She Has A Broken Thing Where Her Heart Should Be - J.D. Barker Page 0,189

felt it best not to turn on any lights. The bedrooms and living room either face the road or the neighbors, so it’s best we avoid those rooms. The kitchen windows all look out over the backyard, which is fenced. If we stick to this part of the house, nobody should see us.” She stirred the hot dogs and nodded toward a closet on the far end of the kitchen. “I found a washer and dryer back there. I think we should take the opportunity to do our laundry while we’re here. Such conveniences aren’t always so handy.”

I had a sudden urge to smell under my armpits, but I was classy enough not to do that while she was watching. I knew my clothes were rank. I hadn’t done proper laundry in weeks. Instead, I washed my clothes in hotel sinks and strung them around the room to dry.

While I had “washed” everything when I arrived in Fallon, nothing would beat an actual machine washing.

A box of latex gloves sat on the kitchen counter.

“I found those under the sink,” Stella said. “I prefer my gloves, but latex will do, too. I find it’s good to have extras.”

The bottle of tequila, two of the cans of Diet Coke, and two plastic cups half-filled with ice had been set on the kitchen table. The flickering candlelight on that bottle was nearly as enticing as Stella’s smile.

Stella placed two slices of bread on paper plates, then fished out the hot dogs and dropped them on top. “Go ahead and mix our drinks, Jack. You look like a puppy eyeing a bone.”

When you haven’t eaten in nearly twenty-four hours, things tend to taste a little better than they probably should. Even so, that might have been the tastiest hot dog I’ve ever eaten. Between the two of us, we ate the entire package, and I put away three slices of white bread after that. The tequila and Diet Coke, though, sat in front of me, barely touched. I had been staring at the bottle, I’m not sure how long, when Stella spoke.

“You need it, don’t you?”

I wouldn’t lie to her. “Usually.”

“But not now?”

I thought about it for a second. “I haven’t had a drink since the club last night. I found a bottle of Jim Beam in the glove box of the Mercedes, but it was empty. I nearly cracked it open so I could lick the glass, I wanted a drink so bad. But now…”

I held my hand out, palm down. Steady, no shaking. “Weird. I feel like I want to drink, like I should be drinking, but I don’t really need a drink. Normally, I’d be shaking like a leaf when I’m this dry.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t, then.”

“Maybe I would like to drink with a beautiful woman.” I raised the bottle and took a sip of the tequila, then set it back down. “Whether I need it or not.”

Stella pushed her empty glass toward me. “After what happened at the reservoir last night, the hotel this morning, and the lake, I not only want a drink, I need a drink, and possibly a third or a fifth or a sixth after that. I would like to forget our little predicament for tonight, and that bottle plays a significant role in my plan. I am quite happy we found it, actually.”

I smiled and refilled her cup. “I imagine living in a house with Latrese Oliver would drive anyone to the bottle.”

The moment the words slipped from my mouth, I regretted them.

Stella’s face fell slightly at the mention of the name. She reached for her cup, stirred it with her finger, then took a drink. She had removed her gloves. They were folded neatly beside her, next to the three books. “It may be difficult for you to understand, looking in from the outside as you did, but she did treat me well. She cared for me, looked out for me, treated me with respect. Not the kind of respect the others in the house doled out, they were simply afraid of me. Not her, though. If she feared me in the slightest, she never let on. The day I left…I hurt her. I hurt her horribly. That man came, got me out, killed all those people to get me out, and I never thought we’d actually make it to the front door let alone to his car, but somehow we did, and I remember standing there, amazed by this. I saw this documentary once