I’m so absorbed in watching Shovel Guy while trying to pretend that I don’t see him that it takes me a minute to realize that there’s a car coming up my hill. Shovel Guy’s driveway is way down the road from my place, before the paved road ends, so this car is definitely coming here. It doesn’t sound like the whine of a jeep transmission, but since Susannah is the only person who visits me without calling, I could be wrong. Leaning over the edge of my deck, I can see around to the side of the house and the top of the dirt road. I just have time to note that I don’t recognize the beat-up little four wheel drive thing that comes into view before it’s out of sight again. Now I’m going to have to go inside to see who’s here.
Sighing, I walk into the house and peer out the front window in time to see an extremely familiar woman getting out of the car. Voldemort. Seriously? What the hell is she doing here? This is where the whole thing about being psychic completely breaks down. Why can’t my spidey sense tell me that my asshole ex-girlfriend is on her way over? I could have been out the door and into the woods before she even hit the dirt road.
As it is, I open the door and block the entrance with my body. Smiling as she approaches the door, she holds her arms out as if she intends to give me a hug. I lean back and cross my arms tightly against my chest.
“Come on, Dana.” She’s smiling, but I can see the tightening around her mouth that she gets when she’s pissed but trying to hide it.
“Come on, what? What the hell are you doing here?”
“I told you in the letter that I’ve quit drinking.”
“Obviously your girlfriend hasn’t.”
She laughs. “You can’t hold that against me. After all, it wasn’t your fault that I was drinking, was it?”
I spit out her name and glare at her. “Honestly, am I supposed to believe that you’re suddenly clean?”
“You can believe whatever you want. I’m done drinking. And I’m here for the rest of my stuff.”
I can’t believe the nerve of this woman. “What stuff? You have nothing left here.”
She takes a step forward. “When you kicked me out of here, you gave me shit. I had to come up with deposits for rent and utilities. I had to sleep on friend’s couches for weeks.”
Straightening my back, I glare up at her. “When you moved into this house, you didn’t give me any deposits. You didn’t have to hook up utilities. You barely managed to pay me a fair rent or contribute to the groceries.”
“That’s bullshit. I paid half of the mortgage on this place for five years.”
“You paid for nothing. And you have no claim on this house.”
“I need some money. I had to quit the bar because of the alcohol. I’ve got a part-time job at the grocery store, but it won’t pay my bills.”
“Yeah, well, neither will I.”
Grinning, she takes another step forward, getting uncomfortably close to me. I know this game and I refuse to back up. She likes to use her height to try to intimate people. Coupled with the fact that she’s a walking time bomb of anger and crazy, it usually works. In the years we were together, she never hit me, but she did hit several walls and in one memorable incident, smashed a television remote to smithereens because it wouldn’t change the channel.
We’re standing inches apart now and she’s talking in that measured way that she talks; like she’s talking to a five year old and she needs to enunciate every word so they can understand.
“You gave me nothing. Now I’m about a week away from being kicked out on the street. I either need you to give me a thousand bucks to pay my back rent or I’m going to show up here with my bags and move in again.
“You’re insane. I’ll call the police.”
“Really?” She moves closer, menacing me. I’m half-afraid of what she might do. Just because she’s never hit me before doesn’t mean it can’t happen now. And she has a wild-eyed look on her face. I’m tempted to ask her if she’s replaced drinking with crack, but under the circumstances, it might not be the best idea.
Sliding her hand down the side of my face, she leans in close, putting her mouth on my ear. “Maybe you don’t realize what you lost, Dana. Maybe you’re starting to regret ever letting me go.”
I open my mouth to respond, but I’m interrupted by my neighbor. “Oh, hello.”
Voldemort takes a quick step back and glances around wildly at the sound. She takes in Shovel Guy, wearing what looks like a pair of expensive men’s dress pants that are now completely covered with dirt, ripped in several places, and hanging off his hips, showing equally dirty boxer shorts. The fact that he’s not wearing a shirt and appears to have not shaved or showered in a couple of weeks completes the outfit. Glancing down, I confirm my suspicions that he’s wearing Crocs, but I’m happy to note that they aren’t covered with blood. Making a mental note to tell Sam about this, I smile sincerely at my neighbor.