Page 63 of Finally Mine
Gloria looked down pointedly at where the sheet covered his left leg. “I know a lot more about wounds and healing than you might think. And I know they don’t give anyone a license to be a dick—” An image of Aldo’s appendage appeared before her eyes. “An asshole, I mean.”
Those brown eyes of his flashed with anger, and Gloria patted herself on the back. At least there was something else besides self-pity there now.
“You owe me an explanation and an apology,” she repeated. “I’ll be waiting for both.” On those victorious words, she shut his bedroom door behind her with a mid-grade slam and stomped out of his house. But not before leaving his house key front and center on his dining table.
* * *
Gloria woke with a start.Her apartment was dark and quiet. Aldo’s t-shirt, the one she’d liberated from his dresser, stuck to her face when she slowly sat up. She hadn’t expected to feel so many emotions when taking this stand.
Her head hurt from the crying jag she’d allowed herself after confronting Aldo. Her eyes were swollen, but she felt liberated.
She had wanted to matter to him so much. She’d wanted that future he’d talked about. Desperately. But not with a man who didn’t think she deserved an explanation. Not with the Aldo Moretta who came home a stranger. He had shadows on his own soul now.
She checked her phone, telling herself it was only to see the time. But she still bit her lip when she saw there were no messages, no missed calls.
He was hurting. Not just physically. There was a hole in Aldo Moretta’s spirit. She knew from experience that no one else could fix it. Not her mother, not a sharp-tongued doctor. She had to be the one to pull herself from the murk. Aldo had to do the same.
She stroked a hand over the t-shirt once and then, biting her lip, folded it neatly and stuffed it in the back of her second-hand dresser that she’d found on the cheap at a yard sale.
She’d put him away and focus on building this new life for herself. And she’d hope that Aldo would find the strength to heal from his own wounds.
Feeling a little extra lonely, Gloria padded into her kitchen to make a dinner for one.
36
The Fourth of July dawned hot and humid with no thunderstorms in the forecast. And Benevolence was ready for it. Every inch of Main Street was decked out in patriotic bunting. The park was groomed within an inch of its life, ready, for a few thousand people to tromp through it eating cotton candy and winning goldfish.
Three stories above it all, Gloria stared at her reflection in the mirror. “Do not freak out,” she cautioned. “You worked hard and did the absolute best you could. If it’s a total flop, you can slink out of town and start a new life under an assumed name.”
Maybe Margot? She could sell insurance. Run a book club. Meet a nice guy named Todd or James and go to Applebee’s every Tuesday for date night.
Plan B settled, Gloria tied a wide red bandana around her dark hair. She looked…ready.
Gloria couldn’t remember looking in the mirror and liking what she saw more than she did in that moment. Her white shorts showed off bruise-free legs, and the navy-blue tank nicely showcased arms that were beginning to take shape. She looked strong, festive, and maybe even pretty. Inspired, Gloria dragged her makeup tote out from under the sink and skillfully applied a cat eye and subtle sparkle to her eyelids. She painted her lips a patriotic red with stain and then gloss.
“Happy Fourth of July,” she whispered.
On her way out the door, she glanced at the letter on the table. She’d been too busy to open this one. That said something. She just didn’t have the time to figure out what. The personal protection order was stalled until Glenn made some sort of overt threat. But the man was behind bars, and her focus was on giving her town the best Fourth of July celebration it had ever had.
Main Street Benevolence was a hive of activity. The finish line for the 5k race happened to be right in front of her building, and the judges’ bandstand for the parade floats was set up across the street in front of the police station.
Gloria grabbed her phone and clipboard with her checklists, settled her sunglasses over her eyes, and took a deep breath. All the wheeling and dealing, the hand-holding, the hours of organizing and answering questions was about to come to fruition.
She was terrified.
What if it sucked? What if she’d organized the worst Fourth of July celebration in the town’s history?
“Well, at least I won’t be poor little Gloria Parker then,” she reminded herself. “I’ll be that idiot who ruined an entire holiday.”
“Georgia Rae hasn’t called me fourteen times this morning bitching and moaning about her damn parking space,” Ty said, stepping up onto the curb to meet her. He tucked his thumbs into his utility belt. “Far as I’m concerned, this is the best Fourth we’ve ever had around here.”
“You’re only saying that because the fireworks didn’t ignite the snow cone tiki hut yet. I should have moved it to the other side of the park. It’s going to be a four-alarm blaze once the fireworks start,” Gloria moaned.
Ty put a hand on her shoulder. “You did good, Parker. Deal with it.”
“Thanks, Ty.” She could tell him about the letter now. But tomorrow was soon enough. She had bigger fish to fry than Glenn Diller right now.
His radio squawked, and he grinned. “I’ll see you around.”
