Page 43 of Saving Ren
He shrugs, my eyes back on him, his on the road.
“Understandable. I know you said last night you were planning on leaving him, but you obviously weren’t expecting all of this.” He points his finger, moving it up and down in my general direction as he talks.
“I honestly wasn’t expecting anything about the way my life has gone this past year. Believe it or not, I’ve usually got my shit together. I’m just a normal, boring Peninsula housewife. My life has never before been such an unmitigated disaster. . . or, to put it bluntly, such a shit show.”
“I don’t think that under any circumstances you could be described as normal or boring.”
“That’s very nice of you to say, but I can assure you, that’s exactly what I am.”
We’re both quiet for a minute or two. The bay on one side of us, houses set high amongst the cliffs on the other. Supertramp’s ‘Breakfast in America’ plays in the background. It’s an old song, one of my dad’s favourites that I haven’t heard in years. I’m instantly reminded of the first man I ever loved and wonder what his reaction would be to what’s happened to me when, in the moment of relative quiet, I become aware of the fact I’m shaking so badly, my entire body feels like it’s vibrating.
I lower my window further, but the cool air does nothing to clear my fuzzy head or ease my churning stomach.
“I think. . . I’m sorry, can you pull over?”
Gabe swings the car to the opposite side of the road, and I have the door open before he comes to a stop. Forgetting how high up I am, I collapse in a heap of pain onto the tarmac. Not having time to right myself before I heave, I remain on my knees as I lean forward and vomit.
I’m empty, so there’s really not much to bring up. After a few more dry heaves, I’m done. Both my eyes and nose are streaming from the effort, and I swipe at them quickly before taking the bottle of water Gabe is offering me.
He’s already removed the lid, which I appreciate, so I rinse my mouth and spit a couple of times before taking a few small sips, all without making eye contact with him.
He crouches down beside me, putting us at eye level, and giving me no option but to meet his gaze. I’m still shaking, my teeth chatter together as I attempt to offer him a smile.
“Like I said, just normal and boring. Nothing to see here.”
Sliding his hands under my armpits, he gently helps me to stand. My head spins, and I sway. Gabe pulls me into him and wraps his arms across my back.
“Fucking hell, Lauren, you’re shaking. I think this might be a little bit of shock setting in. Let’s get you home and into bed.”
“I need a shower,” I protest.
“You can do that too, shower or bath, whatever helps. Let’s just get you home.”
He practically lifts me back into the car, and it’s only two or three minutes later that we’re facing a set of electric gates in the process of sliding back.
As the truck slows, I take in the circular driveway. It goes past the front of the house and back around, so you come in and go out of the same set of gates. In the middle are a pool and a small building I can’t make out in the dark. The house is double storey and set back from the edge of the driveway, about halfway around it.
“Wait there, I don’t want you adding any more bruises,” he orders.
“I thought my last exit was pretty spectacular.” All I get in response are raised brows and a head shake.
We enter through a set of double timber doors into a wide entryway. There’s a rattan chair in the corner, a piece of art on the wall, and a surfboard leaning next to it.
Taking these things in helps slow down my breathing and gets the shaking under control. Interior design is my thing, observing and taking mental stock of his home and contents are what calm me, it’s not a method I’ve ever used before, but right now, I’m realising it works.
There’s a long hallway to the left of a set of stairs, and if his house is anything like what’s typical of those by the beach, the living areas will all be upstairs to take in the views of the bay.
“You okay to get up the stairs?” His question confirms my thoughts.
“Yeah, it’s my soul and self-respect that are broken, not my legs.”
He flips on a couple of lights, illuminating the stairs. When I reach the top, Gabe flips on another light somewhere behind me, revealing a large open plan, kitchen, dining, and living area. There are floor-to-ceiling timber bi-fold doors at the front of the space, which, I assume, lead out to the deck running the length of the house, I saw on the way in.
“You want a drink of anything?”
I turn to him with raised brows and wide eyes.
“Drink?” I question.
