Free Repo Madness by W. Bruce Cameron Page A

Ruddy. How are you feeling?” She came over and kissed me, a quick one that hit mostly cheek. I felt a rising anxiety, even as Alan was making happy noises inside me.
    â€œI like her hair like that,” he remarked.
    I patted the bed next to me, and Katie went over and sat in a chair under the wall-mounted television. “Everyone says you’re okay,” she advised.
    â€œJust hit my head. Nothing vital.”
    For her job, Katie wore what she called “grown-up clothes.” She had come straight from work and was still dressed in a wool skirt and cashmere sweater that clung to her in a way I very much appreciated. She stuck a finger in her hair and started twirling it like a forkful of spaghetti.
    â€œShe does that when she’s upset about something,” Alan advised me. I gritted my teeth. I knew what it meant.
    â€œYou look beautiful,” I said, meaning it. I smiled at her and she glanced away and it felt like rolling over in the repo truck, my insides churning. I took a breath to steady myself. “Why don’t you tell me what you came here to say,” I suggested.
    â€œI signed the lease. On the rental house in East Jordan. It’s really cute.”
    Alan made a startled noise.
    â€œCute,” I repeated, my voice tight.
    Sadness crept into her eyes. “I told you we need time to think, Ruddy. It’s not … I feel like we’re not putting any thought into things.”
    â€œWhat sort of things?” I meant my tone to be as soft as hers, but a harshness found its way into my voice, unasked and unwanted.
    â€œWhen I get my real estate license and start selling properties, it will mean more money, probably, but it would be a lot less regular. I mean, you can go awhile without selling a house or anything. So I’d need, you know.”
    â€œA man with a better job,” Alan suggested.
    My anger flared. “Need what?” I nearly spat.
    â€œTo reduce expenses. And especially spend less time commuting in the winter.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œSee what I mean, though? Why are we so scratchy with each other? You were getting mad, I can tell.”
    I didn’t bother to deny it. “When are you moving?” I asked faintly.
    She sighed unhappily. “Well … please don’t be angry. I already spent the night there.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI was going to tell you. I left you a voice mail. I got trapped by the ice storm and decided it was safer just to stay there. I didn’t know you were in an accident until I got Becky’s message.”
    I was fixated on the idea that she had gone from suggesting she get a place closer to work to actually sleeping there. “Wait. You don’t just move out without warning. Without talking about it. That’s not right.”
    Her look turned forlorn. “Oh, Ruddy. I have been talking about it. You just haven’t been listening. I told you I needed more space, that it seemed like when I moved in with you, I adopted all of your life and you didn’t adapt to any of mine. I told you I didn’t like going to the Bear every single night of the week. I told you I needed time to think. That I don’t know who I am as an independent person, but only as extensions of other people. What did you think that meant?”
    I opened my mouth, but nothing good wanted to come out of it. Sure, we’d talked, but I felt she had never explained how significant those conversations were. “Don’t you love me?” I hated how that one came out plaintive, even begging.
    â€œYes, but I don’t love my life, you know? I feel like we’re stuck in a rut.” She gazed at me, her blue eyes level because she was finally getting it out, what the real problem was. And I understood: Ruddy McCann, repo man, lived in a rut, and he had pulled her in with him.
    â€œWhat about Jake?” I asked.
    â€œDon’t try to make her feel guilty about a dog,” Alan