Chapter Nineteen
Theodore
Fourteen trips.
It takes fourteen trips to the old Asian guy’s place to deposit the plants that she left behind.
He regards me through his screen door, wearing a “poor bastard” expression that I sure as fuck don’t need.
But he says nothing. I didn’t ask him if he wants them.
When I set the last two down, he eyes me for a few seconds, then he nods.
After three washings, I decide to burn the sheets from the pullout bed and her pillow. I refuse to smell her anymore. I throw out all of her food, even the shit that I’d normally eat. It’s hers and I don’t want it.
I swim.
I work.
I drink.
I get a new tattoo.
I watch porn on my computer. The really bad kind. No kissing or sensual shit—just hardcore fucking. Anything to forget about her.
Days get X’d on my calendar. My guns get cleaned and my knives get sharpened.
After two weeks, I’m still so fucking pissed. That was her plan … screw around and die. She could have died on me with my dick buried in her. I’d have been left fucking a corpse. The thought repulses me, so much so I expel the contents of my last six beers over the edge of the balcony.
After thirty minutes of recovery, I retrieve another six pack from the refrigerator.
Unzip my pants.
And watch more porn.
*
“Theo?”
I’m not ready for company. Nolan has the worst timing. “Upstairs,” I yell.
“Looks amazing.”
I nail in the final piece of trim and turn. “Thanks. I’ll fill in the nail holes and that’s it.”
He nods, looking around the bedroom. “I’ll put it on the market by Friday.”
“I’ll be out this weekend.”
“Take your time.” He tips his chin up. “What’s with the plant?”
I glance over at the damn peace lily. I should have given it to the Asian guy too, but I didn’t.
“She left it.”
“Scarlet?”
I nod, sweeping up the saw dust.
“You want me to take it to her?”
I grunt. “I’m sure they have houseplants in London.”
“Probably, but London doesn’t have Scarlet Stone.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I bend down and sweep the pile into the dust pan.
“A couple of days ago I received a call from a guy who owns an apartment in town. Scarlet listed me as a reference on her rental application. Later that afternoon, she showed up at the house, on a bicycle—an old Schwinn. Said it was all she could afford for now.”
“And what did she want?” I try to sound like I don’t care, because I don’t.
“A job. She wanted to know if I knew of any good job openings.”
“Why—” I stop myself.
“Why what?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head.
It was nothing.
It was a lie.
It’s over.
I’m leaving soon, and I won’t be returning.