“Hey,” he calls, then pauses, waiting for her lamenting sigh, the one meaning she’s still pissed, but less so. He’ll say he’s sorry, and she’ll frown, but she won’t really mean it, then he’ll put his hand on her leg and she’ll lean into him and they’ll lie here, cuddling, while they finish watching this dumb movie before retiring to bed for some solid post-argument sex.
But she doesn’t respond. Instead, she heads straight for the bedroom. He half smiles. Straight to it?
Then he hears the first thunk. What the . . . ? He has to investigate.
As he walks in, Cameron watches his work boot sail over the edge of the moonlit balcony, landing below on the tiny square of crusty grass.
Thunk.
Its mate hits the walkway, then bounces a couple of times over the weedy cracks, laces dragging behind.
“Katie! Can’t we talk?”
She doesn’t answer.
“Look, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.”
Again, no response.
Whiz.
A ball cap grazes his ear as it sails by. His favorite Niners cap. Enough. Yeah, he should have told her he got canned. But could they just talk about it for a hot second before she throws out everything he owns?
“Katie,” he says slowly. Like she’s some wild animal, he reaches out and puts a tentative hand on her shoulder.
“Don’t,” Katie mutters, twisting away. She yanks a pair of his boxers from the bureau and wads them in her fist, then hurls them toward the balcony door. But the throw is too soft. The underwear unfurls and flops to the floor.
He bends to pick it up. “Can we just talk?”
“I can’t do this anymore, Cam.” For the first time since she left for the dentist this afternoon, she meets his gaze. Her eyes blaze, like the bonfires they used to build in the shadow of his Jeep when they’d go camping out in the high desert. But those days are long gone. The repo guys snagged the Jeep months ago. Cameron was going to call the bank, to make their so-called payment arrangement. He swears he was about to do it, but no, they just sent those assholes in and hauled it away, no second chance. Yet another deduction from his chance tally.
“I swear, I was going to tell you. And it wasn’t my fault.”
“Sure, it wasn’t your fault. Never is, is it?”
“No!” The relief that washes over him at her sudden empathy is short-lived. Of course she’s being sarcastic. His cheeks burn. “I mean, it’s complicated.” Of course she’s kicking him out. Cameron would probably kick himself out, too.
Katie closes her eyes. “Cameron, it isn’t complicated. I’m going to put this to you as simply as possible, so your juvenile brain can understand. This. Is. Over.”
“But I’ve got rent covered,” he insists, thoughts veering back to Aunt Jeanne’s mystery box. Desperation tinges his voice. He trails Katie from the bedroom into the kitchen, still clutching his boxers.
“This isn’t about rent! It’s about your inability to be an honest human being.” She picks up the mystery box from the counter and starts back toward the bedroom. Toward the balcony. To his surprise, his gut clenches.
“I’ll take that.”
“Fine, whatever. Just get out.” She drops the box, and it lands with a heavy thump on the carpet. Her face has changed, the fire in her eyes vanished. She looks tired.
“You mean right now?” Cameron snorts. She can’t be serious.
“No, next Saturday. I threw your stuff outside for the hell of it.” She rolls her eyes. “Yes, of course, right now.”
“Where am I supposed to go?”
“Not. My. Problem.” She lets out a hollow laugh. “Not that I care, but someday, you’re gonna have to grow up, you know?”
THE BOX MAKES a reasonably comfortable seat. It’s better than the curb, anyway. In the dark, and with his stuff heaped next to him, Cameron waits for Brad to pick him up.
And waits and waits. For an hour.
Of all the times to not have a car.
Finally, headlights sweep around the corner. “What the hell happened?” Brad slams his truck door as he gets out.
“What the hell yourself! What took you so long?”
“Well, let’s see. How about, I was asleep. Because it’s almost eleven on a Tuesday night.” Brad starts chucking Cameron’s stuff into the truck bed. “Some of us have to work tomorrow, you know.”
“Hey, fuck you.”
Brad’s face melts into a grin. “Too soon? Sorry.”