoro. I understand, but can you see how that makes things harder for me?”
“Yeah, I get it. Sorry.”
“Okay. Then just hold me.”
He pulled our bodies together and we stood in silence, feeling the tension ebb and flow.
“Okay?” I asked, stroking his cheek.
He took a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
He didn’t look fine: he looked stressed out and worried.
“Okay. I’ll text you later – hopefully to tell you that I’ve found a room.”
He sketched a smile.
“Stay out of trouble till then?” I said softly.
“I’ll try,” he said, forcing a grin, “but I’m not making any promises.”
I kissed him gently and walked back through the lobby, avoiding the over-curious eyes of Nancy.
I was so distracted that I narrowly avoided walking smack bang into Brenda as she sashayed through the main doors.
“Hi, Barbara!” I called cheerfully as I walked down the steps.
“It’s Brenda!” she snarled.
It really is the little things in life that matter.
Chapter 17
The first room to rent was a shithole that I wouldn’t even have let David sleep in. Well, probably not.
Apart from the fact that the landlord answered the door in a knit undershirt that looked like it had last month’s breakfast down it, and talked to my cleavage rather than my face, the room he showed me smelled of cabbage and cat wee and the carpet was tacky under my shoes. I didn’t even want to think about the stains on the bare mattress that was introduced to me as the bed but in fact was nearer to something that had been plucked from a landfill site sometime during the last year.
The second room in a hip part of downtown was perfect: small but clean, in a house shared with two mature law students, Phyl and Beth. I put down a $60 retainer and drove away two parts happy, promising I’d be back tomorrow.
They hadn’t probed too hard into why I was looking for a room, but they were bright women and I’m sure they’d put two and two together during our brief conversation.
When I got home (and I wouldn’t be using that word for much longer), I was surprised to see that David had been back: the evidence being dishes in the sink and a full basket of his dirty clothes next to the washing machine. He’d obviously waited until I’d gone out to make a stealthy return. That made two of us then. Two cowards locked in a loveless marriage.
But not for much longer.