Page 5 of Whispers and Wildfire

“Good one,” Sharla said.

“And also a festering boil.” I started ticking off insults with my fingers. “A lying toad, a craven weakling, a stinking pile of dung, and a disgusting excuse for a man who’s an embarrassment to his parents and men everywhere.”

“You’re not wrong,” Nathan said.

I looked around, wishing I had another pickle—they’re my comfort food, don’t judge—not sure if even three people were enough to get things under control by the time the movers arrived. “Maybe we just burn it down, and I buy all new stuff. How about this? I cook bacon, get the grease good and hot. It catches fire, then I throw water on it and claim I didn’t know how to put out a kitchen fire.”

“Or we just pack what’s important and leave the rest for the shithead,” Nathan said.

Sharla patted her husband’s arm. “I like this plan.”

“Are you sure? I think there’s some bacon in the fridge.”

“We’re not burning the house down,” she said.

“Fine. The important stuff is my recording equipment. That’s all packed.” I worked as a voice actor, and since I had my own setup, I was able to work from home. It wasn’t a bad gig, although jobs could be few and far between. “It’s the rest of it that’s the problem. His attorney sent over an inventory list. I’m supposed to stick to that.”

Nathan picked up the printed-out list. “What a tool.”

I waved it off. “I don’t care about most of it. If he wants the pizza cutter and all the bar glasses, he can have them.”

“What about the furniture?” Sharla asked. “Are you keeping the bedroom stuff? I feel like that would be weird.”

“I slept on that bed alone more than with him, but no, I’m not taking it. He can get rid of it.”

“Fair enough.” She rubbed her hands together. “Let’s get started.”

Nathan’s brow furrowed as he read over the inventory list. His eyes moved to a glass sitting out on the counter. “Bar glass?”

I nodded.

His face expressionless, he batted it like a cat, right into the extra-deep farmhouse sink. The sound of breaking glass tinkled.

It was music to my ears.

“Don’t make a mess,” Sharla said. “You’re going to get her in trouble.”

The corners of his mouth lifted in a slight grin.

“Come on.” She grabbed his arm and tugged him out of the kitchen. “Let’s pack some boxes.”

We got to work, sorting through what Jared and I had accumulated over roughly a decade. The more we packed, the less I decided to keep. So little felt untainted by the ups and downs—mostly downs—of our relationship.

The movers arrived before we finished, but they were able to get started loading the truck while we madly sorted through books, kitchen items, and a closet we’d totally missed. Part of me wanted to take the curtains, bathroom mirrors, toilet paper holders, and light fixtures simply because they weren’t on Jared’s inventory list. But I opted out of that level of pettiness and settled on taking all the tools in the garage since Jared had neglected to divide them up.

His loss. And a girl never knew when she might need an electric drill with three sets of drill bits.

After the movers loaded everything, they shut the truck door with a bang. I stood on the front step, gazing at the moving truck with the contents of my life stuffed inside. Sharla sidled up next to me and put an arm around my waist.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah. I really am. I mean, I’m broke and about to move back to my hometown to completely start my life over. But I’m okay.”

“I think it’s going to be great. The kids will love having you close. When does the truck drop off your stuff?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.” I paused. “I just hope it’s not weird living in Tilikum again. It’s been so long, I hardly remember what small-town life is like. I haven’t been back for more than a summer since I left high school.”

“It’s the same, but different. But the same.”

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