Page 10 of Revelry
I’d always hated that question, as if what we chose as a career defined every aspect of who we were. It was the first thing I was asked at every party I attended, the first question I thought to ask when I met someone new. One day I’d ask something meaningful, something worth inquiring about in the first place.
“Oh, me? I’m in law school at UW. Taking the summer off. Well,” he said with a chuckle, “as much of a break as you can take studying for the Bar exam, that is.” He winked at me, so proud of himself, so anxious to see my impressed face.
I forced one.
“Wow! I bet that’s really hard.”
“It is,” he continued quickly. “But it’ll be worth it. I’ll be set for life, you know?”
I nodded, but my stomach twisted again. Another man motivated by money. I’d seen that same look on Keith’s face as he finished dental school, right before he started his own practice. He’d lost his boyish charm, his playful smile, his adventurous heart. It’d been replaced by dollar signs and expectations.
“Well, this is me,” I said, gesturing to my driveway. “I guess I’ll see you around, Tucker.”
A wide grin split his face. “I certainly hope so.”
Tucker stood firm, tucking his hands loosely into the pockets of his J Crew Stanton shorts. He didn’t move from that spot until I was all the way inside my cabin, and he threw me one last wave through the window before turning back for Davie and Yvette’s.
I rolled my eyes, blowing out a loud breath as my head fell back against the door. Rev jumped up onto the kitchen counter with a ragged meow and a rather unimpressed look on his little face.
I laughed.
“Tell me about it.”
MINISCULE
min·is·cule
Adjective
Very small
I’d made it through another day.
Another tick on the calendar, another measurement of time, of life. I’d survived, and that was all I could ask for.
My muscles ached under the stream of hot water as I showered off the day. Years of bending and lifting and working were catching up to me more and more, but I didn’t mind. Pain didn’t bother me, not as much as numbness did.
I pulled on a pair of sweatpants when I was dry and grabbed a Q-tip, towel draped over my shoulder as I walked downstairs to make tea. It was something Dani always did at night, right before bed. She’d put a pot of water on and we’d all choose our own flavors, and we’d sit on the back porch and drink and talk. Eventually, Dani would pull out her book to read and Aunt Rose would make her way up to bed. Half the time, I’d spike my tea and bug Dani or get drunk enough to wander down the road and find trouble. It was never too hard for me to do.
But now I just made it because it reminded me of her, of a past life, of what I’d had when I didn’t even realize it and what I’d lost and missed every day since.
Once the pot was on the stove, I toweled off my hair and cleaned the grime from inside my ears before tossing the Q-tip in the trash. It was just another day, another night, and soon I’d be asleep and could start all over again. Not even the new blonde in town could change that fact, though she did throw a wrench in my day.
I wasn’t sure what it was about her that even made me stop. I’d seen plenty of tourists rent out the cabins around here, plenty of girls in cut-off shorts and shoes not fit for cabin life. But it wasn’t her clothes or her hair that I thought about as the pot of water whistled its readiness through my kitchen. It was her eyes.
They were eyes that had lived, eyes that had hurt.
I knew, because I had them, too.
A knock sounded at my front door just as I moved the pot of water off the burner and I frowned, glancing up at the clock.
Who the hell would be at my door this time of night? Or at all?
When I rounded the fridge and saw the familiar ponytail and jacket, my frown deepened.
“Sarah,” I greeted when I opened the door. “What’s wrong?”
She smiled, high cheek bones flushed from the cold as she slid in past me without an invitation. “Wrong? Nothing’s wrong. I came to see you. What are you doing?”
