Authors: Nichole Christoff
Because Barrett was packing.
He said, “I appreciate everything you've done for me, Jamie.”
“Barrett, that sounds an awful lot like goodbye.” And in that moment, I felt as cold as if winter had taken up residence in my soul. “Can you at least tell me you know this guy?”
“His name is Vance McCabe. We were friends in high school.”
“And do you know
is pretty strung-out right now?”
Barrett didn't respond. He just stuffed a sweater in his duffle bag. In the bathroom, the shower went silent.
“Well, you can't leave tonight,” I said, trying to be reasonable. “You've got an appointment tomorrow so your cast can some off.”
“It's been six weeks. The cast can come off, with or without an appointment.”
Barrett made another round trip to and from the dresser drawers.
“Yes, but we had plans. For the weekend.” For lovely days. And romantic nights.
Barrett zipped up the top of his duffle. “I'm sorry, Jamie. Vance!”
At Barrett's shout, his so-called friend appeared in the en suite doorway. Barrett tossed his duffel at the guy. With quicker reflexes than I'd have thought he possessed, Vance McCabe caught the bag against his gut like a varsity athlete catches a football.
And while I stood there sputtering like a tea kettle that had been pushed too far from the heat, Barrett gathered up his second crutch. Without another word, he lurched toward the door. And just like that, he was gone.