Page 52 of Good Guy Gabe

Evan frowns and glances around the room nervously. “Look, I don’t know her. What her husband did—”

“Her husband. Not her.”

Evan holds his hands up for peace. “I know. If she had left Wilmington, I’m sure that she’d be the most popular person wherever she landed—”

“She couldn’t.” Whether it was because she’d lost everything else and couldn’t sell the house or if she couldn’t let go of that nursery, it’s all the same.

“I know. I’m trying to tell you I’m glad you two found each other. I’m sure she’s a real nice lady because you wouldn’t be with her otherwise, so I’m glad she has you to protect her.”

“She’s not allowed to sit with the other wives.”

“Aw, man.” Evan scratches his head helplessly, fluffing up his red-tipped mohawk. We all thought he’d grow out of that after joining the NFL and having a kid, but he just changed the color from Wilm State navy to Jugs red. “I didn’t ask for that. I know Keira didn’t either.” But the way his face reddens to a shade closer to his hair makes me think they had a hand in it.

I’ve been catching on to the fact that Joss hides stuff from me. I get it, she’s her own person and has dealt with so much on her own already. But I’m going to need to talk with her about transparency. It’s not just us now; it’s a baby, too. And not that she wasn’t more justified in keeping stuff from me before, but now I’ve got the best reason ever for why I need to know these things.

So now I’m wondering what Keira has done. I believe Evan that neither of them asked for Joss to get kicked out of the section, but I’ve got three sisters. I’ve seen Mean Girls. I know how skilled women can be at manipulating situations to ostracize others.

But I’m not going to make accusations.

“I know you didn’t. This came from upstairs. Joss is bad PR. But she’s all alone right now, and her friends travel a lot. She had to bring two grannies with her today. And obviously I’m not going to expect Keira to be friends with her, but I need Keira tonotbe driving the other wives away from her, okay?”

There’s no way for me to say this without it being an attack on Keira. Keira’s a mama bear. She’s telling the other wives because she thinks she’s protecting them.

I don’t care.

I push harder. “I can’t watch her every second of the day, and I’m scared. You get that, yeah? You get that I need to protect her. She’s carrying my child, and I need her here so I can protect her. But I can’t protect her if I can’t see her, and I can’t go against Coach, so I need everyone else watching out for her, just checking in. And that’s not going to happen if everyone thinks they’re picking a side simply by walking down a couple sections and saying a couple of nice words to my girl.”

Evan sighs. He swallows a lump in his throat, thinks on it a moment longer, and nods. “I’ll talk to Keira.”

December rolls in with a frigid snap that leaves the morning lawn frosted in white. I pour myself a cup of coffee from the coffeemaker I upgraded Joss to after her obstetrician assured us she could continue to have her morning and late-morning coffee. Joss is still asleep, but I set up the espresso pod and pour milk into the little pitcher for her to make her cappuccino when she wakes up.

I yawn and stretch as I stare out her kitchen window at her crystallized back lawn, glittering in the scant dawn sunlight. It seems darker than it should be, but that’s December.

I frown, though, when I realize that itisdarker than it should be. Across the lawn, the barn is dark in a way I can’t immediately put my finger on. I can barely read the words painted on the window inviting people to come on in, words I’ve stared at in the dark on so many nights.

It must be reflective paint, but there’s no light for the paint to reflect. There should be, even in the middle of the night. Joss has a soft light over that window. The bulb must have blown.

I know Joss has no plans on going downstairs until at least midday. She’s changed her schedule to make sure we haveTuesdays off together, and the first trimester is kicking her butt. She assures me that by the New Year, she should be vomiting way less and back to full energy, but in the meantime, she doesn’t argue over the chores I’ve quietly taken over for her.

I wedge my feet into the pair of boots I have stashed in the closet at the top of the stairs, warily eying the lack of door there for the millionth time. I throw on my hoodie, grab a box of lightbulbs, and shuffle down the stairs.

Harsh winds hit me as I step outside. The buildings make a wind tunnel. This place needs so many renovations — like that missing door — to make it what I’d consider baby safe that I wonder if it’s worth it when there are perfectly good houses nearby we could buy. But the more I think about it, the more I know deep down in my gut that Joss is going to want to stay here. She’s a phoenix; this is the site of her demise, but it’s also the site of her resurrection.

Around the corner from the current entrance to the house is the footprint of a demolished deck, the rectangle of out-of-place wall marking where an exterior door once was on Joss’s apartment. We could rebuild the deck and add that door back in, make safer stairs or even a ramp. A little cubby for the raccoon to nest in since Joss promises me it’s had a rabies vaccine.

I flip the collar up on my flannel and pause there next to her house, sending a quick text over to Merrick telling him he needs to come help me clean up the mums that are going to wilt now that winter’s hit. He’ll piss and moan and refuse, but he’ll make everyone else come over, and then he’ll get lonely and show up an hour later.

I nudge at the mum next to me with the toe of my boot, shaking the surprisingly heavy frost off it, except a bit of it shatters loudly when it hits the concrete path. It’s not frost at all.

I glance back at the house, at the light fixture next to the door. It’s been smashed.

It’s outdoors and not well protected; a bird could have flown up into it and accidentally shattered it. A lot of people pass by here with tools of the quilting trade stuffed in bags, and some of that stuff is big and unwieldy. It wouldn’t surprise me if a particularly clumsy customer accidentally shattered it. With the wind tunnel, it wouldn’t even be so outlandish for some bit of debris to get kicked up and hit it just right.

But this isn’t the only light that’s out.

I jog down the path to the barn and find another pile of glass beneath the light fixture. Around to the front of the shop, the two lights next to the front door and even the lamppost in the lawn have all been shattered. The worst damage is that post, the entire fixture having been knocked off.

Light is security. Criminals knock lightbulbs out before they commit far worse crimes, sometimes well in advance so it’s not so obvious. This could be the preamble to a big problem, one I might not be around for. I can’t take her with me on trips, not other than the upcoming Minnesota game because of the special clearance I got for it since we’re staying in town, so I won’t be able to protect her.

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