Page 28 of Missing Pieces
I don’t say anything because I am afraid I’ll start crying if I try to defend myself. I hear a dog barking in the background and my chest floods with excitement. “Is that Poe?”
He ignores my question and continues, “I just need you to give me your damn address so we can get this divorce over with. I have more important things to worry about than you.”
Ouch. I don’t know why I let him affect me. I shouldn’t be letting him affect me. I mutter off my address and he shouts, “What the hell are you doing in Tennessee?”
I sigh into the phone and hear him telling Poe to shut up in the background. “It doesn’t matter. Just send the papers. I’ll sign them so we can get this over with.”
“Good.” That was all he said and hung up the phone. I stare at it in my hand. My sadness quickly turning to anger. I shove it back into my pocket. I start to work on digging up the path I plan to make from the porch to the driveway.
I rip weeds out of the ground where I plan on laying the path and throw them violently across the drive. I mutter to myself about how much of an asshole Drew is, so focused on wishing he would accidentally (or not so accidentally) get struck by lightning that I barely notice the sound of tires driving across the gravel of the driveway.
I don’t need to look up to see who it is, my body can sense him. And I don’t know why my body thought that was a good idea. “Whoa killer, what did those weeds ever do to you?”
I glare at him and go back to my weed murdering. “Cheated on me and then blamed me for it. Fucking asshole, motherfucking, douche turd.”
Easton laughs a hearty laugh. “Well I don’t think ever in my entire life have I heard anyone call weeds, douche turds. In fact, I don’t think I have ever heard the phrase douche turd before.”
I ignore his comment, get up, and start throwing the weeds into a trash bag.
“So I am guessing your ex-husband is the weeds.”
I nod as I forcefully throw each weed into the trash. “If only it were this easy just to rip him up and throw him in the trash.”
Easton grabs my arm and I stop my intense garbage throwing. “Well if you ever need me to rip him up I will gladly do it.”
I look up at him and curse myself for doing it. It looks like he hasn’t shaved in days and that scruff makes me want to rub my face against his. “That doesn’t even make any sense.”
“But it did get you to stop the violence against the weeds.”
It hits me then that he is back here at my house when the last time I saw him he seemed to want nothing to do with me. “What are you doing here anyway? I thought you were done with me.”
He takes a step closer to me and places his hands in his back pockets. “I came here to apologize,” he sighs. “I was kind of a, what do you call it, douche turd?”
“Yeah, you were a douche turd,” I answer, not giving him any hint of accepting his apology.
“Yeah, I was. And I shouldn’t have left you like that.” He runs his hands through his hair. “I just thought things were getting a bit intense and I needed to step away.”
“Well, then you could have ‘stepped away’ as you put it. Not practically run out my door!”
“I know. That’s why I’m here. To apologize and grovel at your feet so that you will hopefully accept my request to be your friend again.” He collapses to his knees in a praying position grabbing at my feet.
I start to laugh. “Okay, okay enough groveling. For now. We can call a truce.”
He looks up at me, still kneeling on the ground. “Friends?”
“Friends,” I agree as I offer him my hand to help pull him to his feet.
He grins at me and turns around to walk to his truck. He pulls two paint cans out of it and says, “Well as part of my truce and repentance for my behavior I thought I’d purchase some paint since you said you couldn’t afford it. Thought we could repaint the living room and get rid of that god-awful yellow. However, I see that you decided to start a new project instead.”
“Soil is cheaper than paint,” I say. “Plus it was a nice day out. And this place could use some landscaping.”
He places the paint on the ground. “That is true. So how about I help with your landscaping and we can paint another day?”
“I am almost done with what I planned for today on the yard. We can paint after finishing this up.”
He nods in agreement and we spend the next hour finishing up the yard. I tell him my grand plans for a wraparound porch and he loves the idea. He even tells me that he may or may not have learned basic construction skills from his grandfather who helped build the house he lives in.
As we move into the house and start moving furniture around so we can paint he opens the paint cans and says, “I hope you like the color. I don’t really know what you had in mind, but this just seemed to go with the slate curtains you put up.”