Page 64 of Hiss and Make Up
“Oh, no!” She jumped up and dumped his laptop onto the couch.
“What?” he asked again.
If she heard at all, she ignored his question. He scrambled to follow her out the front door, the quick movement shaking his brain against the sides of his skull like a hamster in a plastic ball.
15
Marc wanted nothing more than to lie on the couch and sleep, or at least to watch the rest of the game, but he wasn’t about to let Sierra out of his sight. Not when she was on a tear like this. At her best, she was unpredictable. When she was frazzled? He couldn’t imagine what she might get into.
He struggled to keep up, and once she took off in a sprint across the field, the effort was hopeless. Walking as fast as he could, he finally met up with her at Denise’s house. She stood in front of the deck box, one arm holding the lid open while she stared inside.
Afraid to find some new horror—cobras, rabid raccoons, hellhounds?—he inched forward until he could see over the edge. Inside, he found a pile of dead snakes. He’d forgotten all about them.
Sierra dropped the lid so it slammed shut with a deep, plastic thud. She slid to the ground and held her head in her hands.
The sight of her crumbled in a heap on the grass hurt more than his aching head. Guilt and failure radiated from her, and he wanted more than anything to tell her it wasn’t her fault. It was some demented asshole who’d set the fire and presumably killed those snakes from smoke inhalation. But he didn’t think it would make her feel any better.
What he could do was grab the shovel and a trash bag and save her from the awful task of removing them. Just the thought made him queasy, but they were dead and Sierra was upset. He could do this.
But something told him that wasn’t what she needed at that moment. Something told him not to walk away, even to go a few yards to the shed and come right back.
Marc sat on the ground next to her, pulling his knees up and scooting against her. He wrapped his arm around her and guided her head to rest on his shoulder. As he kissed her forehead, he resigned himself to the fact that he’d sit on the grass with her for however long she needed him to. Minutes. Hours. Days.
Forever.
* * *
Sierra had no idea how long she sat on the ground, incapable of moving.
How could she have forgotten about them?
The snakes were all dead. She’d screwed up, and they had paid the price.
Now there was nothing to do but stare out into the darkening sky and wallow. It was still early, so the stars weren’t out yet.
She missed the stars. There was too much light pollution in Lafayette, so she didn’t see the sky lit up very often anymore.
After she wiped the last of her tears away, Marc kissed her forehead a second time and left her to stare at the sky alone. He returned with a garbage bag and a shovel.
When she reached for the shovel, he pulled it away and handed her the bag. “Hold it open. Don’t watch.”
Stunned, she stared at him and rubbed her eyes. Who was this man in front of her?
She didn’t have the strength to argue, so she nodded and held the bag. But she couldn’t look away. She’d failed them. She was responsible for this.
When he reached for the bag, now heavy with the weight of several dead snakes, her instinct had been to argue. She could take them to Dale. Sheshouldtake them to the station. But the look in his eyes told her she wouldn’t win this one. He wouldn’t let her stare at them all night beating herself up. She didn’t want to run from her mistake, but she let him take the bag anyway.
With the shovel resting against his shoulder, he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck to pull her close and kiss her forehead again. He carried the bag to the can at the curb, then took her hand as they walked back to his house together.
They had missed half an hour of the second half, but Marc was able to pull up the missed stats online. He didn’t rush her, complain, or bring up the game while they were outside, even though it was his job to watch it and make notes for his radio show in the morning. All with a probable concussion.
His eyelids were droopy, and he wasn’t quite as alert as before. Otherwise, he looked fine, so it wasn’t a problem with his head. Just fatigue from the weekend and not sleeping the night before. But she didn’t want to take a chance. Plus, he still had work to do, and she couldn’t exactly help with that.
“Hey, you gonna make it?”
“What?” He turned his sleepy face to her. It was the most pitiful thing she’d ever seen.
She reached over and ran a hand through his hair to brush it away from his face, the way she’d been wanting to since she saw him in that driveway three days ago. His hair was soft and the dark waves in her fingers sent chills up her whole arm. She was careful not to brush against the lump she’d caused.
