Page 8 of Beau's Beloved

“Thank you, Beau.”

He cleared his throat more than once.

“Hairball?” I teased.

He stood up straight and stretched. “I think I’ll go for a drive. Join me?”

“Only if you’re headed to the laundromat.”

“Laundromat?There isn’t a place here to clean your clothes?”

“If you mean in my apartment, as you know, there isn’t. In the building, yes. However, there are ten units and two washing machines. Odds are someone is already using them.”

When Beau shuddered, I’d had enough. I walked over and pushed him in the direction of the way out.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re leaving, and once you’re gone, I’m going to do all the things you hire someone to do for you.”

He put his hands on his hips when I opened the door and motioned him out. “That’s hardly fair of you to say. You’re being awfully presumptuous.”

“Really? What kind of laundry detergent do you use, Beau? How about your vacuum? What brand is it? And how, exactly, do you clean your toilets?”

When he didn’t respond, I gave him a shove.

“I just told you no one on earth cares more about you than me, and you respond by literally kicking me out of your apartment?”

“I’ll see you later, Beau.”

“You will? What time?”

“Argh. It’s a parting phrase. It doesn’t mean I’ll literally see you later today. It’s justlater.”

Before he could engage me in more ridiculous conversation designed to keep him from being bored and me from doing the things I needed to, I shut the door. When he knocked as soon as it was closed, I ignored him.

My phone rang, but I ignored it too. I was just about to put my earbuds in and find some music to motivate me to clean my damn toilet when I saw Beau’s car key fob sitting on my kitchen counter.

“Dammit,” I muttered, picking it up and stalking over to the door. I yanked it open and handed it to him, averting my eyes so I didn’t have to see the smug look on his face.

“I’ve figured out just the thing to lift your spirits. I’ll be backlater,” he said as I shut the door again.

Not feeling like driving into town, I took my bag of dirty clothes and detergent down to the laundry room and found both washers empty. “Yes!” I said, dumping the clothes on the folding table to sort them.

“Hello, Miss Marquez. Are you starting or finishing?”

“Just starting, Mrs. Jenkins,” I said, glancing over my shoulder at her.

“I was hoping I could get my wash done before I have to leave for myBridgegame. It’s okay, though. You go ahead, dear.”

I swept the clothes back into the bag and picked up my detergent. “I’m not in a hurry today. You can go first.”

“You are a love. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” I said. “Good luck atBridge.”

Once upstairs, I tossed the bag on the floor and plopped down on the bed. Wanda jumped up and lay beside me. “Maybe I should just take a nap.”

The stress of what to do about my “inheritance” prevented me from doing so. It would likely affect my sleep until I was able to speak with the attorney.

---