Second Hand: A Tucker Springs Novel 2

was supposed to have. A house. A family. A place in the normal world doing normal things like winning Curb Appeal contests. The right things. The way it was supposed to be.
A new voice tried to reach me, asking why I had to be with a woman to have those things, but the chipmunk, renewed of purpose, started chirping in earnest, and I moved my thoughts to other things in self-defense.
The truth was, I had other things to occupy my mind. My mother was planning to come for the Fourth of July. She would arrive in four days and be with me for five. Nick had offered to give me the week off, but although I felt I should take the time to spend with my mother, the truth was, I couldn’t afford to miss out on a week’s worth of pay. I wasn’t sure how she’d keep herself occupied. I also didn’t know that much about Tucker Springs, like the best places to eat. Maybe I could take her to the Light House.
I was surprised when I pulled up in front of my house to find Stacey’s car in the driveway. I hadn’t talked to her since the night she’d come to my house crying. I wasn’t sure how I felt about seeing her again now. The question was, which Stacey would I find? The one who missed me, or the one who’d told me not to call again?
She apparently still had a key and had let herself in, because the front door was unlocked. “Hello?” I called as I walked in.
“Paul?” she called back from the direction of the kitchen. I could tell by her voice that she was unhappy about something. “Where’s the panini press?”
I groaned. I didn’t want to see the look on her face when I told her I’d sold everything. I went into the bedroom instead and started changing my clothes.
“Paul?” she said again. She was getting closer.
Maybe I could escape out the window.
“Paul?” she said, this time from the door of the bedroom. “Answer me. Where’s my panini press?”
“Your panini press?” I said as I tossed my soiled shirt into the hamper. “If it’s yours, then it must be at your house.” I yanked a clean shirt off the hanger in the closet. “Or maybe it’s at Larry’s.”
“Don’t be a smartass, Paul. I came by to pick it up, and it’s gone.”
“I sold it.”
“You what?”
“You heard me.” I started to unbutton my pants, but stopped to glare at her. “Do you mind? I’m trying to change.”
She rolled her eyes. “Give me a break. As if I’ve never seen you without your pants.”
Of course that was true, but it still annoyed me to have her standing there, glaring at me with her arms crossed. I took my pants and went in the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me.
“And what about all the other stuff ?” she asked from the other side of the door. “The cappuccino maker and the bread machine?”
“I sold those too.”
“You had no right to do that, Paul. Those were my things!”
“Your things?” I was done changing clothes, and I opened the door to face her. “Your things? They’ve been here for months! You left them here, Stacey. Just like you left me.”
This caught her off guard, but only for a second. “Still—”
“You left me here in this shitty fucking house to make a rent payment that my paycheck barely covers. You moved right in with Larry. God knows how long you’d been fucking him before you finally left. And now you show up at my house and let yourself in with a key you should have left behind, and you say I had ‘no right’ to sell your fucking panini press? The panini press I bought for you for our anniversary?”
She took a step backward, her mouth a small round O of surprise. In all of our years together, I’d never been as angry at her as I was at this moment. I’m not sure I’d ever been this angry in my life.
“I’m leaving now,” I told her. “And so are you. And I suggest you leave your key behind, because the next time I come home and find you here without my permission, I’m calling the cops.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Paul. How dare you?”
“If there’s anything else you want,” I said, “anything you actually think you have a right to, you’d better take it now. Otherwise, get the fuck out.”
To my surprise, she didn’t argue. She took one thing from the pantry: the turkey fryer. I was pretty sure it was more an attempt to annoy me than because she wanted it.
She left her key on the kitchen table.
I should have felt victorious, but I didn’t. I was mad, but the chipmunk worried its hands, urging me to run after her and apologize. I was almost