Page 161 of Darling Venom
She trailed after me. “My questions?”
“You being here.”
“I need to finish the manuscript.”
“It’s been two weeks.” I slid my feet into a pair of Italian oxfords, kneeling to lace them up. “You said Kel finished it, and it just needs editing.”
“Heavy editing.” She followed me to the doorway, and this was starting to feel too domestic for me. I needed to get the hell out of here. “Full passage rewrites. Plot edits. Even some dialogue changes.”
“People write full-length novels in two weeks.”
“I’m not an experienced novelist.”
“Perhaps Kel should have asked someone else.”
“There was no one else,” she snapped.
I’d poked the right button. Gotten her so mad, I knew she didn’t want to see my face.
Good.
Maybe you’ll leave me alone to be miserable in peace.
My hand hit the doorknob.
I swung it open. “Mind your own business, Charlie, and hurry the hell up. When I return from my delivery, I expect you to be gone.”
Contrary to my wishes, I returned home to find Charlie there. Deep at work. A notepad in hand, the manuscript perched on the edge of the island.
From the doorway, I watched as she walked around my place like she owned it, taking notes, consuming the space. It felt fuller. Fuller than I ever remembered it.
Not with Terry.
Not with Hannah.
Not with Kellan.
She spotted me after a minute or two, lowering the notepad and picking up Darling Venom. “I photocopied the manuscript. The original is in a fireproof safe at home. I can make you a copy if you’d like.”
No, thanks.
“I have a question,” she said after it became clear I wouldn’t be using my mouth. “It’s about a passage where Kel—”
I slipped the noise-canceling headphones on, muffling her voice. She cut into my path. I stood there, watching her lips move, pretending the cancelation feature worked better than it did.
This was not the first time we’d done this song and dance.
Here’s how it normally went: Charlotte opened her mouth, I caught sight of the determination sprawled across her face, and I dipped. If that didn’t work, I found a way to tune her out. Once she realized I wasn’t listening, she left.
Only this time, she wasn’t leaving.
My feet brought me to the living room, where I plopped on the couch and flipped on the television for the first time ever. I still wore my headphones. Couldn’t hear her or the TV, but I did succeed at feeling a helluva lot like my deadbeat father.
Speaking of whom, all Terry did these days was eat, sleep, and disappear. I recognized the signs of depression.
Now, at least.
Couldn’t bring myself to help him, though.
