Page 43 of The Way I Hate Him
“Yes,” she says, exasperated. “How else am I supposed to know if they’re important?”
“A quick scan would work.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not much of a scanner, and some of these letters have me invested. Like this one.” She waves a pink letter in the air like a white flag as she lays her head back down. “It’s all about how your song,The Reason, helped her realize that she needed to divorce her husband because he wasn’t treating her right. And how she got the courage to divorce him, and do you know what that bastard did? He took her dog in the divorce. She was the one who brought the dog to the relationship, and he went and took it. The freaking gall of that man. Anyway, she sent you a bracelet she made, and I thought I owed it to her to pass it along after everything that happened to her. She put her dog’s name on it.” She shakes her head. “Mitzy, poor, poor Mitzy, is with that motherfucker.” She flings the bracelet at me, and I catch it one-handed. I look at the homemade bracelet and back down at Hattie, who clutches the letter to her chest.
“You’re becoming too invested. You need to be more cutthroat because at this pace, you’re going to be working for me for the rest of the year.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” she says dreamily. “Reading letters in a nice house, stock full of pickles? You’re making it too comfortable for me. Frankly, this is on you.”
Shaking my head, I say, “You need to leave.”
She sits up. “Wait, like . . . you’re firing me?”
“No, but I like to see that worry. Maybe you’re not as comfortable as you think.”
“Ass,” she mutters.
“I have dinner plans, and it’s nearly six. So time for you to leave.”
She stands from the floor and lays her letter gently on a pile before picking up her crewneck that was draped over the couch. “Who are the plans with? A hot date?”
“None of your business,” I answer as I move toward my garage.
“Oh, it is a girl. I’m sure someone who you have interest in taking their clothes off, unlike present company?”
I turn toward her and say, “I’d rather stab myself in the eye than take off Abel’s clothes.”
Surprise falls across her face. “You’re going out with Abel? I haven’t seen him in a while.”
“If you’re fishing for an invitation, the answer is no.”
“Uh, I have to drive your car here to hide mine. Do you think I’m going to dinner with you and my brother’s best friend?”
I pocket my wallet. “You never know with you.”
“The answer is no. But please explain how I’m supposed to get back to my car if you’re leaving?”
“I’m taking my bike.”
“Aw,” she says. “You’re going to ride your bike there? That’s funny.”
I exhale sharply. “My motorcycle.”
“Oh.” She chuckles. “Sort of wish it was a bicycle. I’d pay money to watch you ride down the road on a cruiser, basket attached to the front, trying to gain speed to get to town.”
“You need to figure out a better way to spend your money,” I say. “Don’t worry about locking up. It will lock on its own.”
“Okay.”
“See you tomorrow.” I look over my shoulder at her. “Don’t be late.”
“Lighten up, Farrow,” she replies before leaving the front door and heading to my car.
I move into the garage and open the door. I hop onto my bike, situate my helmet, and then start it up. Pulling out, I speed past Hattie as she tries to figure out how to put my car in drive.
She is something else.
I speed down the coast, the ocean and cliffs to my right. One thing I missed while on tour was the feel of the ocean below me. I’ve always found solace in the waves crashing onto the beach. Maybe I should head out to the beach tomorrow. Perhaps that will clear my head so I can finally start getting something down on paper.
