Desiring Dylan - Suzanne Jenkins Page 0,9
his presence inappropriate and maddening. After all, he was partially to blame for Kenny’s death. Her anger was responsible for the mistaken accusation, but she didn’t care at the moment. He couldn’t save Kenny, and that was enough, a sin of omission rather than commission.
Not acknowledging his presence, but Landon knew Dylan saw her look right at him, she turned back to the burial, and thankfully, it was soon over. Betty made her way over to Landon.
“You don’t have to come to lunch,” she said. “I get it. I wish I could come back to your apartment with you. Go home and get some rest. You look like you’re ready to keel over.”
“If you’re sure, I’ll take you up on it.” She hugged Betty. “Thank you so much. It’s so generous of you.”
“Is it? Okay, I’m glad I’m doing something right. I don’t feel like anything I do is good right now. I’m numb.”
“You might feel that way for a while,” Landon said. “I’ll take being numb.”
They kissed and hugged again and parted reluctantly when friends and sympathizers who’d come to say something to Betty yet again lined up behind her, ignoring her need for privacy with Kenny’s girlfriend. People were impossible.
Looking around to make sure there were no unwelcome persons lingering by the fence, she left the canopy. Dylan had left. By the time Landon walked the short distance to the car, her anger had increased exponentially. Why had he come to the funeral of a man he couldn’t save?
She’d rarely thought of Dylan lately. It took a long time to get over their breakup, even with wonderful Kenny practically worshiping her. And Kenny knew about him, so he was patient with her.
“The guy obviously didn’t know what he was giving up,” Kenny told her. “I’m sure he regrets it every time he thinks of you.”
“Thank you, sweetheart, but I doubt it. The man has one focus, and that’s his career. He wasn’t about to make time for me, thank God, because thanks to that, I have you.”
But now he was gone. Lowering her head again, she began to cry, not knowing how she was going to survive the coming weeks, returning to work and all the condolences. It was better if no one said anything to her. She confided in her closest friend at work, Sukey Jones.
“I may not survive.”
“You don’t come back until you’re ready, you hear me? It’s fine here. You’ll see. You were already so far ahead. A week away from this place won’t kill anyone. We are ready for the show.”
Arriving back at her house should have made her feel better, but she was too angry. It had an association with Dylan, who had helped her find the place. She loved East Falls, where his family lived. The townhouse was in a hipper area, along the canal, and it had a view of the Schuylkill River. In the summer, she’d sit on the balcony and watch the rowers from Boat House Row slip through the water.
While she said goodbye to the driver, she wished she had the energy to ask him to wait; she’d change her clothes and have him drive to the mall, where she’d Christmas shop in anonymity. She was so tired though, getting out of the car and climbing the steps to her house took all the energy she had.
The apartment was cold, so she flicked the gas fireplace on before taking off her coat. Everything felt like slow motion: hanging the coat up, getting her phone out of her bag and throwing it on the couch. Stripping the black suit off, she balled it up and threw it into the trash can. She would never wear it again. Old sweats and a raggedy St. Joseph University T-shirt might be the uniform for a week. Napping was out of the question; she was too charged up about Dylan. Maybe Monday she’d march into the hospital and demand to see him, make him tell her why he’d show up during such a sacred time. It made no sense at all.
Chinese food came next, and after it arrived, she was glad her appetite had returned for a short time. Then she remembered her phone staring up at her from the couch. She’d shut it off the day before while she was with Kirk and Betty. Regretfully, when she turned it back on after twenty-four hours, it had blown up with text messages. And among them were calls and texts from Dylan.
Landon, I’m so