Page 46 of Forget That Guy
I couldn’t remember a time when I’d ever heard them fight.
That wasn’t the kind of marriage that I’d had with Juliana.
Our relationship wasn’t based on friendship.
Our relationship was good, sure. But other than being slightly sad when she’d decided to leave, I didn’t regret letting her go.
I didn’t imagine that was the way you should feel about the woman that you supposedly loved and called yours.
“I’m not super happy about how my life turned out,” I admitted. “And the more Juliana shows me her true nature—like yesterday when she got pissed that they took the dogs foran emergency—the more I realize that whatever we had was a complete lie.”
“You deserve to be happy,” she said. “And you have nothing to apologize for. You did everything that you could to make that woman happy. It’s her turn to step up and pave her own way in life. She’s not your responsibility anymore.”
I looked over at my mother. “What do you want to know about Holly?”
The old woman grinned at me unrepentantly. “How’s she doing?”
I told her everything that I knew.
“That old bat that she rented from before.” My mother shook her head. “That lady needs to make up her mind. She wants to make money. She rents out the apartment. She hates that people are on her property. So then she makes up some bogus reason to get them to leave. At this point, I should file something with the town.”
“Don’t go creating problems with that woman,” I ordered my mother.
She blinked those far from innocent eyes at me and said, “Who? Me?”
I chuckled as she drove away, narrowly missing a horse trough that was as big as the cart was.
As I watched her cross the pasture back toward her place, I wondered if anyone else had this kind of problem with their elderly parents.
I’d just turned around, ready to get back to work on breaking in my two-year-old gelding, when I saw the white Beemer roll up like it owned the place.
I gritted my teeth, thankful that my mother was gone.
She’d have caused more problems with Julianna, and Mom didn’t need the added stress even if she was in the right.
I leaned against the fence and watched her walk toward me.
I was thankful that the dogs had taken off with the girls earlier, and they were nowhere in sight.
That was just what I needed, her seeing them and calling the cops.
“What are you doing here, Juliana?”
She crossed her arms over her chest, her phone in her hand, and kept it pointed at me.
I wondered if she was recording me.
Or trying to get proof that the dogs were here in real time.
“I’m here to talk to you in private,” she said, once again taking a look around.
A cow bawled, startling her.
The phone dipped down toward the ground, and she immediately righted it.
Yes, definitely recording.
“We need to talk about yesterday.”
