Page 70 of Show Me How
“What are you doing here?” she asks, a glow in her eyes that almost makes me laugh.
“Have you seen Millie? She wasn’t at her place.”
“I dropped her off at the laundry cabin a half hour ago. She had quite the stack of clothes to wash.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, that isn’t surprising.”
“You know, she could probably use some company. Those machines are so old they take hours to finish up.”
“Ever thought of upgrading them?” I ask, knowing the answer already.
“The new ones aren’t built to last as long as these old ones were. They’d break in a year with how often they’re used, and then I’d be left figuring out how to sell pictures of my toes on the internet to snag some cash,” she harumphs.
“I’m sure your feet are worth millions, Shelly.”
With a pat to my shoulder, she winks. “Go on now. Bring her whatever it is you’re hiding there.”
“Nothing gets past you,” I tease, already moving around her.
“Not much, that’s for sure. It was nice to see you, sweetie.”
“Hey, Shelly?” I call before she can get more than two steps away.
She pauses, glancing at me over her shoulder. “Yes?”
“Can you have Kirk come out and stabilize the porch steps at Millie’s cabin? They’re wobbly.”
“Of course. He’ll get out there today. Anything else?” she asks, smirking like she’s just been told some kind of secret.
“Nah, that’s it. Thanks, Shelly. Have a good rest of your day.”
Chuckling, I wave at her before turning and continuing down the road.
Fuck, I haven’t been to the campground this many times since I was a kid. Walking down these paths and roads and smelling the clean mountain air has me feeling a way I haven’t since. It’s impossible to be uptight around here, like the breeze moving through the trees carries more than just a sense of security. Freedom and peace too.
The last cabin along the road was built up on a small hill, hidden by thick trees and a few raspberry bushes. It’s the most secluded one, lacking so much as a drive up to the front. The only way to reach the door is to climb up through the small path in the woods, which is why Rowe stayed there for a large chunk of time once he got out of prison. Nobody but me and Shelly knewhe was here. Not even Ash. We kept it that way because we knew he wasn’t ready then to take on the town or his family. Nobody could blame him for that.
I pass the cabin and follow the curve in the road to the small lodge with the old Laundry sign hung above the door. There’s a loud bang from inside it, and I pick up my pace. It rings out again, this time followed by an enraged shout. I’m completely ignoring the steps and hopping onto the small landing before tearing the door open.
The sight at the back of the cabin stops me in my tracks, one foot still in the doorway. Keeping silent, I watch a dishevelled Millie smack her palm to the edge of the washing machine. With her hair tied up on her head, she brings her knee to the front of it and growls.
The sweatpants she’s wearing take me aback more than her frustration does. They drown her, making her legs look half their size. And with the black hoodie—mine—sagging down her torso, she very well might get suffocated in the weight of the fabric.
There’s a beige bag resting on the floor beside her that’s half slouching, half standing as clothes droop out the side. Only the washer door is open. Millie grabs the edge of the machines and heaves in a breath before dropping her head. My stomach pangs at the sight, and I go to move when she brings the toe of her shoe to the washer again, kicking it gentler this time.
“What am I doing?” she mumbles, her arms tugging wide as she pulls a pant leg out from where it’s gotten stuck inside the other. “It’s just laundry. Just clothes.”
When she yanks hard, the pant leg makes a ripping noise. She sucks in a breath and whips the pants into the washer, her arms shooting out to the side, where she grips the sides of the machines again.
I watch her closely while shutting the screen door behind me, careful not to let her hear it. She’d run if she knew I waswatching right now. I’d lose this chance to see her without her guard up.
A few coins jingle in her palm when she inhales deeply and reaches into her sweatpants, pulling them free. They fall to the top of the dryer, and then she starts sorting through them. Her laundry bag is still full, and the longer she ignores it, the more it’s slouching, slipping as the sweater hanging out of it pulls it down.
Once it falls over, she abandons the coins and drops to a crouch in front of it. Too busy shovelling the clothes back inside, she doesn’t notice the quarters rolling off the edge of the dryer and disappearing in the gap between the machine and the wall. Her reaction is silent. Instead of yelling again, she abandons the clothes and runs her hands over her face, pressing them against her eyes as she lets go of a long exhale.
There’s a rough shake to her body that rips my feet from their place on the floor, forcing me forward. It was only one shake, barely noticeable. The kind that hints at the effort it takes to hold back a sob.
I abandon the door and go right for where she’s crouched, a broken breath escaping her.
