Page 6 of Above All Else
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll have a beer.” Loud voices billowed in the background. “Why? Some kid throw up on you again?”
My teeth dipped into my lower lip, and I shoved my fingers through my hair.
He went out again…without me?
“No. It’s nothing.” I leaned against the headrest and staredat the car ceiling. “I was hoping we could do dinner, but I see you’re already out.”
“Just a dinner meeting. I would have invited you, but you know how these things bore you.”
My brows furrowed. “I don’t recall saying that.”
“Yeah, you told me the last time you went.”
I clicked my phone over to my car speakers and reversed out of my parking space, dropping my phone into the console. “Wasn’t that over a year and a half ago?”
“Could be.” He sighed. “Look, I have to go. I’ll be in town soon, and we’ll do something, okay?”
“Wait? You’re out of town?”
“I talked to you about this.”
He most certainly didn’t.
“Must have slipped my mind. When will you be back?”
“Might be today or sometime this weekend.”
This weekend?
“They’re bringing out the lobster. I’ve gotta go. Bye.”
“Okay, love yo—“
The background noise cut off in an instant, leaving me roiling inside.
Guess it’s just me tonight.
Again.
My eyes burned as I swallowed down the lump in my throat and worked the uneasy sensation crawling up my skin.
Something has to give.
I can’t keep going on like this.
Pulling into my driveway, I eyed my small, square-shaped home on the right—the one with the white picket fence I’d dreamed of since I was a little girl. I parked next to the back door and got out.
An extra-large glass of red wine sat on my mind as I slipped the key into the door handle, my head swiveling from side to side. I shoved my way into the house, locked the deadbolt, and drove the chain into place.
Avon was a small town surrounded by several other small towns—not much went unnoticed here. Especially with the looming day approaching. Citizens from Vail often fled their homes and held up in The Westin Resort or Sheraton, maxing out our small town’s capacity in a matter of minutes.
Not that it saved them.
I flipped on the kitchen light, hung up my keys, and pulled my sheer living room curtains closed.
Walking to the corner, I ran my fingers over the record player I’d inherited from the thrift store trash can, flipped the power button, and moved the needle over the well-used Beethoven vinyl.
Moonlight Sonata Movement 1 erupted into the room, filling my soul with a heavy unease. My life sat in the perfect alignment of the piano’s mournful chords, each note resonating with the muted sorrow hidden behind my smile.