Page 49 of Unstable

Great, I’ve gone from a tight-lipped recluse to a needy clinger. Way to slowly transition, Henley.

“Hey,” the kind concern with which he speaks has me looking at him, “I am your friend, and anytime you really need me, just say the word.”

“So what, you only wanna talk if it’s completely catastrophic news and you’re needed?” I squeeze my eyes shut in shame, more than aware that I’m lashing out like a spoiled child.

“Well not catastrophic, but yeah, needed. Otherwise, it’s called getting in the way.” His soft laugh draws my eyes open. “Henley, nothing you’ve said today was a question or a quest for advice. You were more thinking out loud, organizing and confirming all the answers you already know. Which makes me damn happy. I don’t think you even fully grasp how much you’ve changed, grown, since you’ve been here.”

“You really think so?” My doubt releases itself, shaky and high-pitched.

“Hell yeah. Do you believe in coincidences?”

“No, not really.”

“Neither do I. Think about it, your mother leaves you this farm, despite knowing its home to all your biggest fears and memories, both of which have been holding you back from living. And it just so happens to be right next door to Keaton, who hates the lawyer she hired? And a dream tells you right where to find the diary that can set you free from feeling guilty so you can pursue your destined, and deserved, happiness? None of that was coincidence. Even if I did believe in them, a string of that many in a row, all tangled within each other? Not a chance.” He shakes his head.

“Oh, thank God.” I sigh in relief and snicker. “Finally, two Gatlin monologues! Had to drag them out of you, but well worth it.”

He couldn’t possibly know what his profound speeches mean to me. The faith behind his words makes me want to have faith too.

“Grab your hammer, silly girl,” he laughs. “You’re figuring things out just fine all by yourself. You didn’t need me to tell you any of that, but you work better when you’re not pissed off or trapped in your own head, so there ya go.”

We finish the day in companionable silence, the only interruptions being the few times Bourbon comes seeking some attention from me. And when I ask Gatlin if he’d like to join me for dinner, he politely turns me down with excuses of catching up on laundry and some important phone calls.

So Bourbon and I head back to the house, and because he’s been acting so sluggish today, I let him come inside for the night. I make him a fluffy pallet on the floor and his very own plate of the pot roast I’d had in the crock pot all day, keeping a close eye on him.

When we’re done eating, I change into my pajamas and am just settling on the couch when “I'm Moving On” by Rascal Flatts starts playing from somewhere across the room.

Of course he did.

I follow the sound of the song and grab my phone. “Hello,” I answer. “Nice ring tone.”

“I thought so.” His smile is audible over the line. “Fitting, dontcha’ think?”

“I suppose it is, yes. Great song too, so you’re forgiven for once again hacking into my phone. What plays when I call you?”

“Haven’t set one. Thought I’d wait for you to not only call me, but pick it yourself.”

“Keaton, I don’t know your code.”

“Yeah you do, give it a try one day. I bet you guess it within three,” he laughs.

And then we fall into silence, each waiting for the other to say something, I guess?

Thankfully, he goes. “Bet you’re wondering why I called?”

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

“Wanted to see how your day went. And to ask about your mortgage payment. Did Dick Lick say how much it was?”

“No.” I need to find that out; God, I’m inept. “Merrick only said he had switched some things around and took care of it this month. Why?”

“I’m just getting all possible questions ready for when we go see him. No biggie, nothing for you to worry about.” He lightens his voice and races to change the subject. “So your day, what’d you do?”

“I worked on the fence,” I yawn, “ate some roast, and now I’m laying down for the night.”

“You sound sleepy. All raspy, very sexy,” he flirts in the tone he just described. “What are you sleeping in?”

“Pajamas.”

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