Page 24 of Just A Bet

I can still hear her voice as clear as it was that night. It’s the music in my head the whole time I’m out installing a job. I also hear that guy’s voice.

That guy. He’s trouble.

I can smell it from a mile away, but Lennox has always seen the best in people. Which is why I thought for sure she’d dated plenty of guys, probably all losers of course, but she hasn’t. When she said that I was part of the reason for that, I couldn’t help but hope that meant she was just as strung up on me as I was on her. But I could see the miserable truth in her eyes. I have only ever been a pain in her side.

I place a board on the saw stop and I start the blade. The machine whirs as I slide the board across the table. My thumb hits the saw blade. I don’t move. Don’t react. I can’t process what’s happening fast enough.

The machine shuts off, and I jump back. There’s blood slipping down my hand, but the wound isn’t deep.

“Rick!” I holler.

He looks up from the toolbox on the work truck, sees my bloody hand, and goes down.

“Dang it, Rick.” He’s always so unreliable.

I wrap my hand up in my shirt and head to the truck for the first aid kit. I rummage through the picked-over bandages until I find what I need. I finally release the compress to assess the damage. I don’t think I cut through anything major. It sure hurts, though.

Funny how the things I don’t react to, the times I freeze up, are the ones that still carry the most pain in my life. Every time I didn’t stand up to my dad. Every time I tried to tell Lennox how I felt, but I just couldn’t do it.

Those are the mistakes that leave the biggest scars and the most regret.

And I’ve been living my whole life like that. Watching everything pass me by in slow motion, too afraid to reach out and stop the machine myself.

After work, I take the long way home, enjoying the kids playing out in their yards while parents set up Christmas decor.

I want that.

I want the cookie-cutter house, the two point five kids, the happy holidays. All of it. But I’m never going to get it in my current state.

I turn down my street and almost hit the back end of a white van.

“What the—” Dozens of cars litter the road and people crowd around a smoking building. My building.

I shut off my car, not even caring where I parked it, and sprint towards the apartment complex. I see Tom and his two grandkids on the sidewalk, then Marge and Brent. Where’s Patricia?

I search the crowd frantically for my elderly neighbor, but I can’t find her. I don’t even think, I just run right into the burning building.

But I only make it two steps in before firefighters are pulling me out.

“You can’t go in there. The whole building is coming down.”

“But my neighbor, Pat, she’s in there.” I protest, pushing against the bulky men holding me back.

“We checked every room, it’s empty.”

I stop pushing and allow them to guide me back to the sidewalk. I’m numb watching my home for the last six years turn from orange flames to blackened ruins.

It wasn’t empty.

Everything I owned was in there. The box I made with my grandpa. The few pictures, books, and “homey appliances” I had.

I’m empty.

I fall to the curb, watching the destruction. I’m helpless, with nothing to do but watch everything crumble.

“Oh, there you are, honey. I was so worried.” Pat braces her hands on my shoulders and I look up to make sure she is alright.

“What happened?”

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