Page 89 of Pin-up Girl

What? Funny how Regina didn’t mention that to me. My irritation surged. I wanted to call Regina, or turn the truck around and go back to ask her what the fuck, but not in front of Dee.

“What else did you do yesterday?” I asked.

Dee shrugged. “Packed up all my stuff in the old house.”

That confirmed for me, Regina’s Park City place was the old house as of today, apparently. I hated hearing that hint of resentment in Dee’s voice.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.

“Not really.”

Excellent. Not.

We drove in silence the rest of the way home. I was bringing her bags into the house when a small moving truck pulled up out front.

“That’s where we put my stuff from the old house.” Dee sounded dispassionate.

Fucking Regina. What was I going to do with a second set of Dee’s furniture, without any warning? “Which furniture do you want to use?” I asked as the driver approached the house.

Dee scowled. “I don’t want anything from Mom if she hates me.”

“Mom loves you.” I hated saying that without being able to explain the nuance behind it. “She just shows it differently. She sent your things so you’d have familiar here if you wanted it.” Or Regina sent them because offloading them on me without warning was easier than figuring things out on her own. That was for the phone call and inevitable fight, later.

“Sure she does.” Dee turned away. “I don’t want any of that crap.” She stormed to her room.

“Dee.”

“You Clint?” The driver had reached the door.

I swallowed a growl and faced him. “I am.”

“Where do you want this stuff?”

“Honestly? Don’t know yet. No one warned me it was coming.”

The driver shook his head. “Not my job. Not my problem. I’ll stick it in the driveway.”

“No reason to do that if I’m going to have you move it again in half an hour.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I have another appointment this afternoon. I’ll leave it in your driveway.”

Fuck.

I watched in frustration, and listened to Regina’s phone ring and go to voicemail again and again, as a kid’s bedroom set was stacked on the concrete in front of my garage.

Regina wasn’t answering, and I refused to leave her a message. If I wanted anything I shouted at her to be real time, and it wasn’t as if she would wonder why I was calling.

Aubrey arrived while the mover was finishing things off—she was here to talk to Dee about modifying the shirts from Brodie for dance. She looked between him and me. “Impromptu yard sale?” She sounded skeptical.

That was tempting. “Fucking Regina. I don’t have any idea where to put it.”

The mover closed up his truck.

Aubrey grabbed her phone, as the mover walked toward us.

He shoved a clipboard in my face.

I didn’t want to sign it, but it wasn’t his fault my ex-wife pulled this shit.

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