Chapter Twelve
chapter twelve
RAFAEL
I push on my front door and hold it open as May walks in, a big bag over each of her shoulders.
“Well, this is a far cry from the cottage,” she says, taking in the big open living space in front of her. She’s not wrong. Compared to Rosemary cottage my house is like a cold museum.
“Only you live here?” she asks. I nod. “Big place.”
“I like having my own space.”
“Hmm, I can see that.” Why does she say it like an insult? Space is good.
She wanders through the house, leaving me to get the rest of her stuff from my truck. Typical.
“You can pick any of the rooms down the hall. Mine’s the last on the right.”
She nods mindlessly before making her way down the hallway. She walks slowly, like she’s still in shock after yesterday. I wouldn’t blame her, I am too.
I can’t stop thinking about that fire, about how quickly it grew, about how I thought that the clouds were suspiciously gray on the drive to her house and didn’t pause to think why that was. But most of all, I can’t stop thinking about May. About how bright her green eyes looked against a backdrop of her burning house. About the flicker of relief I noticed in them when she saw me. About how tightly she clung to me, and the hoarse sound of her coughs.
It made me feel important, like I was the one person she wanted to see, despite everything between us.
“Anyone would think a ten-person family lives here.” May’s voice cuts through the memories as she yells from down the hall. She opens each of the doors, peering into each room before she takes her pick. The room furthest from mine. Go figure.
I walk back out into the cool evening air to grab the rest of her belongings from the back of my truck. I don’t know how she fits this much stuff in that tiny cottage, and I don’t know where she thinks this is going in my house. I’m sure she’s already imagining where she can put all her books.
I sigh at the thought of sharing a space with May for the next…Marina never told me how long she needed somewhere to stay for. I never asked.
Hopefully those contractors are quick, or I might have to go into hiding for the next year.
I was spooked earlier, seeing her at the bar. I didn’t know how to act after last night, or how she would act. But it’s apparent that nothing has changed, even though a part of me was convinced things would be different between us. She still looks at me with obvious distaste and it bothers me more than I care to admit, but it’s for the best. I can’t let myself get any closer to her.
If I had been even five minutes later last night, things could have ended up very differently. May might not have been moseying her way around my house right now. And the thought of that makes my gut churn enough as it is.
My mind flashes back to the image I haven’t been able to get out of my head. Of her standing there in the flames.
I shake my head as if to toss away the memory, but I know it will claw its way back to the forefront of my mind as soon as I close my eyes tonight.
I lift her last few boxes out of the bed of my truck and walk inside, kicking the door closed behind me. And then May is there, lifting the boxes out of my arms. “I’ll take those.”
I hand them over and she takes them into her new room before she stands in the doorframe, looking at me from down the hall.
“Look,” she starts. “I really appreciate what you're doing for me, but I know you don’t want me here. I don’t particularly want to be here either. So I’ll do my best to stay out of your way if you do the same, okay?”
And then she shuts her door.
I spray water over my truck with the hose.
When I woke up this morning, May was nowhere to be seen. The house felt eerily quiet, and in the silence, I couldn’t stop hearing the spark of flames. It’s the sound that kept me from sleep last night, and it’s the sound that left me rolling out of bed at six a.m. with nothing to occupy myself. Hence why I’m washing my truck at seven in the morning.
I’ve got my old school radio sitting on my front step, the music filling the quiet of the morning. It’s loud enough to distract my mind, but quiet enough that I won’t wake any of my late rising neighbors.
I don’t really know any of them. Most of the people who were around when we came here as kids have either died or moved away, leaving me living next to complete strangers. I keep to myself, and seemingly, so do they. Meryll lives a few houses down the road. I’m sure she knows everyone that lives on this street and the next five over.
I dunk a sponge into the bucket next to my feet and scrub it over the bonnet, working over any spots or smudges on the light blue steel, using the work as a welcome distraction instead of replaying the events of last night.
“Is this how you spend your Saturday mornings?” My head snaps to where May is sitting. Her knees are hugged to her chest as she sits on the top step.
She raises her eyebrows, taking in my appearance. I’m bare chested, with splashes of water over my upper body from the sponge.
“The hat is a bit young, isn’t it?”
Her lightheartedness catches me off guard, considering yesterday’s events. I frown, pulling on the edge of the cap that’s sitting backwards on my head. I didn’t think so.
“How old are you anyway?” she asks.
I dunk the sponge back in the soap and move to washing the driver's side door as I try to recall her age. I think Caio told me when she first showed up in town that she was a year older than Isla, making her twenty-five, nine years younger than me. “Thirty-four.”
Her eyebrows shoot to her head.
“What?”
She shakes her head. “Oh, nothing.”
I lean my arm against the car and face her. “What?”
Her eyes rake over my body, taking their time to meet my own once again. “I just didn't think you were that old.”
I narrow my eyes. “Is that meant to be a compliment or an insult?”
“It’s up for interpretation,” she shrugs.
I send my focus back to my car, scrubbing the sponge over the window. What is that supposed to mean, exactly? And wasn’t she supposed to be avoiding me? So why is she out here on my front step, commenting on my age?
“Don’t you have work or something?” I ask.
“Are you not enjoying my company, Rafael?” I scowl over at her, and she just grins back before it falls. “I don’t know what bars you’re going to, but usually they aren’t open at…” She looks at her phone. “Seven-thirty-six in the morning.”
I roll my eyes.
“And anyway, Marina has put me on home detention for the next two weeks. She wants me to take some time before I go back to work.” It makes sense considering everything that she’s been through in the past forty-eight hours. It’s almost concerning how relaxed she seems after everything that’s happened. But if her coping mechanism is to focus on other things, then who am I to judge? My own mechanisms aren’t much better.
“Oh, goodie.”
I can feel her glare through the back of my head as I walk to the back of the car. “I’m not any happier about this than you are, okay?”
I scoff. “Yeah, you’ve made that clear, Whitley.” That came out a bit more sour than I’d intended.
“Good.”
“Good,” I mock.
She huffs, and I see her stand in my peripheral vision. “By the way, you missed a spot.”
“Where?” I ask.
“Just…” She dips her fingers into the bucket of the now dirty water, flicking the filthy gray liquid over the freshly cleaned hood. “There.”
I slowly turn my head to look at her, and I get a glimpse of her satisfied smirk before she turns and strides back inside the house.
I’m going to kill this girl before her two weeks are up.