Chapter Forty-Four
T wo hours past sunset .
One hour past the boy’s bedtime.
Four hours since I’d gone to the warehouse, gotten my bike and pulled up to her house on the Hayabusa.
I waited.
She wasn’t here.
The dishes that’d been abandoned Saturday night were done. The laundry on the kitchen table had been folded. The broken drawer in the kitchen had been fixed.
I stood at the front window in the dark living room.
Waiting.
Analyzing.
She hadn’t left because of those texts. Not entirely.
I’d retraced every word, every step I’d made in the past twenty-four hours.
I only had one conclusion.
She didn’t trust me.
So I waited until headlights shone across the living room wall as she pulled in to the driveway.
I glanced at my watch. Four hours, eleven minutes.
Compartmentalizing, I ignored my anger. I didn’t get mad anymore.
She parked. Not glancing at my bike at the curb, she took her sleeping son out of the front seat and walked up her broken porch steps. She unlocked the front door and kicked it shut behind her.
She didn’t look in my direction.
She didn’t turn a light on.
She didn’t pause when she glanced at the dining room table.
She dumped her purse on the kitchen counter and walked to the boy’s room.
I waited.
For twenty-four seconds.
She walked into the kitchen.