Page 123 of Down Bad

Henrietta tells me without any words how much she does not appreciate my extra commentary.

I head out.

Stop on the porch.

And realize I have nowhere to go.

Wyatt’s back from church, judging by the presence of his car in the driveway.

I could go over. Knock. See if he’s up for killing some time.

Pretend we didn’t just fight the other day.

Not talk about Mr. Bellamy so I don’t blow up.

Not talk about the way he lets the town steamroll over him so he doesn’t blow up.

The next minute, my phone buzzes. I look down.

Speak of the devil. A text from Wyatt.

SOS, it reads.

I squint. Then look over at his house.

He’s at the kitchen window staring right back.

—25—

Wyatt

Not gonna lie, that man looks so good.

Diego on his porch.

Phone in hand.

Staring over at me through the window like I just grew a pink fuzzy rabbit out of the top of my head.

Probably trying to decide whether to answer my SOS.

Or leave me drowning.

I perfectly expect him to roll his eyes and walk away. Go back into his house. Flick me off. The way we ended things wasn’t that great. Maybe it’d provide me a kind of closure I need.

Like: Diego and I really aren’t a great match.

And when that house sells, he’ll become a memory, and I’ll be Mr. Bellamy’s favorite doormat for the rest of time.

If doormat is even a low enough word.

Diego leaves his porch.

Crosses the lawn.

His heavy feet coming up the steps one at a time.

I’ve opened the door before he reaches the top step.