“And you took him in?” Are you stupid? I can hear the unspoken question.
“I actually didn’t have a chance to do anything. The driver just dropped him off and left before I could ask him to take Todd to his place.”
Griffin curses under his breath.
Just then, a blue Mercedes roadster screeches to a stop in front of us. Linda jumps out and rushes up. Her jaw drops as she looks at Todd’s unmoving body on the lawn.
“Sierra, how could you?” She crouches over him, cooing like he’s a poor little kitten. “Oh my God, look at him! I think you broke his nose.”
“You think I did that to him?”
“Just because he showed up distraught didn’t mean you had to get violent! You were always such a mean—”
“She didn’t hit him. The tree did,” Griffin cuts her off flatly.
Linda stares at him. “What?”
“He fought that tree”—Griffin points at the crabapple tree—“and lost.”
For a second, she continues to stare. Then she goes back into offensive mode. “He was just trying to communicate better with his wife.”
“With alcohol and violence?” Griffin asks.
“He needs his comfort,” she says stiffly.
No. I need comfort. “Can you just take him away before I have to call the police for trespassing? I will, if I have to,” I say, tired of dealing with her and Todd.
Linda looks at me like I’m a monster. “You don’t need to do that. I’ll talk with him, make sure he doesn’t bother you drunk again.”
“That would be very helpful,” I say, biting back the polite “thank you” Mom and Grandma ingrained in me. This wouldn’t have happened if Linda hadn’t encouraged him.
She puts her hands under Todd’s shoulders, but he doesn’t budge. “Can you help?” she demands, looking at me.
“Nope,” I say. “You can take your own trash out.”