I go stiff.
“Don’t make that face,” he keeps going, unfazed by my silence. “It’s not like you haven’t had a chance to change it. Whenever you look at those wedding magazines, it’s the same thing. Measure this, count that—quit two weeks later. I keep tellin’ ya, it’s not rocket science. You eat like a hog, you look like a hog. Simple as that.”
“You’re telling me I look like a hog?” I ask, struggling to find my voice. “You’re telling your fiancée she looks like a hog?”
He cuts me a look, and then eyes the clock. “You know what I mean.”
“Apparently not.”
Brent’s dark eyes narrow, the way they always do when I’ve tested his patience. “Don’t start, Laney. I don’t have time for your melodrama.”
“You have somewhere else to be?”
“What’d I say when I walked in? Tony got tickets to the game tonight.”
A slow-simmering rage rises inside me, boiling as it reaches my cheeks. I’m not deaf to his callousness. The thing is, I know he’s not being intentionally vicious.
Brent has always done what he wants and spoken his mind. In fact, that was what initially attracted me to him—back when he still felt attracted to me. I’ll never forget the way he came around the bar and took my hand, rescuing me from a blind date gone horribly wrong. There wasn’t another man in the state of Washington with that level of charm and candor.
My sinking dreamboat tugs his jeans on and zips the fly, adding extra emphasis to the gesture. “See? This is what clothes that fit are supposed to look like.”
“Shut up.” I rip my own zipper down and shimmy out of my now-treacherous dress. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“That’s the point. Maybe you need to hear it.” He runs a hand back through his thick hair and gives himself a once-over in the mirror—a lot of primping for a basketball game with some guy from the gym. “Hell, maybe I’m the reason you ballooned up. I’ve always been soft on you.”
My eyes widen around tears, as a sharp breath stabs my lungs. “Soft? You won’t even go to my high school reunion! How am I supposed to go now? I can’t show up alone.”
Besides that, I’d hardly say I’ve reached balloon status. A little extra maybe, a few more curves…
His jaw tenses. “Can’t you just take what’s-her-name from work? The one you’re always harping to on the phone?”
“Meg?” I ask, incredulous. “Brent, I wanted to go with you. Forgive me for wanting to show off my fiancé after four years of hell and fifteen years of wine therapy. You have no idea what it was like for me.”
He stares at me with an unreadable expression. “If you think pretending at some party is going to help erase all that, maybe you need real therapy.”
I stand there, heaving sweat-drenched breaths behind a tight armor of Spanx and panty hose. Guilt trips don’t work on him. Nothing does anymore. What can I possibly say at this point?
“You know what?” He snatches his hat off the rack and creases the bill. “Stay. Go. I don’t care anymore.”
“Like you cared before?” It’s out of my mouth before I can stop it.
I don’t want to fight—I don’t want to rile him up over something so trivial—but for some reason, I can’t back down tonight. I need him to understand what he’s doing to me. I want him to hurt like I hurt.
He pauses at the doorway. “What are you doing?”
“What?”
“Are you trying to piss me off?”
I recoil at his tone, a little more self-conscious about the dress lying in a pile at my feet. “No, I just… this is important to me.”
“Look, Babe, I get that now, okay? I’m sorry.” He crosses the distance between us and grasps my arms, forcing me to look him in the eyes. “But I’m not going.”
“Damn it, Brent.” I squeeze my eyes shut and tilt my head toward the ceiling, willing away tears. “Why is a baseball game more important to you than your future wife?”
“My future wife,” he spits the words out, leaning in with a sneer, “is being a drama queen.”
Irrational maybe, but a drama queen? The compulsion within me grows stronger, and I force my eyes open, matching his stance. “You walk out that door, and you had better find somewhere else to sleep tonight.”
“Oh.” His gaze ignites in hideous realization as he takes a step back from me. “Is that how you want to play this?”
I’ve hit a nerve. He’s always been self-conscious about the fact that we live in my house, paid for by my job that pays three times what he pulls in bartending.
“I’m sorry,” I say before I can stop it. Why do I keep apologizing? “It’s just—”
He shakes his head with a smug, slow-spreading grin. “No, you know what? That’s a great idea, ‘cause Tony will be happy to have me over again.”
How is that a comeback?
My lack of reaction must speak to him, because he gestures around the room. “I’m saying, we screwed. If you weren’t such a dumb shit, you might’ve taken the hint by now.”
Breathing. Stops.
I can feel my mouth forming all kinds of responses, but none of them find a coherent thought to cling to. Brent’s cheating on me? When did he… ? How long has he… ? Wait. Tony’s a woman?
He turns on his heel without another word, moving to the closet as if I’ve done something to scoff at. After a minute of rummaging, he finds an old duffel bag and dumps an armful of clothes inside.
All of that for one night? How much does one man—
Oh.
My heart leaps into my throat. I rush a step forward to stop him, but my heel snags on the damn dress that started the whole thing—”Umph!”
Next thing I know, I’m flat on the floor, and the jerk is laughing at me. He’s actually laughing at me! I kick at the dress and struggle to push myself up. “Wait.”
He shoulders the bag and walks around me to the door. “Don’t bother.”
“We need to talk about this.” I scramble after him, my heels making it impossible to find my footing. “Brent, please.”
His steps cease in the hallway. “Laney, just let it go. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
The tears fall then, hard and fast. I ball up my fists in the carpet. “We can’t just leave it like this.”
“That’s how these things go sometimes.” He lets out a deep breath. “We both knew it was headed downhill, anyway.”
“I didn’t,” I half lie, half plea, in crawling desperation. Sure, he’s a jerk, but I’m not ready for my life to be swept out from under me. I need time to process, time to think things through before we make a decision. “Seriously, I don’t even care about the reunion anymore. Let’s just figure this out.”
“Laney…” He walks back to me, crouches low, and brushes a stubborn tendril away from my face. “Sweetheart…”
I almost collapse with relief.
“It’s over.”
What?
Just like that, he’s back on his feet and headed for the door. He makes it within inches of escape before I yell my last ditch effort. “Don’t you want your ring back?”
“Why would I?” He jerks the door open. “You bought the damn thing, anyway.”
❇ ❇ ❇
Something warm dances over my face.
I force my matted lashes apart and struggle to keep them open. Flames lap at the nighttime sky, kicking sparks into the darkness. Hell?
No worse than the one I just left, I suppose. I roll over and rub my back where I’ve been lying on the ground. My hair’s still wet, but someone has laid a worn blanket with a pinned note over me. I flip it over and squint in the flickering light. Scribbles.
“It’s yella,” a woman at my right informs me in a twangy accent. “They been doin’ triage. Or tryin’ to, at least.”
I turn to look her over, my mouth forming an “oh”. She’s in a similar position, lying with a blanket up to her neck, her pale, spiky hair sticking every which way. Her tag is black. “The benefit of es
caping near a hospital?”
“Oh no, you don’t wanna be down there right now. I heard first responders won’t even be able to make it in for days.”
Well, that’s terrifying.
She must read my face, because she shakes her head. “A lot of the folks up here have had disaster trainin’, since their neighborhood is an assembly area. I’m sure glad, too. They’ve been like angels to all of us.”
“Yeah,” I add, finally coherent enough to realize I’ve been bandaged in various places. Was the vested man who helped pull me down one of them?
Looking around, I spot dozens of people crowding bonfires—some in yards, others in big metal cans in the middle of the street. They’re probably trying to dry off and escape this wet chill in the air, but why aren’t there more of them?
“I was awake when they brought you over,” the woman offers, her voice lending to the chorus of others hushing the unseen water below. “You were the one they pulled off a roof, right? With the dog?”
Gizmo! My heart kick-starts a wild rhythm, and I scan the area so fast, I nearly give myself whiplash. I know I still had her when we were on the roof…
“Oh, honey, I didn’t mean to startle you.” My lawn-mate reaches over to pat my arm. “Your dog is sharin’ a kennel with some other rescued pets. She’s fine.”
“Thank God,” I breathe out, dropping my face into my hands. I don’t want to explain that she’s not mine, or that she’s a canine orphan I’ve formed a strange attachment to. I just want a moment to bask in something going right for once.
The woman shifts to one side, outstretching her hand. “Sorry, should’ve said this earlier. I’m Mama Jay.”
I take it, unsure how to respond to an introduction like that. “Elena…”
“Well, ‘Lena, it sure is nice to meet you, ‘cept for the circumstances.”
“You too.”
I don’t know what to make of this woman, but I like her. Is she another tourist?
“Y’know, they had to drag you over here. You came to a couple times when they were pokin’ and proddin’ ya, gave ‘em a real bad scare that you weren’t snappin’ out of it, but then they just figured you were exhausted. Not everybody came barrelin’ over a roof soakin’ wet, y’know? “
I rub the back of my head, where I hit it after the bridge collapse. It must not be bleeding, because they didn’t bother bandaging it. “What about you? Are you okay?”
Her mirthful eyes glaze over, but she manages a smile. “Yeah… I’m fine.”
I recognize that haunted look. Everyone around us is wearing the same expression. Traumatized disbelief, teetering on the brink of insanity. To be honest, I’m surprised it’s not chaos here. I twist my ring and—
Wait. My ring?
I look down, and sure enough, my engagement ring has been reseated on my left hand, peeking up through the bandages. My mouth drops open, and I whirl around, half-expecting Vincent to be leaning against the fence post.
He’s not.
“I-I had some friends I got separated from,” I clear my throat, trying to talk around a quickly forming lump. “A tall, muscular guy with short hair and a skinny college kid with burns on his side. Have you seen either of them?”
Mama Jay’s lips pull down. “‘Fraid not, sweetheart, but I wouldn’t assume nothin’ just yet. People are camped out all over this neighborhood. Heck, from what I saw of that evac map, they could be any number of places.”
Why would he give it back and not stick around to say something? Is this his way of parting ways? They get to know I’m okay, but I don’t get any closure from our shared ordeal? I wrap the blanket around my shoulders and force myself onto my feet, ignoring my lungs’ sharp protest. “I’ll look around.”
“Should you be movin’ around yet? You’ve been wheezin’ somethin’ awful.”
Have I? I don’t even hear it anymore.
“I’m okay,” I assure her… and myself. “I’ll be right back.”
I hobble into the street on stiff legs. At some point, I need to track down Gizmo, but she’s better off with the other animals for now. Hopefully they’re being fed.
Speaking of which, I wouldn’t mind something myself. If I had known lunch was going to be the last thing I’d have for a while, I would’ve eaten more than half a sandwich. Hell, if it weren’t for Brent’s stupid voice echoing in my ears, I would’ve had the whole thing. Another parting gift from my ex-fiancé.
I hug my blanketed arms around my stomach and move through the streets like a ghost. The pavement scrapes my bare feet, where its cracks lay hidden in shadow, but there’s nothing I can do for the pain. Nothing but press onward. The sooner I find the guys, the sooner I can rest.
I just need to see for myself that they’re okay.
My eyes search and dismiss a sea of unfamiliar faces—all of them hurting, none of them Vincent. Or Naveen. Beyond the sporadic fires, the rest of the suburban neighborhood is dark. At least, in the electrical sense. Silver moonlight outlines silhouettes huddled together on both sides of the street. I wonder if there are people in the damaged houses, too, peering out at the rest of us.
I turn the corner and head down the slightest downgrade, my usual pensiveness noticeably absent. Maybe having survived this far has left me numb to other dangers. Or maybe I’m not even really here. For all I know, this could be some elaborate fever dream, while I’m knocked out somewhere…
My bandaged areas suggest otherwise.
Tiny pinpricks of light dot the horizon, growing in number with each silent step. People are quieter on this end, less content to carry on conversation than their fireside counterparts. The way they stare is unsettling. At me. Through me.
I speed walk to the intersection, only to find myself surrounded by candles. Bare pillars and glassed-in tea lights. Ornamental candlesticks and half-filled jars. Each tiny flame has been left next to a lumpy sheet on the ground.
No, not just a sheet… a body.
My palm catches my gasp before it disturbs the mourners closest to me. This is a makeshift memorial. The whole street is lined with the dead.
I stumble back, and no one notices. They’re all too lost in their grief. Sobbing. Wailing. I can’t even imagine. Tears sear my eyes, and it’s all I can do to keep what’s left of my stomach’s contents down. There are so many. How can there be this many this soon?
Staring feels disrespectful. Regardless of how my mind is reeling, I can’t process here. The last thing these people need is an outsider intruding on their private vigil. I take a step back, ready to retreat to the pacifying comfort of Mama Jay’s company—and collide with something solid. This time, I can’t stifle the gasp, but someone muffles it for me. I’m spun around.
“Vincent!”
He lowers his hand from my mouth. “What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?” I whisper back, struggling to reign in my racing pulse. “Why did you return my ring without saying anything?”
His expression betrays nothing, but his narrow gaze glints in the moonlight. “I needed some time to say goodbye… to a friend.”
CHAPTER 8
Naveen is dead.
That’s the only reason Vincent would be lingering alone in a place like this. I should’ve realized. The poor kid’s burns were so bad, there was no way he could’ve fought back when the tsunami caught up to us. I shakily cross myself, one more time.
Why didn’t I try to grab him? Why did a roof get swept my way instead of his? My eyes brim again. He wasn’t even out of college yet. He had his whole life ahead of him. Did he wash up on the hillside?
I want to ask, but there’s no way I can vocalize such personal prodding. He wasn’t my friend to mourn, even though our shared trauma had forged an alliance between us. Truth be told, Vincent wasn’t someone I could consider close, either. He did steal from me a few hours ago—before he saved my life.
“Sarabeth,” Vincent finally elaborates in a low voice, jerking his chin toward the middle of the street
. “The bartender from earlier.”
Oh. I scramble for something to say. “I-I’m sorry. Were you close?”
He hefts one shoulder. “She gave me work every now and then—off the books, same as Naveen. I owe… I owed her a lot.”
Should I hug him? It doesn’t feel like a hug moment, but I’ve been known to misinterpret social cues. I lean in, and his gaze follows my movement with a cocked eyebrow.
Nope. Never mind. Not doing that now. I pat his arm and try not to wince at my bandaged palm.
Vincent scans the area over my head and then steals a glance over his shoulder, his lips forming a thin line. “We should move.”
I nod, and we head back up the street in silence. My blanketed shoulders slump beneath the weight of a million unspoken questions, but I can’t figure out where to start. This, the two of us alone, feels long overdue—though that doesn’t make sense.
“I screwed up,” he says out of nowhere, eyes forward. “If I hadn’t swiped that ring, you might’ve gotten clear.”
“Why did you?” My fingers instinctively seek out the bauble again.
He makes a face, half lost in shadow. “I needed the money. I figured you wouldn’t miss it, since you were slipping it off for some bar hook-up.”
I stop dead in my tracks. “I did not go there for a hookup!”
Grumbles from the surrounding lawns tell me I might’ve gotten a touch too loud.
Vincent pulls his hands from his pockets long enough to guide me forward. “I gathered that after I spent a few minutes with you. Like I said, I screwed up. I’m sorry.”
“Is that why you saved me?”
“I reacted to the situation as it unfolded.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means it was nothing personal,” he says, running a hand back over his hair. “Don’t overthink it. I didn’t.”
“Oh.” I guess that settles that. “Well, regardless, thanks for everything you did. You got me through hell.”
“You haven’t seen hell,” he mutters.
Okay. Since I have no idea how to respond to that, we walk the rest of the way back to the main area in silence—at least, until a woman is heard on a megaphone.
As We Know It Page 5