Page 53 of Anchored

With a defiance I hadn’t felt in years, I grabbed my keys out of my crossbody purse and headed for my car. Angel was right. I was going home. To do what I wanted to do, dammit.

I didn’t think anything about Dexter’s car being in the parking lot of the apartment we shared. I did roll my eyes though, remembering how he hadn’t bothered to text me back this morning. He required me to answer immediately when he texted, but he told me he didn’t feel the need to keep his phone on him. He’d respond when the spirit led him. The spirit didn’t led him often, it seemed.

Sliding the key in the lock, I opened the door quietly, conditioned to not make much noise, lest I irritate Dexter and shake up his precious chakras. My purse slid silently to the floor and I toed off my shoes. I was headed for the kitchen for some water when I heard a giggle coming from our bedroom. A very feminine giggle.

My nose went numb and my ears went hot. My legs decided to stop working, so I stood there, halfway into the kitchen, that adrift boat Angel had called me. A masculine, familiar groan joined the noises emanating from my bedroom. It took me a ridiculously long amount of time to realize what was happening. I heard way too much of their interaction, my brain filled with images that just didn’t compute.

Until they suddenly did. Probably right when a woman screamed Dexter’s name and he shouted hers. Sabrina. One of the other yoga instructors at our studio. Young. In it to wear tight yoga pants and bend herself into pretzels for the men who frequented her class.

My legs felt like they were learning how to walk again as I stalked to the bedroom. I was no longer adrift. This boat was on fire, riding through the chaotic waves of the storm. I threw open the door, letting it hit the wall.

“Get the fuck out of my house!” I shouted, suddenly not caring at all if I was too loud.

Sabrina shrieked and dove under the covers. Dexter put his hands out, like he could command me to not make a stink about him having an affair.

“It’s not what you think, Maple.”

My eyes went wide, seeing the lump that was Sabrina under my favorite quilt. I really liked that quilt. Now I’d have to burn it. “It’s not you fucking Sabrina in my bed?”

He paused, and that tiny little moment in time was all I needed.

“Get the fuck out!” I screamed again.

“Let her get dressed first, Maple. Be reasonable.” Dexter climbed out of bed, stark naked, a condom still on.

At least he’d used protection. I almost laughed out loud.

“I meant you, jackass. Get your shit and get out. Now.” Dexter came closer and now I held my hands out, warding him away. “I’m not kidding, Dexter. Get out now and don’t come back.”

I walked out of the bedroom to have a seat on my couch. The two came out a few minutes later, dressed and moving quickly. Sabrina wouldn’t meet my gaze as she ran past, shouting a half-hearted apology before the door closed behind her. Dexter lingered, probably thinking he could get me to bend like I always did. I was bendy as shit in yoga. I’d been bendy as shit in my personal life for far too long too.

Today, I was done. Rigid and inflexible sounded like heaven.

“Don’t,” I warned, right as he opened his mouth. He sighed and walked out, the door shutting quietly behind him.

I squeezed my eyes shut and cried the rest of the night.

Not because of his betrayal or the loss of our future together.

I cried because I’d lost myself, and I was only now getting a piece of her back.

ChapterTwenty

Holt

We bring breakfast to Grandpa, spending time with him before we head back to Anchor Lake. He’s his normal self, telling stories over and over again, except for when he stares off into space. I’m not sure if this is part of the dementia or if he’s lost in the memories we delivered to his doorstep. I wonder for the thousandth time if I should have brought Maple here. If I should have brought up Grandpa’s past when it had been buried for decades.

On the trip back home, Maple and I debate if Grandpa will call Gracie at some point. I place my money on no, but Maple is resistant to any negativity. She believes a second-chance, late-in-life romance is just the kind of thing that would happen to Gracie Thatcher, and by the time we get to Anchor Lake, two things are apparent.

One, Maple’s convinced me she’s right.

Two, I’m half in love with this woman.

Only half because I’ve been burned so badly before I can’t fathom that a woman as perfect as Maple actually exists. I’m waiting for her claws to come out, but so far, all I’ve seen is a softness I’m not sure I can live without.

“Do you have patients to see?”

I hold out my hand and help Maple down from the Jeep. Mookie yips from the back, like she thinks we’d forget her. I pull her out of the carrier and strap on the harness and leash. Little dogs running around old people with terrible balance is the thing of nightmares. Mookie has a strict harness-and-leash rule when at Sunny Shores.

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