Page 39 of From Nowhere

“Later.” I shut her door and tap twice on the window with my flat hand.

She finally glances in my direction, biting her lower lip.

I have no clue what I’m doing or where this is going.

Chapter Eleven

Maren

Lola has heartbreaking scars on her face. She’ll wear those reminders of her mother’s death for a long time. Not a single day will pass that she won’t look in the mirror and think about the tragedy and the hole in her chest that it has undoubtedly left.

“No.” Will sneezes. “Just—” He sneezes again, eyes red, nose running. “No.” He tosses his gaming controller aside and makes a dash for the bathroom, returning with a wad of tissue to blow his nose.

“How can you be allergic to cats? Isn’t rescuing them from trees your job?”

“Fuck you, Maren. How did—ACHOO!” He wipes his eyes. “How did you not know that I’m allergic to cats?”

“I’ll keep Bandit in my room.”

“Dude. No! I’ll be dead by morning. The furnace will disperse that shit all through the house. You have to take him outside now.”

“I’ll keep him in the shed.”

“No. I’m going to rent it out.”

“You’ve been saying that since Jamie moved out. Besides, I told you I will look for my own place.”

“Whatever.” He plops onto the sofa. “But that thing leaves the house immediately.”

“He’s a cat, not a thing. And I can’t buy a house immediately. I’ll keep him in the shed.” I head toward the back door with Bandit meowing in my arms.

“Hope he has money. I’m charging him rent,” Will hollers.

I stop and huff just before opening the door. Dozens of fighting words rush to the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them. “Fine. I’ll pay double the rent so Bandit can stay in the shed until I find my own place.” I snatch the key from the hook by the door and take Bandit to his new home.

After I find a box, cut air holes into it, and line the bottom with an old blanket, so Bandit doesn’t decide to use the mattress as a litter box, I leave him in the shed to run to the pet store for supplies. And just as I pull back into the driveway, around seven, my phone rings.

“I can’t believe you called,” I say, slinging my purse over my shoulder and heading toward the backyard with my supplies.

“I’m a man of my word, even if I have very few words.”

I laugh, opening the shed door. “What’s with the whispering? Are you hiding?”

“No. I’m in my room. Not hiding.”

“Then why are you whispering?”

“This is the voice I use when I’m sneaking around,” he says.

My face hurts from smiling so much. It’s been a long time since a guy has made me feel this giddy. “Are we still meeting for a drink somewhere close to your house, since you’ll be walking or biking?”

“How about the Cider Snake at twenty-two hundred hours? They’re open until zero hundred hours.”

I chuckle. “Will everyone at your house be asleep by then?” I hit speaker on my phone and set it on the bed so I can dump kitty litter into the litter box.

“Yes. What’s that sound?” he asks.

“Uh, I just got home from running errands, and I’m putting things away. What happens if someone wakes up and needs you, and you’re not there?”

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