More Ferarum

Chapter Twenty-Two

Jesus Christ, Kate. Just go in.

The windshield began to fog from my breath. The tick of the engine slowed and spread out. I coached myself on how I'd managed to get myself into a courtroom, how I'd managed to get myself into a hotel room years ago. I told myself that I was too brave, too capable, to be trapped out of my own house; that the only thing I had to deal with was the next sixty seconds, and the sixty after that. One minute intervals until Jack was gone, or less furious.

Why should he be furious? You know what you're really afraid of.

That he wouldn't care.

That's stupid. You're being stupid.

It wasn't stupid. It felt true.

My front door swung in, the screen door swung out. Jack's silhouette grew as he stepped onto the porch and leaned against a support beam. His lighter flared near his face, the flame flattening as he sucked it into his cigarette. His face was luminous, ominous, then dark again.

Still, I couldn't be compelled out of the car. The cherry at Jack's fingers surged into bright life and dimmed, surged, and dimmed. I watched him smoke, I watched him through fogging glass. He watched me watch him.

Halfway through his cigarette, I caught the upwards questioning flick of his brows, aglow under the burn near his face. Like a skittish animal from a trap, my hand moved and popped the door before I'd realized a decision had been made.

Once the door had screeched itself all the way open, I had to go through it. I dragged my bag behind me as I slid to my feet. Every step from the heavy slam at my back to Jack blocking the small entryway was made on dead, detached legs.

Jack smoked, nonchalant. He was so seemingly relaxed, so easy, I had the sudden nonsensical idea that if this were a scene in a movie it would have taken dozens of takes to get this perfect composure and mood.

"Welcome home," he said, and blew smoke from his nostrils.

"Thanks."

"Jeanie's sick," he said, before I could ask. "She called me apologizing about an hour ago."

"Sick? Sick how? She was fine when I left."

Jack tapped his Pall Mall over the coffee can I kept out for both him and Bettie. "Don't think she was comfortable giving me details. So my guess is something menstrual or possibly dysentery."

I pulled the strap of my bag over my head, even though I was about to go inside and would have to take it back off.

"I was surprised," he went on. "Because you don't normally work Mondays."

I shifted my weight, my legs reasserting themselves.

"And you're not wearing scrubs. And you've been sitting in your car for over twenty minutes."

"I had a date," I said simply.

"You had sex," he countered.

I didn't know how to respond. For some reason, my first instinct was to argue with him. Accusations always drew my contrary side forward, despite whether or not they were true. Replacing that reaction was the justification that we were both adults and we both had sex. It wasn't his business, not really.

He ground his butt out in the can. I climbed the steps and slid past him into the warm embrace of my house. I dumped my bag on the floor and hung my coat on the hook. Jack shut the door behind him and put his fists into his pockets.

"You look nice." His voice was flat.

"Thanks." I pocketed my own hands, pulling my hoodie tight over my back.