Page 92 of Undone

“Art teacher.”

“But you paint?”

“I do.”

“Good. There’s one last room that needs a fresh coat.

“I’m not that kind of painter.”

“Nonsense. I need the help and judging by that beat-up car you drove here in; two nights lodging is going to set you back.”

“Don’t knock, Bess.”

“Bess?”

“My car. She outran a Shelby.”

“Bullshit. When?”

“Twenty-minutes ago. My ex… kind of saw the pictures of me and Roque and I didn’t feel like explaining shit to him.”

“Well, of course not. Exes don’t deserve jack.”

“You’re my kind of woman, Sally.”

“I’m glad you ended up here. I’ve been so bored, I was about to bake it all away.”

We chatted for almost two hours, laughing so much—we cried. Sally’s in her early-seventies. She used to work as a nurse and fell for a surgeon. They dated for six months before he abruptly dumped her for someone else and married that woman. Sadly, Sally never got over it. Instead, she spent her life alone. I sat across from her, wondering if I would too.

“I should get my phone,” I tell her, clearing our plates. I left it in my car on purpose, knowing it would be full of unread texts.

“Would you mind bringing some more wood in for the fire while you’re at it?”

“Of course not.”

I make sure we have plenty and get my phone.

He’s pissed.

Smith:Call me immediately, Lucille. Where are you?

Smith:I’m worried as fuck your shitty car went off the road.

Smith:LUCE! I’m calling hospitals here, babe.

Smith:Lucille! Baby? I’m losing my mind.

My fingers type fast.

Me:Being ghosted sucks doesn’t it?

Smith:I’m so angry. You have no idea what you’re in for when I find you.

Me:Is that a threat?

Smith:No. It’s a promise.

Me:What part of break-up, don’t you get? We. Are. Done.

---