Tiffany
I watch Larry speak into the phone about getting help. After he hangs up, I sigh.
Larry says, “We can leave today. Go take your things, Tiffany.”
“Is it okay to leave? Isn’t it sort of dangerous?”
“No, it is fine,” he backs away. “I checked.”
When he speaks to me, I can’t tell if he is still hurt or if the words I’d blurted out to him is something he is over now. When I look in his eyes, there is no memory of last night swirling there. His eyes are like twin vortices when he stares. Here, now, I don’t even know why I’d said that when what I should have said is how I truly feel.
We walk silently down the hill and when we get to the car still parked where we’d left it, he takes my bag from me and puts it at the back. In the car, he flips on the stereo so that music drains out
