Page 81 of Heartless

A home where my wife should be waiting for me.

My wife.

The woman who holds my heart but whose heart I’ve broken.

“My mother died when I was seven from a stroke.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. I’m good. My pop is a good man, and he surrounded me with lots of love from him, my grandmother, and my aunt. Though my brothers were rough on me, it was because they loved me.”

I nod.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to be spilling my life story here.”

“You’re good. Sometimes, we need someone to pour out our heartache to.”

“And you? What’s your heartache?”

Smiling, I reply, “I can’t complain. I’ve got a damn good life.”

“That’s saying a lot. Most people aren’t happy about something or other in their lives. You must be doing something right.”

“Maybe.”

“I’d say more than maybe. You’re married,” she says, pointing at my left ring finger.

“I am. Speaking of which, I’ve got to go. It’s been a pleasure talking with you...”

“Reyna. Reyna Jackson,” she says, extending her hand.

“Reyna, it was a pleasure to meet you. I’m Onyx. Onyx Maxwell,” I return, taking her hand in mine.

Winking, she says, “Onyx, it was a pleasure to chat with you also. I believe this belongs to you.”

Grabbing something from her handbag, she passes a sheaf of papers to me just as Andre walks up to us.

“What’s this?”

“You’ve been served.”

“What?” I ask, staring at the manila envelope in my hand.

“It was a pleasure chatting with you. Oh, and you do look like Darien Martin. You should Google him sometime.”

She hops off the barstool and walks away in a whirlwind of hips, tits, and ass.

“It’s always the ones that leave you panting for them that makes you wish you’d never cross paths with them. How does that song go? Never trust a big butt and a smile,” Andre sings in a drunken off-key tone.

20 – MEADOW

“It’s so beautiful out here,” I say, sitting side by side with Claire on her porch.

We occupy two of the four rockers out here, and we’re watching the sunrise. Yesterday, when she’d seen me walking back to my cottage from the beach, she’d called out to me.

She’d said it was good to see me looking healthy and happy, and so different than the first time she’d seen me a week ago. She’d also informed me that Matt, who apparently is her son, had mentioned seeing me leaving the store.

They both have made it their mission to check on me daily. Whether Matt is bringing pies his mother baked to my front door, or fruit that he handpicked and brought to me. They haven’t missed a day in the last week.