Page 60 of The Tenant
“How do you know Whitney?” I ask as casually as possible.
He hesitates for a split second. “She works at that diner, Cosmo’s. I love that place.”
I guess that makes sense. Except what were they talking about for all that time? I can’t exactly ask though. “So what’s this about?”
“Listen, Blake.” He shoves his hands into the pockets of the trench coat he has on over his suit. “I want to apologize for the way I acted when we got together at Cooper’s. I know you’ve been going through a lot, and I was a jerk.”
“Okay…” His apology seems sincere, but the timing is strange. “So that’s why you’re here? To apologize?”
Malcolm is fumbling around in his coat pocket. At first, I’m thinking he is trying to figure out what to say, but then I realize he’s looking for something. After a few seconds, he pulls out a blue velvet box, and my heart sinks.
“No,” I murmur. “No.”
“I’m so sorry, Blake,” he says.
“No.” I take a step back, like the velvet box is made of poison. “I’m not taking that from you. This isnothow she ends our engagement.”
“It’s not over.” He tries to rest a hand on my shoulder, and I shrug him off. “She said she just needs space, and she wanted you to have this back. She said… She thought the money from selling it might help make ends meet.”
I hate that she’s right. The money I could get from selling that ring could tide me over for another month or two. But then what? I’ll still end up losing everything.
“Blake…” Malcolm’s face is full of pity. “She still has feelings for you. You just have to give her some time.”
I swallow hard. “You need to go.”
“Blake…”
“Just…go.Now.”
I have cried one time in the last ten years, and that’s when my mother died. But I’m coming damn close to doing it right now. And I don’t want it to happen in front of Malcolm.
He gently places the velvet box on the coffee table. He takes one last look in my direction, and then he slips out the front door.
The second the door clicks shut, I drop down onto the sofa and bury my face in my hands. No.No. It can’t end this way. I have to see her. I have to talk to her.
I grab my phone from my pocket. Before I can overthink it, I tap out a text to her:
I need to see you, Krista.
Those bubbles appear on the screen, and I hold my breath, hoping she’s going to answer me. I hope she tells me that I can see her.
I don’t think that’s a good idea.
Bullshit. If she thinks she can break up with me via Malcolm, she’s got another thing coming. I look down at my watch—there are still another three hours until the dry cleaner opens. She’s almost certainly still home. My hands are shaking as I type the next message:
I’m coming over to Becky’s house right now. I have to see you.
I stare at the screen, waiting for her to threaten to call the police on me. I don’t know what I’ll do if she says that. I don’t want to get arrested, especially since I’m already worried that the detective I talked to yesterday is suspicious of me. So I add:
Please.
I grip the phone, waiting for her reply, which comes a few seconds later:
OK. Come in an hour.
I have just enough time to shower.
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