Grabbing a wrench, I start to work on the truck’s alternator. “Yeah, we always have. But some things have changed.”
“Maybe in your life, but your issues aren’t fucking up mine. You better show up or I might have to kick your ass.” He waits for me to respond. “Elin’s not coming, if that helps.”
“Where’s she going?” I ask too quickly.
“Some teaching thing or something,” he says, his voice on the bridge of a laugh. “So be here.”
“We’ll see.”
He leans under the hood with me, holding a wire out of my way. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye.
“By the way,” I say, smirking. “You can’t whip my ass. Let’s not get it twisted.”
He laughs, smacking my shoulder. Walking out of the barn, he leaves me with his broken truck and my thoughts of the woman I love too much to even love at all.
ELIN
The back door groans as I push it open into the kitchen. Letting it swing shut behind me, I sit my bag brimming with papers I need to grade on the kitchen counter. The thump resonates through the room, bouncing off the buttery-colored walls that Ty and I took forever choosing.
“I love this color!” I squeal, holding up a color swatch and flashing it in front of his face. “It would be perfect in the kitchen of our new house.”
“It looks like piss.” He grabs my wrist to stop the sample from waiving erratically.
“It does not,” I pout. “It’s beautiful.”
Instead of pulling the sample out of my hand, he tugs me closer to him. Leaning down, his lips hover inches from mine. “The color is piss, Mrs. Whitt. But if you like it, then we’ll take it, because my eyes won’t be on it when I’m in there. They’ll be on you.”
I can feel the heat of his kiss lingering on my lips, even nearly seven years later, as my heart rapid-fires in my chest. He always let me have what I wanted, always made me feel like the only person in the world that mattered.
How did things go so terribly wrong?
The room feels empty, so barren, even with the knickknacks sitting on the counters and the dishes from last night’s dinner in the sink. It’s my home, but it doesn’t feel comforting. There’s no contentment to be found here.
It’s been this way since he left. Even though I’ve purged the room of all of his physical belongings because I can’t look at them without wanting to curl up in a ball and die, that or throw them into the fire pit out back and burn them to ashes, the little nuances of him still exist and still hit me at hard.
The oil stain on the floor beside the door is still there, a tarry looking spot made by his mine boots lying there after a shift. No amount of cleaner will remove it. I’ve tried them all.
The little basket that hangs under the cabinets is now filled with ink pens and highlighters, not for any reason other than to take the place of Ty’s keys and gum packets. Even though it’s technically not empty now, it feels that way. Because what’s in it isn’t what should be.
His face from only an hour ago pops in my mind, and I squeeze my eyes shut, like somehow that will make it go away. Like the action will barricade his rich, warm voice from echoing in my ears.
The door creaks again and I jump, my eyes jerking to the door, my breath automatically ceasing. I watch and wait for it to swing open, for a knock, for a certain voice to call through the air. Because only two people use that door. Me and Ty.
The wind rattles the glass against the wood and my hopes dash.
“Damn it, Elin,” I mutter, my spirits sinking faster than I can gather them. I don’t miss the defeat in my shoulders or the squiggle in my bottom lip as I glance into the living room. The little hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as I stare at the back of the empty sofa.
“Guess what happened to me today?” I saunter around the sofa and stand with my hands on my hips, trying not to melt down. He looks at me again. “I went to the bank to take some money out of the savings to pay the house insurance.”
His face slips just a bit, the corners of his mouth dropping ever-so-slightly. Forcing a swallow, I suck in a breath and continue.
“There’s over a grand missing from our account.”
I watch him with bated breath, hoping to see him startle or confusion cross his features. He doesn’t look at me. He just watches the television like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.
“Ty?”
“Yeah?” His jaw is set, flexing under his grimace. “I took some cash. What’s the problem?”
“What’s the problem?” I exclaim, my head spinning. “It’s a thousand dollars! It’s the money to start our family! What did you do with it?”
He swings off the sofa, cringing as his weight settles on his leg. “It’s my fuckin’ money too, Elin. I don’t have to explain shit to you.”
“If it were twenty or fifty bucks—hell, if it was a hundred dollars—I’d agree.”
Our heated gazes meet. Mine in disbelief, his in some state of defense that I don’t understand.