Page 57 of Cash

SEVENTEEN - Kimberly

He seemed nervous,which made me feel uneasy. I wouldn’t have guessed men like him ever got nervous. Watching him pace in front of the living room window told me otherwise. When he glanced at the street for the umpteenth time, I had to ask.

“Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. Yeah.” His gaze met mine. “What’s the deal with that friend of yours across the street?”

“What do you mean?”

“What’s her story?” Facing me, he tilted his head toward the window behind him. “Is she available?”

“She’s uhhm. Yeah. She’s. She’s divorced,” I muttered, confused as to why he was asking. “Why?”

“I was just wondering. I thought Tito might want to get with her when his jaw’s better.”

I was relieved at his revelation as to why he asked, but I couldn’t help but laugh a little at the thought of it. “After that story of yours, I don’t know if she’ll want to. Maybe. It’s hard saying with her.”

“Yeah. That’s kind of why I stopped by. That, and a few other things.”

“You lost me.” Confused, I sat on the edge of the couch cushion and gave him a look. “What do you mean?”

He sauntered across the room and relaxed at my side on the couch. “I want to elaborate. Make a few things. I don’t know. Clear. A couple of things, anyway. Maybe three or four.”

His stammering made me feel uneasy again. It worsened with each pronounced tick of the Tiffany & Co. Chelsea knock-off that sat on the end table at his side.

“Okay,” I murmured.

He was beating around the bush. I wondered what could have happened in the twenty-four hours since he’d revealed the complications of his childhood romance that almost was. While ideas of him laying out his departure plans formulated in my overactive mind, he cleared his throat.

“I wasn’t one hundred percent truthful with you – or with myself – when I told my story the other night. Or when I told you about why I didn’t do relationships.”

I was still quite curious, and a little relieved. “What uhhm. Okay. Well, I’ll listen if you’d like to clarify things.”

He inhaled a long breath. After exhaling heavily, he stood. “I’m not sure if it was what happened with the girl when I was in high school or something else, but I’ve always kind of ran away from anything that even came close to resembling a relationship. I’ve never been in one, really.”

His tired eyes met mine. It was my cue to make him comfortable with the situation. “I’ve only been in one, so we’re pretty close to each another in that respect,” I said, hoping my lack of relationship experience would provide him peace of mind.

He turned toward the window. “I told Baker I was done.”

After studying the darkened street, he turned around. His face was solemn.

I was far more confused than I was before he started speaking. Hoping that he was at a loss for words – and that he was going to complete the half-finished sentence that he’d started – I waited.

But nothing came.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what that means,” I said. “You told Baker you were done?”

He sat in the chair across from me and let out a breath. “I told everyone about you. Then, when Baker asked whether I was going to continue seeing you or not, I said I was done. But I wasn’t.”

“When did this happen?”

“The Wednesday after the Sunday night we ate dinner here.”

I still had no idea where he was going with the conversation. I looked at him and wrinkled my nose. “A few weeks ago?”

“I guess,” he said. “Yeah.”

“But you’re not? Not done, that is?” I asked, my voice laced with hope.