Free The Love Sucks Club by Beth Burnett Page B

something
in the yard as Roxanne and I walked by and he about jumped out of his skin when
we said hello. Roxanne is convinced that he’s just a nervous and unhappy man,
but I’m not buying it. Whenever someone turns out to be a murderer, the
neighbors always talk about what a quiet and unassuming person he was. Well,
Shovel Guy is quiet and unassuming and my prints are on his shovel.
    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.