Her eyes strayed to the natural bulge in his jeans, recalling the very real flesh that was beneath the denim. Even knowing he had been with another woman tonight didn’t diminish her curiosity about him. After all, he wasn’t anything to her except a curiosity. They weren’t friends. Just neighbors.
Her mind went back full circle to Darlene’s words. She disagreed with the sentiment of running away from everything she and Elijah had; her memories, their dreams, and plans. But Darlene did have a point regarding basic… distraction.
Or, the other end of the pendulum, the thing so far off-balance that could balance her, keep her from slipping back down the hole she’d fallen. Mac was the opposite end of her safe, her normal. They barely tolerated each other, but he wouldn’t judge her. And despite his looks, he’d be the last person she could fall in love with—he was an absolute prick, a drunk, and a manwhore. They were fashioned not to work out, but he would be convenient. She wasn’t even looking for someone to fall for.
But could she do it? Could she betray the memory of her husband? She didn’t know the answer.
Chapter thirteen
Cassidy
ARE YOU FLIRTING WITH ME?
Despiteherbestefforts,Cassidy kept slipping. The falls weren’t as dramatic or deep, but she could feel the heaviness weighing on her. These little slips weren’t like the last one. She could put on a brave front. She could be what everyone wanted and needed her to be so they could feel okay, and they wouldn’t worry.
She assured Marge she was okay, adjusting and taking steps forward.
She drank coffee she couldn’t taste, read a paper she couldn’t concentrate on.
She made an appointment to donate the baby’s things. She pretended it wouldn’t affect her. Then when the truck showed up and hauled away boxes of long-dead dreams, she’d run to the dock, screaming at her dead husband, cursing him for leaving this task for her to face alone—forleaving her.
Marge literally and figuratively held Cassidy from the ledge as the young woman demanded, “Why did I have to be left behind?”
Hanging on tightly, Marge answered, “Cassie, you know he wouldn’t want this.”
“Idon’t want this; do you think I wanted any of this? But he left this to me. He left me alone in this!”
“You are not alone, sweet girl,” Marge reminded her. “This is a step, Cassie. They don’t all feel good, but a step away from the past is a step toward your future.”
Again, Marge to the rescue, cleaning up her messes and handing out clichés. The least Cassidy could do was mask her falls, so Marge didn’t have to worry. So she forced one foot in front of the other, moving through the world in a fog, hiding her re-broken heart behind a smile. She went to work, joking with the customers as though she was a part of their carefree world. As though pain was not ripping hers apart.
At night, she let herself slip.
With a glass of wine and Elijah’s playlist, she drank to the point of stumbling. She danced with his shirt wrapped around her like arms. She fell to the floor and cried.
She walked around in the emptied guest room, imagining what could have been—what it should have been—the only item remaining on the wall was the framed lottery ticket.
She tortured herself over and over.
Night after night, she slipped.
And then she found Mac’s shirt, the shirt he’d given her the last time she’d returned from a fall down the rabbit hole. Bringing it to her nose, she inhaled the scent of him.
The other end of the pendulum. Mac.
It took her two days to work up her confidence.
She was working an afternoon shift. There was a game on, so there were plenty of clients to keep her busy; afternoons, it was herself and a cook in the back. She had Andy again.
She hadn’t seen Mac since the night she drove him back across the lake, and she couldn’t stop her heart from thudding in her chest as he ambled up to the bar. He sat and greeted her with a gravelly, “Day.” Then he ordered a bacon cheeseburger with fries. When she asked him if he wanted a whiskey with a smirk on her face, he gave her a playfully baleful look and ordered a beer.
As she placed it in front of him, he narrowed his eyes in mock accusation. “Woke up that morning with more than a few mosquito bites.” He pointed the bottle at her before raising it to his lips.
“It’s the females that suck your blood, right? So, you got sucked off. Why are you complaining?”
He choked on his beer in surprise. Pleased with herself, Cassidy walked away, laughing, to take care of other customers.
When his food came, she casually picked up a crispy fry, popping it into her mouth, and then walked away. His bemused dark eyes tracked her when she came back by. “Hungry?” There was a little bit more than curiosity in his voice—hopefulness, maybe?