Page 12 of Wicked Games

“At least you know she wasn’t with you for your money.”

“No, but she got plenty of it anyway.” He pauses. “How do you pay your bills?”

I draw another heart. “Meh. I don’t have many, so it’s not so bad. Darren and I parted on decent terms and he pays me alimony. I get a little from Bloomscene, and I have some savings. I won’t be hiring Rowan Vale any time soon, but I’m okay.”

He scoffs, and like last night at dinner, our conversation fades off. I didn’t make him angry, or if I did, not enough to make him leave, and he picks up his tablet. I don’t know what he decided to read, if he took my suggestion or not, but we settle into a comfortable silence. Winnie trots down to lie with us.

I write about Darren coming home after teaching his classes, all rumpled dress pants and wrinkled shirt, his tie loose around his neck. Him saying we needed to talk and me knowing that was it. Bailey was pregnant, he said, and he wanted to be there to take care of her and the baby. He waited to tell me as long as he could.

I didn’t cry or anything, just kissed his cheek, wished him the best, and left. I didn’t want to be there while he packed. I found a two-bedroom apartment in one of Ashfield’s suburbs and we put the house on the market. It sold the next day.

The complex is quiet, and I made the small space my own, putting watercolors on the walls and buying everything new. I haven’t lived there long, just a few weeks. Keeping the vacation rental in Lakehaven Falls seemed like a waste of money, but Darren and I had planned this trip a while ago and I thought getting out of the city would help me move on. Since the house was already paid for, I asked him first, but he didn’t care one way or the other, too blissfully happy to give a fuck about what I was doing.

I write about living alone for the first time in my life, how odd it is to buy food only I’ll eat, or how a package of paper towels will last me weeks, not days. It doesn’t matter what side of the bed I sleep on, or if I throw my dirty clothes on the floor. I’m sure I’ll have more thoughts and observations as the months pass. Good? Bad? I don’t know. I was numb then and that hasn’t changed.

People say they envy me because I live alone, but really all it means is that I’m alone. I don’t know how people can be envious of that.

I purge, pages and pages, and finally, when I feel like there’s nothing left, I set my notebook aside and rest my chin on my knee.

Gently, Seth brushes his hand over my hair. “Feel better?”

I laugh. “No.”

“I suppose not. My ass hurts and the dog abandoned us. Do you want to walk into town and get some food?”

A walk and a meal sounds good. “Yeah, sure.”

“Come on.”

Seth stands and holds out his hand.

I let him pull me to my feet. We walk toward our houses, and he doesn’t let me go.

CHAPTER FIVE

Seth

It’s the most normal day I’ve had since Theo’s death.

Sitting with Avery while she writes, her cursive growing messier and more frantic as the hours go by, the sun on my skin, the fresh air. Even the dog. It all adds bits and pieces to the afternoon that slowly start to heal my heart. I read a little, following Avery’s advice to choose something short, something I’ve read before, and I open one of Hemingway’s anthologies and start reading The Snows of Kilimanjaro.

The only hitch in the afternoon is when she sets her notebook down and I think she’s going to say she has to go in, but she only sighs and looks over the water.

I can’t stop myself and brush my hand over her hair. It’s warm, from the sun, and soft. She doesn’t mind I’m touching her, and my heart’s pounding when I ask if she wants to grab a bite to eat. I haven’t asked anyone out on a date in years, not anyone who mattered, like Brooke. When we met, I knew I would fall in love with her, and I did. Before her, I dated, but no one made my heart do funny things. Meeting Avery so soon after my divorce should have made me wary, but it only makes me thankful I can still feel something after all that’s happened.

She agrees, and I pull her to her feet. Her hands are small and delicate, and she pours so much emotion through her fingers onto the page. I couldn’t read what she was writing, but I can guess easily enough. Pain, confusion, how it feels to be single all of a sudden after years of being part of a couple. How odd the feeling is, not having to check in with someone, not needing someone’s opinion or approval to do something. Our circumstances are a bit different since Brooke and I had Theo and she doesn’t have kids, but they’re a lot alike too.

I pick up our Perrier bottles and my tablet, she grabs her notebook and pen, and without letting her go, I walk with her down the dock toward our houses. We have to separate for a few minutes because we’re both barefoot, and I say, “Meet out front in five minutes?”

“Yeah. Sounds good. I’ll just put some shoes on and grab a hoodie.”

Reluctantly, I drop her hand and rescue my tablet from underneath my arm. “Okay. See you in a minute.”

“Yep.”

We kind of stand there, and I’m not sure what we’re doing. Unwilling to part, even for five minutes? If that’s really true, then I need to get a grip because I’ve known her for three days. She’s not my salvation. There’s no reprieve from what I’m going through. Theo’s death will be with me forever. The guilt I feel every minute that my little boy was kidnapped and murdered because of who I am will never go away. Avery can’t save me from that. It’s something I need to make peace with on my own.

I turn and walk toward my house, and when I reach the patio, I look over my shoulder, but she’s already gone inside.