Page 2 of Nocturnes & Nightmares

“When you haven’t paid me anything in two months? You’re damn right I am. I need fifty bucks for Oliver.”

“Fifty? What the fuck is fifty bucks?”

“A cake, a toy, and the only thing he asked for, a new coat.”

Snorting again, he shakes his head. “I got ten bucks on me.” He stuffs his hand into his back pocket and yanks out a ten he lets flutter to the floor.”

“You get a couple hundred a week in unemployment, plus cash mowing lawns. Where did all that go?”

“None of your business, that’s where.”

As anger gets the best of me, I shove at him, jostling his body. “It is my fucking business! If you can’t help me with bills, then get out!”

Twisting just enough to peel his face from the couch cushions, he frowns back at me. “’S’at what you want, Nola? Break up our home over money? Said it’d never come to that. Said nothing could ever get in the way of our marriage. Remember?”

“I’m tired of doing everything alone, Denny. The cleaning. The bills. The cooking and the worrying.”

His brows wing up with an incredulous smile I’d love to smack right off his face. “Oh, I’m not busting my ass?”

“Are you? I wouldn’t know. You haven’t given me a dime, except for this measly ten bucks!”

He goes back to cuddling his fifth like a toy he refuses set down. “I’ll get you your damn money. Chill the fuck out.” The watch at his wrist catches my eye—a cheap knockoff Rolex that Oliver bought him for Father’s Day a couple years back. Surprised he still wears it.

“I want you out of here. Out of my life.”

“And then what? You think you’d survive without me? Money aside, you’re nothing but a w—”

“Mom?”

I turn to find Oliver standing in the hallway, decked out in his Star Wars jammies, slipping on his thin, black-rimmed glasses.

Head tipped, he glances to Denny and me, no doubt assessing the situation. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s okay, baby. Go back to bed.”

“Can I have a glass of milk?”

“’The hell did your mom tell you—”

“Sure, sweets,” I cut Denny short, flipping him off behind my back, where he can see. “I’ll bring it to you in a second. Go back to bed, okay?”

Once Oliver is out of sight, I loosen the hundreds of muscles in my face it takes to feign a smile.

“That’s why you need fifty bucks. You spoil the little shit.”

“That little shit hasn’t asked for anything any other kid his age would ask for. He deserves all the goddamn presents in the world for having you as a dad.” I kick at his feet, taking in a small measure of joy when he recoils.

“Time for another bitch pill, eh, Nola?”

“End of the week. I want you out. And if you don’t pay your half of the bills by tomorrow? You can crawl your broke ass out of here the next day. After Oliver’s birthday.”

With a snort, he shakes his head and curls into himself on the couch. “You always were heartless, Nola. This marriage was doomed from the beginning.”

My chest throbs in a reminder that I’m not heartless. I’m heartbroken. Not just for me, but for the little boy to whom I’ll have to explain everything, every broken piece that’s shattered around him, and carefully try to put his world back together.

“I need to run out. I’ll give Oliver a glass of milk, and he should go right back to sleep. Think you can handle being an adult for an hour, or two?”

It feels irresponsible leaving Oliver with Denny, but if truth be told, my son is the one most responsible in this scenario. Oliver could practically care for himself, if that were legal.