Wood collapsing on my shoulders.
The back door flies open just as fast as she’d gone through it four minutes earlier.
“Goddammit, Duke!” Her arms are up in the air, and she’s shouting, flailing about this, yammering about that, “Look! Look what you’ve gone and done. I just told you this was going to happen,” blah blah blah.
She was right. So what?!
“Ugh, I told you not to move around so much!” She’s a master of the obvious, re-explaining what she already explained as I lie here on my ass.
Pluck the wooden rail off my body, trying to sit up.
“Know what I don’t need right now? You telling me you were right.”
Because I’m lying beneath a pile of rubble and her rightness.
“I didn’t technically say I was right. I’m just saying Itoldyou so.”
“Is there a difference?” I stand, dusting off my ass and knees with the palms of my hands as if I were just in a wood shop surrounded by sawdust.
“Of course there’s a difference.”
“Okay smart-ass, what’s the difference?”
“Pfft. Easy. I’m gloating when I say I told you so—if I had said ‘I was right,’ that would just be stating a fact.”
Is she trying to confuse me on purpose because I’m not sure if that explanation makes sense or not, if I’m dumb, or if she’s an evil genius.
Hard to say.
She surveys the damage like a drill sergeant inspecting her new recruits, hands on hips, nose in the air.
“What will Molly say when she finds out you ruined her porch?”
As if Molly is going to be a problem. As if Molly were going to chew my ass out for being too heavy.
“Relax.” I put my hand in the air to call a truce. “I’ll pay for the repairs.”
“Oh, I see.” She fumes. “You think you can throw money at everything, and all the problems go away?”
Whoa.
Where did that sentiment come from?
“I didn’tsaythat. All I said was I’d pay for it.” I blow out a puff of air. “If you want me to fix it myself with my two bare hands, I’ll fix it myself with my two bare hands. Just need some new wood. And stain. Or paint?” I scratch the back of my neck. “And some new nails.”
Not the rusty ones in the shed.
When I begin listing off all the supplies I need, she’s annoyed all over again, going on about self-awareness, being stubborn as a mule, something about ‘counting down the days until I get the house back to myself’and wanting to wring my neck before disappearing into the kitchen, back door banging behind her.
Well, shit, girl’s got a lot of fire in her belly.
Hot as hellif I’m being honest.
What was it Eli said about Posey? She was sweet and kind and wouldn’t hurt a soul?
…unless that soul wasme?
Since I got here, Posey looks as if she does want to strangle me half the time—the other half, she’s sleeping. She’s constantly giving me narrowed glances and side-eyes, muttering to herself about how I drive her crazy.