Page 64 of Nothing But It All
I was going to do exactly what she said I’d do. I didn’t even think about it.
I toss my keys onto the dresser. They clatter against the wood. Relief flows through my body at the decision being made.
“Handle it, Tommy.”
“What do you mean ‘handle it’?”
“Handle it. Do your best. If he gives us a fine, I’ll deal with it when I get back.”
There’s a long pause. “So ... you’re not coming back?”
“Nope. I’m here with my family. You’re in charge back there. Figure it out, all right?”
“Cool,” he says, not bothering to hide his surprise. “I got it. Go enjoy your family.”
I grin. “Talk to you later.”
“Later.”
The line goes dead.
I hold the phone in my hand and force all thoughts of work out of my mind.The shop will be fine without me. My family might not.I toss my phone on the bed.
“Fuck it,” I say, going down the hall.
Lauren’s book is on her chest when I walk in the room. Her brows are pinched together.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, heading to the fridge.
She clears her throat, starting to pull her leg from the pillows. I lift a brow and she freezes. I go back to the fridge.
“I wasn’t eavesdropping,” she says, settling against the sofa again. “But the cabin is so quiet, you know, and your voice drifts through the place.”
“Okay?” I slide out a package of hamburger meat and toss it on the counter. “What about it?”
“Are you going back to the shop?”
The question is straightforward—an inquiry about my intentions about work. But that’s not all it is.
It’s an inquiry as to whether I’ve been listening.
My chest constricts as I come to terms with her expectations.She expects me to leave.
I glance at her over my shoulder, and the tightness around my lungs leaves little room for air.I’m sorry for doing this to you, Lo.
Billie’s advice rolls through my head. In typical Billie fashion, it made sense ... mostly.
“I’ll put it in Jack terms. Do you even have a marriage maintenance plan?”
I laugh at her. “A what?”
“You’re a mechanic. How often do you recommend people have their cars checked for oil, brakes, whatever?”
“Once a year, at least. Or whenever something seems wrong.”
“When is the last time you did that with Lauren?”
My laughter subsides.
