Page 6 of Love Again

Rather than answer, I jump to the question I know is coming. “I’m staying with Keller at his place.”

“I get it. And then what? You just go back?” Devon wipes her brow and leaves a trace of paint. I need her so badly right now, I feel almost giddy.

“Let’s get some air circulating in here,” I say and move to open several of the lever windows across from one another to create a draft.

“And then you just go back?” she says again, but this time there’s a plea behind the question. I watch her roll the paint on the walls, her ass tight, the muscles in her small arms moving with each pass, her tight bun making small circles as her head moves in time with her strokes. She’s covering up the streaks, the dirt, the worn spots with fresh paint.

We are all good at covering up.

“That’s the thing. I’m not.”

This makes her turn around.

I swallow. “I don’t know what I’m doing after this. Teach, maybe. I’ve been in school again.”

“Is it your parents?”

“No. It’s nothing you need to be concerned about,” I say.

She sets the roller in the pan. This signals a chink in her armor. There’s concern in that small, oval face that tears at my heart.

“You really didn’t come back here for me?”

Finally, I can answer in all honesty. “No.” As much as I wish that were true.

“Okay,” she says and tilts her jaw up at a defiant angle as if getting her head around something. “Okay. I can do this.” She looks at me and nods. “I can do this,” she repeats.

“Do what?”

“This.” She takes an index finger and points it back and forth between us. “I can work here, you can work here. We’ll be on opposite shifts, and if you need anything or I can be of help, feel free to ask. I can do that for you. I mean, we’re not enemies . . . right?”

I close my eyes for a moment and then open them, and what comes next is with a sigh. “No, we’re not enemies.”

“Good,” she says.

“You sure you don’t want help with this? I can paint close to the ceiling. Wouldn’t need to use that.” I point to the stepladder in the center of the room.

She shakes her head, leans over, and picks up the roller.

“We’re not enemies, Luke. But we’re not friends either.”

Chapter Three

Devon

I’m so preoccupied, I forget for a moment that Laurel and Cory moved out four weeks ago. I come up the stairs, unlock the door, step inside, and have sudden onset amnesia.

Standing in the living area, I look around and then remember: oh yeah, that hideous horse-print throw is gone. Cory’s Legos are missing, along with the other tubs of toys. Laurel and Cory moved out.

I toss my keys in the basket on the kitchen counter and reach for a bottle of wine. But it’s only half a bottle—not nearly enough.

Not nearly enough for what?

To forget Luke.

That’s never going to happen.

A whole month?