Page 13 of Something Tattered
"Definitely." I reached into the front of my pocket of my jeans and pulled out the check, folded along its original creases. I held it out between us. "Here."
He gave it a long look, but didn't take it.
I hesitated. "It's the check you dropped earlier."
"I didn't drop it. I tossed it."
"Uh, yeah. I just mean, it's that same check. You know?"
He said nothing, but from the look on his face, hedidknow, and he wasn't thrilled.
Worse, he still wasn't taking it. The check weighed next-to-nothing, but for some reason, it was feeling heavier with every passing second.
I nudged it a fraction closer. "Don't you want it?"
"If Ihad, I wouldn’t have tossed it."
I stared up at him.Wow.This was sonotwhat I'd expected. What did the guy think? That I was trying to hire him back?
I bit my lip. I couldn't hire anyone, even if I wanted to, and not only because I couldn’t afford the labor. I couldn’t afford the supplies.
I considered the check's amount. Fifty dollars. It wasn't a fortune, but it was more than I had in my own purse. Surely, the guy could be at least alittlehappy to get it back.
From the look on his face, apparently not.
Beyond eager to get this over with, I said, "It's not for the job. It's for your trouble." Again, I nudged the check closer. Again, he didn't take it. I looked down. One more nudge, and I'd be poking him in the stomach.
His shirt was loose around his waist, but a stomachhadto be down there somewhere. Right?
From the looks of him, it was probably a flat stomach, with all kinds of interesting ridges and valleys, but that wasn't terribly relevant, was it?
Still, an image of his shirtless torso flashed in my brain, and I felt a rush of heat rise to my face. I looked up and blurted out, "Will youpleasejust take it?"
He looked at me for a long moment before saying, "Alright." And then, with cool deliberation, he took the check from my outstretched hand.
I breathed a sigh of relief.Finally.
Suddenly eager to make my escape, I turned toward my car, an ancient import that I'd inherited from my mom. It was parked a few paces away, just off the narrow dirt road that snaked its way through the large campground.
I'd taken only a few steps toward it when I heard a sound – arippingsound that yanked my attention back to the painter. I turned just in time to see him scatter bits of paper onto the darkened fire pit.
My jaw dropped. "Was that the check?"
It was a stupid question. Of course, it was the check. I could see it for myself, scattered among the dusty ashes.
The guy shrugged. "Hey, I took it. You got what you wanted, right?"
I stared at him.What a jerk.
But what could I say? It was, after all, his check. Technically, he could do whatever he wanted with it.
Still, if he'd been so determined to rip it up, couldn't he have waited? After all, in five minutes, I would've been long gone.
God, I was such an idiot. Little Miss Do-Gooder strikes again. And, as usual, I hadn't done any good for anyone, especially myself.
I felt myself swallow. "Well, I guess you showed me, huh?"
In front of me, the guy said nothing.
