“It sounded like you were talking about the house,” I said.
He let out a short, quiet laugh and tapped the squeaky cabinet hinge above the stove with his knuckle.
“The hinge was an easy fix, Jenna, nothing to make a fuss over,” he said, smiling. “I was just telling the pharmacist I had to get back to my chores.”
He took another bite of the bar, the sugar sticking to the corner of his lip. I wanted to believe him, to let the explanation slide into place like a key in a lock, but the image of his sharp, mocking laugh in the empty kitchen would not leave my head.
“I should get on the road before the evening traffic starts,” I said.
“Take care of that Buick,” Gary said, reaching out to pat my shoulder. “It’s a long drive back to your apartment.”
I walked out to the driveway, the heat of the Greenville afternoon settled heavy over the asphalt. The air smelled of gasoline and dry grass.
