Page 32 of Wanting Wentworth

“Yeah.” Hands on her hips, Abbey’s brown eyes go wide. “That.” When all I do is drop my backpack before lowering myself onto the entryway bench, she gives me an exasperated sigh of her own. “What was he doing here, Kaity?”

“From what he said, looking for someone to split a milkshake with,” I tell her, doing my best to make light of the situation. The truth is, there’s nothing light about the thought of my little sister getting into a truck—alone—with Brock Morris.

“He wasn’t looking for someone,” she points out. “He was looking for you.”

“Let it go, Abbey,” I say, suddenly too tired and worn down to go round and round with her. “Did you pull that casserole out of the freezer?”

“Yes.” She gives me an impatient, you’ve got to be joking frown while she watches me pull off my boots, first one and then the other. “Why was Brock Morris looking for you?”

I’ve been here with Abbey before. There’s no shaking her with anything but the truth. “Why do you think?”

She stares at me for a few seconds while I watch her puzzle it together. I know when she lands on it because her entire body goes stiff before her shoulders loosen like someone clipped her string. “Kaity...” Like Damien earlier, she looks at me like I have a terminal illness.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I shake my head, dropping my boot on the floor with another weary sigh because I suddenly feel old and worn down. “Go see what’s on TV while I—”

“Maybe I can talk to him—Dad.” Her hands fall away from her hips to wring themselves in front of her. Fingers working on a series of invisible knots, Abbey nods her head. “Maybe he’ll listen to me. I can—”

“Don’t.” The word comes out of my mouth, hard and sharp. Pushes me off the bench to stand practically nose to nose with her. “I appreciate that you want to help but just... don’t, okay?” Softening my harsh refusal with a smile, I shove the last thirty minutes into a box and slam the lid closed because if I try to deal with it all at once, I’ll shatter into a million pieces. “I’m going to get that casserole into the oven so Mom won’t have to worry about dinner after a long road trip.”

“Okay.” Abbey gives me a nod before she turns to climb the stairs behind her, about halfway up, she stops and turns back to look at me. “I love Dad but he’s wrong. You know that, right?”

Before I can ask her wrong about what? she turns back around to disappear up the stairs.

EIGHTEEN

Wentworth

I haven’t seen Kaitlyn in four days.

When I woke up on Tuesday, I felt like a kid on Christmas morning. I barely managed to throw on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt before I rushed downstairs. Expecting to find her camped out at the counter with her laptop, surrounded by piles of notebooks with a pencil stuck in her hair and a pair of earbuds jammed into her ears to drown me out, all I find is a dark, empty kitchen and a single notebook—this one brand-new with a bright red cover—on the counter in front of a freshly brewed pot of coffee. On top of the notebook is a plate of chocolate chip cookies covered in plastic wrap.

Moving the plate off the notebook, I flip it open to the first page

James –

I thought we could use this as a way of communicating. Anything you’d like me to do while I’m here or anything you need me to pick up for you in town, just write it down and I’ll get it done.

Kait

p.s. the cookies are from my mom.

Scowling at the notebook for a few moments like her note was written in some sort of secret code that I can’t quite decipher, I pull the plastic wrap off the cookies. Shoving one into my mouth, I pick the same mug I used yesterday out of the cabinet above the coffeemaker and pour myself a cup.

Chewing what might be the best chocolate chip cookie I’ve ever eaten, I turn around to survey the room. There are obvious signs that Kait’s been here. The throw pillows I tossed on the floor last night, are arranged neatly on the couch I was laying on. The remote I stuck under the couch is in its rightful place on the coffee table. My boots are lined up like a pair of twin soldiers next to the front door. The dishwasher has been unloaded, reloaded, and is currently running behind me. I can smell the Lysol she used to clean the downstairs bath from here.

So, Kait came, cleaned, made me coffee, left me cookies, and then, instead of using the Wi-Fi for class like she needs to, she just... left.

Yeah—because she’s smart. You practically chased her around the house with your dick, yesterday morning, moron. Unless she’s crazy or suffered some sort of catastrophic brain injury, ain’t no way she’s going to put up with that bullshit two mornings in a row.

Shit.

Shoving the rest of my cookie into my mouth, I brush my hands off on the seat of my sweats before I turn to retrieve the notebook abandoned behind me. Pulling the cheap, plastic pen from the spiral, I flip it open. Back to scowling at it, I try to talk myself into just letting it go for a few seconds before I say fuck it and start writing.

Sunshine –

This is just as good a way of communicating as any I guess, but to tell the truth, I’d rather talk to you face to face. I said you can study here and I meant it. You don’t have to worry about me bothering you, if that’s what it is. I‘ll leave you alone, I swear. Just... be here when I wake up tomorrow, okay?

Hesitating for a few seconds, I leave the note unsigned rather than sign it with a name that really isn’t mine. Staring at what I wrote for another moment or two, I decide on impulse to drop a p.s. of my own.

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