Page 2 of See You Sometime
I can really pick ’em.
So when her mom had said, “Come home to Sarasota,” Skye quit trying to find reasons to stay in Pennsylvania and be “independent.”
Fuck that shit, sideways, with a rusty spork.
She wanted her mom and dad, and was beyond giving any fucks who knew it.
Having hit the big four-oh a few weeks back, and spending it alone and getting her dog’s fur all snotty from crying, wasn’t merely rock-bottom.
It was a screaming beacon from the Universe that she never should have fallen for Kelly—short for Kellog—Carling, drop-dead Dom or not.
Damn sure never should have married him.
Double damn sure never should have stayed with him for fifteen years, especially after realizing what a superlative douchey damn Dom he was, cheating sleazeball extraordinaire.
Thank god I didn’t have kids with him.
* * * *
It took the wrecker an hour to get there, and when it did, it was too small to hook up to the truck.
Of course.
So she had to wait while he called in a bigger wrecker to get the truck. Luckily, he unloaded her car for her, because he’d haul the hauler while the bigger wrecker got the truck. The company had already moved another truck, slightly bigger than this one, to the facility they were towing her to so she could…
Fuck.
Me.
Unload and reload the truck.
She’d paid the college guys renting the townhouse next door to help her move. She’d boxed everything up, neatly labeled, and tagged the furniture going, which was most of it. It was one of the few things the prenup had stipulated she could have free choice of in the divorce, and by-fucking-god she’d opted to take as much of it as she could cram into a goddamned moving truck, because Cheaterhead Cheapskate Carling damn sure would have a heart attack when he looked at price tags while trying to replace it.
It’d been one of the few things he’d given her free rein on during their marriage, and he hadn’t cared how much it cost. It made him look good and reflected well upon him, which was all that mattered.
And two hours later, as she sat on the warm parking lot concrete and stared at the two trucks she’d have to unload and load, and cried into Barksley’s furagain, her dad tried to calm her down on the other end of the phone from Sarasota.
“Honey, is there anyone there who can help you?”
“Just the wrecker guys, but I’m down to less than a thousand in my account, and I still need gas money to get this thing to Florida, and—”
“Offer to buy them pizza and beer or dinner or something. Sweetheart, this will be okay.”
At least she had a job waiting for her in Sarasota, even if she would be moving in with her ’rents until she could get back on her feet.
They unhooked her moving truck from the wrecker and backed the replacement up to it, only a couple of feet between them.
The first wrecker guy who’d responded walked over once she’d ended her conversation with her dad and she sat there, still sniffling.
“Ma’am, are you okay?”
She started to nod, but it turned into a shake of her head, then more snot-sobbing tears that probably had the poor guy afraid for her.
Or maybe for himself.
She started bawling, babbling about Kelly—short for Kellog—and her battlefield of a divorce, and how her life was shit…
Then he knelt in front of her and smiled. “Honey, it’s okay. I have a daughter about your age. What are you, twenty-nine? Thirty? It gets easier. We’ll help you move your stuff over. You don’t have to pay us.”
