Page 50 of Center of Gravity

I shook my head. “I just need sleep.” And a time machine.

“All right, sweetie. I’m on the early shift tomorrow, so make sure Lainey’s stirring before you go.”

“I will. I promise.”

Peace at last. She started to close the door and then opened it again.

“I liked Rob. He seemed really nice. Cute, too.”

15

Rob

Ileft with a sour taste in my mouth and Alex’s accusation drumming against my temples. He was right.

I didn’t think he’d show for work the next day and that was fine. There was only the last of the trim work to touch up and then moving the furniture back into place, but I thought I could manage it myself.

Winslow greeted me at the door when I got home, dancing around my ankles and nipping at my toes until I let him out. I watched him from the back door as he walked the perimeter of the fence, sniffing along it.

When he finished, I let him back in, went upstairs, and got ready for bed. Winslow trotted in, muzzle dripping with water from his bowl, and I patted the bed twice. He hopped up, snuffling at my shoulder before stretching out at my side. I gave his belly a few gentle strokes. I think that was the moment I knew, despite not wanting the responsibility of a dog, I’d be keeping him. The ratty little bastard had grown on me.

At midnight, still unable to sleep, I sent Alex a text apologizing:You were right. I was unfair.

I got no reply.

* * *

He showed up at noon,setting off a series of excited yips from Winslow as he entered. I looked up from the doorframe I was painting, catching a glimpse of him as he tossed his car keys onto the table and cast a wary glance to the envelope with his earnings and the box of Cracker Jack I’d stuck next to it. He bent down to scratch Winslow, then headed for the paint cans.

“I thought you might sit this one out,” I said, since it was evident he wasn’t going to speak first.

“I told you I’d help you finish it, so I am.” His voice was light and clipped, but I supposed that didn’t matter. We’d be strangers again in another day.

I nodded in the direction of an open paint can. “I figure we’ll do the trim, push the furniture back, and maybe a second coat in the bathroom and call it done.”

“Works for me.”

We painted in silence for an hour, Winslow shadowing me as I moved from living room to hallway to kitchen and back. The silence was stilted and cumbersome and I must have considered breaking it twenty times, but everything I thought of saying felt inane. I suppose this was how we should have been from the beginning: employer and employee just doing a job.

“You going to keep him?” Alex broke the silence, a nudge of his chin indicating Winslow.

“I’m not sure how easy it would be to rehome him.”

“I think you should keep him.” He nodded, as if coming to some internal conclusion.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Might be nice to have something to come home to that’s warm and alive.” His gaze skirted me as he bent to stir the trim paint again. “My mom’s hounding me, all worried you’re going to get sick. She thought her roast was to blame.”

It took me a second to remember the excuse I’d made for Alex’s disappearance. “I wasn’t sure what else to tell her.” My paintbrush licked the window frame as I streaked a neat line of white across it. Instant gloss coating. If only I could put a fresh coat of paint on my own life, cover over the stains and pockmarks. Make everything new again. “I’m sorry about last night, by the way. I was out of line.”

Alex’s back was to me, his spine tensing, then relaxing as he let out a breath. He rolled his shoulders and dipped his paintbrush into the bucket, leaning closer to the frame to pick at something there before he coated it. “I saw. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I was drunk.” Paint striped across the frame in awhooshof perfect gloss. “We’re good.”

We finished the trim in the living room, moved to the foyer, split up to tackle the bathrooms, and then reconvened in the living room to push the furniture back into place.

The couch was a massive piece, constructed of solid wood and stuffed with what felt like a rock quarry. We each took an end and were doing a combination of rocking and sliding to get it back into position when my hand slipped and one of the legs slammed down on the top of my foot.

I howled a pained curse, wrenching my foot free only to stumble back into the goddamn Eames chair I’d kept at Alex’s insistence.