Read Online Pull (Push #2) by Claire Wallis - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Claire Wallis
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lighter against the dismembered block of fabric initials, I catch a glimpse of what’s inside. It makes my chest tighten.
After the fabric has completely burned, I toss it onto the pavement and grind the stub into the asphalt. I slide into the front seat, start the car, and drive back home.
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It’s half past noon when I walk into my apartment. As soon as I’m in the door, I toss the backpack into my bedroom closet and pull out my phone. The yellow, folded-over square of duct tape from Emma’s apartment key is now stuck to the front. I lift it off carefully and slip it back into my pocket. I plug my phone into the kitchen outlet and power it up, touching the phone icon and then Emma’s name. I’ve never called her at work before, but I know that her cell is still in her purse.
She answers her desk phone on the first ring.
“Emma Searfoss speaking. May I help you?”
“Hi,” I say in return.
“Hi back.” She sounds girlish. And very pleased.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t be at lunch.”
“Nope. Already came back.”
“Cool. I wanted to let you know I got my car back this morning.”
“Oh, good,” she says with a touch of excited energy in her voice. “Is everything still in it?”
“Yep.”
“Excellent.”
“Hey, can I pick you up after work today?”
“Of course,” she says sweetly.
“ Do you wanna go somewhere?”
“Just home,” she replies. “With you.”
“Sounds good to me.”
A moment of silence passes between us, and then I remember that perhaps she’s been facing some kind of uncomfortable inquisition from Matt. Maybe he’s with her right now.
“Has Matt said anything?”
“No,” she says. “Nothing.”
“Good,” I reply with genuine relief. Another silent minute passes before she talks again.
“I’m looking forward to six o’clock already.”
I almost leave it at that. I almost say “me, too” and then give her a simple goodbye. But Emma deserves more than that. A lot more. A long second passes before I think of the right thing to say.
“Not as much as I am.”
“And why is that?” she asks.
“Because I want to thank you properly.” And I do.
“And how, exactly, are you going to do that?”
“You’ll see.” It’s all I can say because I don’t have a clue what the hell I’m going to do.
“You should stop teasing me and get to work, you know.” I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Yeah. I’m sure Carl’s shitting a brick over me being MIA for the past few days. I’d better give him a call.”
“Have fun with that,” she says sassily. “See you at six.”
“Later.”
“Bye.”
I press the End icon and stare at the phone. I need to think about what I’m going to do with her tonight. I want to do something to show her a part of me. I want to show her something that matters. Something she won’t forget. Ever.
But first I need to call Carl.
When I do, the moronic bastard spends the first ten minutes of our conversation berating me for leaving him hanging. I apologize like I mean it and write down a list of the shit he claims he needs me to do ASAP. No one’s water heater has sprouted a leak. No one’s toilet is overflowing. No one’s roof has collapsed. Mr. Wiggin’s garbage disposal is hardly a life-and-death situation, but I assure Carl I’ll get to it today. ASAP. I also vow to visit Lainey Elliot in apartment 17B to have a look at her dishwasher; and Mark and Vivian Wilson in the Highland Building to fix their sticky front door; and the Scotts on Lake Avenue to repair the dripping faucet in their kitchen. All it needs is a fucking silicone washer. What the hell kind of man can’t replace a washer in his own kitchen faucet? It costs fifty cents and five minutes, for Christ’s sake.
I head back to the bathroom for a quick shower. On my way down the hallway, I reach into my pocket and pull out the
After the fabric has completely burned, I toss it onto the pavement and grind the stub into the asphalt. I slide into the front seat, start the car, and drive back home.
------------------------------------------------------------------
It’s half past noon when I walk into my apartment. As soon as I’m in the door, I toss the backpack into my bedroom closet and pull out my phone. The yellow, folded-over square of duct tape from Emma’s apartment key is now stuck to the front. I lift it off carefully and slip it back into my pocket. I plug my phone into the kitchen outlet and power it up, touching the phone icon and then Emma’s name. I’ve never called her at work before, but I know that her cell is still in her purse.
She answers her desk phone on the first ring.
“Emma Searfoss speaking. May I help you?”
“Hi,” I say in return.
“Hi back.” She sounds girlish. And very pleased.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t be at lunch.”
“Nope. Already came back.”
“Cool. I wanted to let you know I got my car back this morning.”
“Oh, good,” she says with a touch of excited energy in her voice. “Is everything still in it?”
“Yep.”
“Excellent.”
“Hey, can I pick you up after work today?”
“Of course,” she says sweetly.
“ Do you wanna go somewhere?”
“Just home,” she replies. “With you.”
“Sounds good to me.”
A moment of silence passes between us, and then I remember that perhaps she’s been facing some kind of uncomfortable inquisition from Matt. Maybe he’s with her right now.
“Has Matt said anything?”
“No,” she says. “Nothing.”
“Good,” I reply with genuine relief. Another silent minute passes before she talks again.
“I’m looking forward to six o’clock already.”
I almost leave it at that. I almost say “me, too” and then give her a simple goodbye. But Emma deserves more than that. A lot more. A long second passes before I think of the right thing to say.
“Not as much as I am.”
“And why is that?” she asks.
“Because I want to thank you properly.” And I do.
“And how, exactly, are you going to do that?”
“You’ll see.” It’s all I can say because I don’t have a clue what the hell I’m going to do.
“You should stop teasing me and get to work, you know.” I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Yeah. I’m sure Carl’s shitting a brick over me being MIA for the past few days. I’d better give him a call.”
“Have fun with that,” she says sassily. “See you at six.”
“Later.”
“Bye.”
I press the End icon and stare at the phone. I need to think about what I’m going to do with her tonight. I want to do something to show her a part of me. I want to show her something that matters. Something she won’t forget. Ever.
But first I need to call Carl.
When I do, the moronic bastard spends the first ten minutes of our conversation berating me for leaving him hanging. I apologize like I mean it and write down a list of the shit he claims he needs me to do ASAP. No one’s water heater has sprouted a leak. No one’s toilet is overflowing. No one’s roof has collapsed. Mr. Wiggin’s garbage disposal is hardly a life-and-death situation, but I assure Carl I’ll get to it today. ASAP. I also vow to visit Lainey Elliot in apartment 17B to have a look at her dishwasher; and Mark and Vivian Wilson in the Highland Building to fix their sticky front door; and the Scotts on Lake Avenue to repair the dripping faucet in their kitchen. All it needs is a fucking silicone washer. What the hell kind of man can’t replace a washer in his own kitchen faucet? It costs fifty cents and five minutes, for Christ’s sake.
I head back to the bathroom for a quick shower. On my way down the hallway, I reach into my pocket and pull out the
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