Page 355 of Hell Hath No Fury
Pope guided me around the rear of the building stopping at the tall chain wire fence that encased the lot. He dropped my hand and reached down to peel the chain wire back, holding it open for me.
"Go on," he directed, waiting for me to squeeze through the gap.
Carefully avoiding the sharp, clipped edges, I scrambled through to stand on the other side, wondering exactly what he had planned.
Pope—ever graceful—followed, his hand automatically reaching for mine.
"This way."
The dirt near the fence gave way to thigh-high grass and weeds, hiding all manner of trip hazards.
By the dim light of the moon, Pope led me through a crushed track and down to a scraggly clump of stubborn gum trees. Under their sheltering branches sat a wooden picnic table upon which lay a sleeping bag. Next to the table was his motorcycle, the metal gleaming in the moonlight.
"You're staying here?" I asked, eyeing the rumpled bag.
"Cheaper than a hotel."
My heart ached at his nonchalant tone, knowing it had to be killing him to be denied access to his family.
He let go of my hand to bend over, tugging a small cooler bag from under the table. "Beer?"
I accepted the offered bottle, popping the cap to take a long drag of the cool liquid.
This is a bad idea.
We stood face-to-face, eyeing each other as we sipped our beers.
"Been a long time," Pope said finally, breaking the awkward silence.
"Yeah."
He ran a hand through his hair. "I meant to come home, but…." He glanced away.
"But what?" I asked, my sympathy waning. "What could have been more important than seeing your dying sister?"
A muscle in his jaw jumped. "I don't need judgement from you, Jules. I've got enough guilt to last me a million lifetimes."
The raw pain etched into his face cut deep.
I touched his shoulder. "Then explain it to me. Make me understand."
"Caitlin said Jen was getting better."
I blinked, unsure if I'd heard him correctly. "What?"
"Caitlin—I don't know if she believed it or just wanted it to be true. But last I spoke to her, she said Jen was getting better and to stay away. That the old man wouldn't—" He cut himself off, shaking his head.
"And Jen?" I asked. "What about her?"
He sighed, tilting his head back to look at the sky. "She told me to stay away. Said she didn't want to cause a fuss."
I pinched the bridge of my nose with my free hand, mentally cursing my best friend. "That sounds like her. Stoic and determined until the end.”
We were silent for a beat, and then Pope moved, his body a rapid burst of violent motion. The bottle in his hand flew through the air to smash into one of the trees, the spray of glass and liquid surprisingly satisfying.
"Fuck!" he roared, twisting to pound fists into the picnic table. "Fuck!"
A small part of me cowered at his unrestrained pain. It urged me to soothe and simper until his jagged edges were polished and civilised once more.
