Chapter Twenty-Eight
TWENTY-EIGHT
Back in his mess of a car, Shepherd was once again in charge of his own destiny.
And his destiny was to pick up his daughter from his ex-wife’s house, take her to breakfast, and then drop her off at her friend’s house.
That was all the destiny he needed for a while.
Another early-morning rain had left a layer of smog over the ocean, making the humidity release in the air like steam from an oven.
Shepherd put a hand in front of the A/C. It was blowing cold air, but his car had yet to cool off. Shepherd frowned, pressed the button with the little snowflake logo on and off. It didn’t do anything, as far as he could tell. He did it again, anyway.
Ginny hadn’t spoken since they’d driven away from the house. Shepherd drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. The silence was oppressive, and the morning sun was hitting him straight in the face. He pulled his visor low and turned on the stereo.
Fleetwood Mac started playing.
Thank God for Stevie Nicks. Shepherd hummed along and glanced at Ginny from the corner of his eye. She was sitting straight up, her hands folded in her lap as she went after her right thumb’s cuticle without even glancing down at it.
Shepherd wanted to reach over and put a stop to that. She was bound to make herself bleed. He wanted to talk about the night they shared, and where they were now, and what their destiny was two steps after waffles, because he hadn’t thought that far.
Were they going to go back and deal with her family? Go to the restaurant?
He needed to call Noah. Noah was going to have to handle things all by himself yet again.
What about her mother? Was she really kidnapped, or was she a serial killer who had laid a complicated subterfuge to get away with her murder sprees?
This wasn’t The X-Files, so it probably wasn’t that.
Shepherd cleared his throat. “Ginny?”
She inhaled sharply and blinked, as if reentering her body. “Yes?”
He should ask about his worries, about their plans, about her mother. He should talk despairingly about her grandfather. Shepherd wanted to ask, Hey, remember last night? When will we do that again? I’m game for it right now if you want me to pull over.
But what he said instead was, “Weren’t you a little too young for The X-Files? Like, it came out in the nineties, right?”
“Huh?” Ginny blinked some more, but she let go of her hands before blood was drawn, using her fingers to comb through her hair. “Oh, my poster? No, I got into the show during Covid lockdowns. I was stuck with my family, you know, and I needed something.”
“Oh, I thought that was your childhood bedroom.”
“It was. It was also my adult bedroom, too, thank you very much. When I wasn’t in Boston.”
Shepherd let go of the wheel long enough to raise his hands in surrender. “I’m not judging. Lex can live with me as long as she wants. I just don’t understand why you didn’t escape sooner.”
She fell back against her seat, her head thunking the headrest. “It’s not that easy. And now that I got out, what happens?”
“They pull you right back in,” Shepherd said without hesitation, clocking the Godfather reference with a speed that made him proud. Maybe he couldn’t keep up with his daughter’s K-pop obsession, but nineties movies? No problem! “Look at us, finishing each other’s movie references.”
She shrugged. “I took it from the book. I’ve never seen the movie.”
Shepherd glanced over at her in shock. “Virginia,” he said, her name feeling like a bad taste in his mouth for the first time ever, “it’s three movies.”
Shepherd had never, not once, been relieved to pull up to his ex-wife’s house.
Not even back when he lived in it. But this week was proving to be a first for many things, and at the sight of her stilted, beige panel-sided house with screened-in side patio and no shaded parking, he was so relieved he sighed in delight.
“OK,” he stretched as much as he could in his seat. “You owe me one.”
Ginny hummed in obvious disagreement. “Think I’ve paid my debts after last night, don’t you?”
His face went a little hot, but he ignored it, grinning at her instead. “I think we both made some payments last night. Some down payments. Eh?”
“I don’t … what?”
“I mean, come on, Ginny. Just let Hayley see you. Stand outside the car, you know? Show yourself off.”
“What, like, flash your ex-wife? I don’t think that’s appropriate.”
Shepherd undid his seatbelt. “No, not that. Just, like, wave or something. You’re so much hotter than her.”
He opened his door, and that rush of relief went through him again when she opened hers, as well. Nearby iguanas, sunning themselves in the fog, scattered at the sound.
“Please, Shepherd. This is not a competition. She was real-married to you. I am fake-engaged. She is obviously the loser.”
The relief fled. Shepherd slammed the door closed. Something that felt an awful lot like disappointment burned the bottom of his throat. “Ha. Ha. Just shut up and smile, will ya? You’re prettier when you’re silent, anyway.”
Ginny stuck her tongue out at him, but she stayed standing by the car hood as he walked up the drive.
Lex opened the door with uncharacteristic pleasure at seeing him. “Dad!” she shouted, throwing her arms around his waist and headbutting his chest—right where it burned the most. “I’m so excited for waffles! Mom! Dad’s here!”
“OK, OK,” Hayley grumbled from further in the house.
Lex grabbed a stuffed backpack off the ground and threw it at him, again hitting him in the sore spot of his chest. “You carry this. I call shotgun. Ginny!” she shouted, running outside. “I call shotgun!”
Hayley walked out of the kitchen in sweatpants and oversized sweatshirt, her cell in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. “Hey.”
“Hi.”
She eased around him, as he knew she would, to look out at the car. Or, more specifically, at Ginny. His super-hot, super-fake girlfriend.
She sipped her coffee, loudly. “Well,” she yawned. “See you Monday.”
“Yep. See you Monday.”
Hayley shut the door in his face. He grinned, the disappointment from moments ago waning slightly. Sure, maybe Ginny was only using him for her own comfort, but whatever. Her existence pissed his ex-wife off so much she had to pretend nonchalance.
A win was a win, anyway you cut it.