Page 11 of The Leaving Kind
“Tez!”
“What? He’s been on-again, off-again with that other beautiful ass, Amir, for how long now?”
“Eight months, according to Us Weekly.” Victor cast a glance toward the magazine resting on the kitchen table.
He didn’t need to see the picture on the cover to remember every detail. The slightly grainy photo of Tholo and Amir strolling hand in hand through some remote Italian village—the set of their latest film together.
Victor had assumed Amir was someone Tholo kept company with on occasion. He’d minded but not terribly much. So long as Tholo came home, Victor had never minded. He hadn’t dwelled. But this ...
Eh, he’d known Amir and Tholo were more than keeping company. Had known for some time.
As though sensing his thoughts, Tereza said, “You weren’t in love with him anymore.”
“I wasn’t.”
“But you’re still a mess.” For decades, Tez had had front-row tickets to the play of his moods. She’d know exactly how badly he was handling the breakup.
Victor dragged a chair out from beneath the kitchen table and slumped into it. His robe billowed up around him and the funk of a two-day bender rose up in a cloud. Ugh. He did need to wash. And to stop drinking wine. And to change his goddamned underwear. Call an end to this pity party and rejoin the world.
“I’m a mess,” he admitted to Tereza.
“Are you going to be all right for Sunday?”
Sunday, Sunday, Sunday. Wait, it was his grandson’s first birthday. And he was hosting. He’d had mulch delivered. And trees, though only the horses of Jupiter knew why he’d decided he needed new trees, which was to say no one. Instead of drinking himself into a stupor, he should have been tidying up the patio.
A voice whispered in the back of his mind, dry, slightly amused. “Rain forecast tomorrow. If you don’t want to lose your mulch to that gully off the side of your drive, you should drag a tarp over it.”
“Vic?”
“I’m here. I’ll be fine.” Did he sound confident?
“Are you sure?” Tez sounded tired, as though she wished she didn’t have to ask. And she shouldn’t have to. She really shouldn’t.
“I’m sure. Though, if you want to come out early and help with the food ...”
“Sounds like a plan. I’ll see you bright and early Sunday morning, okay?”
Another gust of wind leaned against the house. Rain drummed against the roof and not-so-distant thunder rumbled. “If I still have a house by then.”
Chuckling, Tereza wished him farewell and ended the call.
Victor sat staring at the blank screen of his phone for a few seconds, then slid it across the kitchen table, turning it face down over the magazine cover. A corner of purple poked out from beneath. The envelope Tholo had left behind. Scowling at it, Victor wrapped his robe around his torso and tied it off as tightly as he could. No point in getting dressed. The rain would drench him in seconds.
By the kitchen door stood a row of boots and shoes. Leftovers from when everyone had lived here: Tereza, Coriander, and Sage. Victor smiled as he contemplated the family of footwear. He left the shoes there as a reminder and because the kids always liked seeing them when they visited. They’d tease him but smile fondly at the row nonetheless.
He shoved his feet into bright red rain boots festooned with yellow chickens. Tereza had given them to him for Christmas two years ago, knowing he’d adore them and he did. Then he opened the kitchen door and stepped out into the storm.
The wind tugged his robe free of the belt within thirty seconds. Leaves leftover from last fall hit him in the face. Victor clawed the leaves away, clutched at his robe, and leaned into the weather. God, this wind. Perhaps he wouldn’t need to plant the new trees. They could all be snapped off at the base. And the mulch might already be gone.
The wind dropped off sharply as he entered the narrow space between the house and the garage, and Victor used the interlude to catch his breath.
Then he was around the corner and back into the storm, the wind doing its best to undress him entirely. And, there, in his driveway, was the Kelly-green pickup truck emblazoned with the Christmas tree logo. Of course he’s here. Exhaust puffed out behind the tailgate, but Victor couldn’t hear the engine over the storm. Neither could he see the driver until he noted a tarp flapping near the mulch pile that appeared to be wrapped around a man.
Gritting his teeth, Victor went to help flatten the tarp over the mulch. “You didn’t have to do this,” he yelled into the wind. “I was on my way outside to do it.”
Cam poked his head over the edge of the blue plastic. “I was in the area.”
“Where did this tarp come from?”