Page 150 of Ewan

“What makes you think he’s drunk?”

“He fell when he climbed out of the car.”

“Was he driving?”

“A cab dropped him off. And now he’s in front of the house howling like a wolf in need of a root canal. I don’t know what his problem is, but he’s loud.”

What the fuck?

“Can you talk to him?”

“I did, and he started to cry. I think the other woman broke up with him.”

Ugh. Fury rams through me.

“Can you ask him to go home?”

“I did that too, and he said he’d sleep on the threshold until you get back home. He’s there, curled up, groaning and crying. He needs help.

My hand sweats around my phone as my teeth grit.

I can’t believe him.

What is wrong with this guy? And when has he become the gift that keeps on giving?

I though we were done.

He was such a dick when he came to my house, and now he wants to make a fool of himself and drag me into his drama again for whatever reason.

I can’t go home to deal with him.

And if Ewan deals with him again, he might be fished out of the water tomorrow morning if they ever find his body.

“Can you put him on the phone?” I ask, frantically looking at the motel entrance, expecting Ewan to show up at any moment now.

“Sure. That’s what good neighbors are for,” she mumbles, and I make a mental note to buy her something nice for Christmas.

I count the seconds, listening to the sounds coming from the other end of the line.

A door opens and closes before steps move from her place to mine.

“She’s on the phone,” Mrs. Eisenhower says to him. “Talk to her.”

She must hand him her phone as I hear him on the line.

“Joachim? What happened?”

“I need to talk to you,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“No, you don’t. Please go home. We’re not together anymore.”

A few moments pass, and I hope he’s reconsidering making an ass of himself in front of my place.

“Who was that man?” he asks.

Oh, please don’t tell me I’m suddenly interesting because I have someone else in my life.

“No one.”

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