swung by a clinic to get my split nail bandaged before grabbing a cab.
By the time I pulled up to that all–too–familiar house, it was nearly nine.
From a distance, I spotted Stuart pacing outside, looking like a nervous wreck.
The second he saw me, he rushed over, face full of fake concern. The old me might’ve been touched.
Now? All I saw was how desperately his eyes scanned my arms.
Too bad. I wasn’t cradling a baby–just fresh shopping bags
“E–Elaine–you… What’s all this? Weren’t you at the hospital? What are these?”
Under the dim porch light, he finally registered the bags, his voice cracking as the questions tumbled out. Only now did I realize how awful his acting was. And yet, I had been blind. So unbelievably stupid.
“Oh, just some clothes. New Year’s coming up, after all. I’ll show you later–think they’ll look good on me?”
In my past life, trapped in that freezing shack, I had fantasized about picking up a knife and dragging Stuart and Peter straight to hell with me.
Now? The hatred still burned, but I was calm. Almost eerily so.
I even had the patience to make small talk.
It wasn’t until we stepped inside–Stuart barely holding himself together–that I finally, leisurely, gave him an
answer.
