She’s holding her plate and resting her hip against the counter; neither of us taking a seat at the table or at the small island.
“I didn’tsayit did.” Posey smiles around her slice, teeth biting into a long string of cheese. “I asked if you liked it on your pizza.”
We eat in silence. Posey makes small sounds of pleasure, truly enjoying the pizza she made for herself—us, let’s be real here. Posey cleans up the kitchen once we’re done, or I assume she’d done so, considering I’d gone straight upstairs after setting my plate next to the sink.
We ignore one another for the remainder of the night.
* * *
I didn’t sleepfor shit last night.
Seems someone forgot to tell the bed that I’m tall. I damn near had to lie catty-corner on the mattress so I’d fit. Nothing I haven’t had to do before, but it was next-level discomfort.
I resume my exploration, on the hunt for something very specific, an idea ingrained in my brain that I’m not going to let go of.
There’s gotta be one around here somewhere. I found the hooks on the tree in the backyard…
“Can I help you find something?” A voice scares the shit out of me, and I almost smash my head on the shelf above me, gas and oil cans lined up in a row, hammers and wrenches and jars of nails.
“Jesus Christ. What’re you doin’ sneakin’ up on someone like that?” I rub the top of my head dramatically, feeling for a wound.
“Sneaking up on you? Are you serious?” She shifts on her heels, the morning sunlight shining behind her, making it impossible to see her face. “You literally crawled into a window like a thief yesterday.”
True. But still.
“Shouldn’t you be in bed still?” I ask ’cause it’s barely seven.
“I have to work. It’s Thursday.” She lingers, and I notice she’s carrying an armful of books. “What are you looking for?”
“Hammock. Gonna take a nap today.”
“I’ve never seen a hammock in here.”
I grunt in reply.
Posey laughs. “You sound like a caveman, speaking in segments.”
She sounds like a prude, speaking so proper. And that dress she’s wearing isn’t doing her any favors. White with black polka dots, she has an actual bow in her hair—a big white one—her black heelstap tappingimpatiently on the concrete.
“Not sure if you’ll find one in there.”
“Can’t hurt to look, and if I can’t find one, I’ll order one on Amazon.” I pause. “What’s the address?”
She hesitates. “The same one you used to get yourself here yesterday.”
Cheeky!
I’m not expecting the sass from her, and it’s early, so I go back to rooting around the garage, moving things here and there so I can get to where I need to go.
I’ve been up and digging in boxes for at least a half hour.
Shielding my eyes from the sun, I try to look her in the eye, but she’s already turned and gone down the driveway, stopping at the red SUV at the curb, theblip blipsound of it unlocking reaching my ears.
“Not even gonna tell me goodbye and have a good day?” I grumble. “Rude.”
Left to my own devices now that she’s gone, I debate about mowing the lawn but discover there is no gas in the tank in the small red push mower. I rearrange a few of the things hanging on the wall, like the hedge clippers and the weedwhacker, then stack some boxes so they’re tidier.
A metal shelf holds what appears to be a collection of old watering cans. And I rearrange those, along with small jars of vegetable seeds. There’s a window looking out into the yard, and I clean that with an old rag that’s been discarded on the workbench.