My next stop is Sabine’s.
I figure since it’s late on a Sunday afternoon there’s a good chance I’l find her at home.
Maybe even at home with Munoz.
And the closer I get to her street, the more I start hoping Munoz wil be there, if for no other reason than he seems to be on my side—
or at least for the most part. Which means he just might be able to help me convince her of the truth.
The startling, mind-blowing, world-rocking truth that proves everything she so vehemently denies is actual y real.
The truth she’l most likely fight like hel to refuse no matter how much evidence I put before her.
And even though I’m ful y prepared to pul out al the stops, do whatever’s required to make her believe (knowing that may require no less than a judge, a careful y selected twelve-man jury, and possibly even a handful of alternates thrown in for good measure), it’l stil be good to have Munoz around to help build my case.
You know, two against one.
Power in numbers.
That sort of thing.
I drive up to the gate, feeling even more guilty about my extra-long absence when I see the way the security guard looks at me, openly gawking as she does a triple take before waving me in. And when I pul into the driveway, see the way the yard has changed, having transitioned right out of a season I pretty much missed, and going headfirst into a new one I hope to stick around long enough to enjoy, the guilty feeling goes into overdrive.
Stil , that’s nothing compared to the way I feel when I stand at the door and ring the bel only to watch Sabine’s features tumble through a series of almost cartoonish expressions. Beginning with an initial reaction of surprised recognition, before making their way through utter shock, to complete and total disbelief, to a quick glint of hope, to absolute defiance, and then settling on grave concern when she takes in the sad and sorry state of my scuffed-up hiking boots, dirty jeans, and the filthy white tank top I keep forgetting to manifest myself out of.
“Where’ve you been?” she asks, her voice a strange combination of anger and curiosity, as her blue eyes continue the inventory.
“Trust me, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I say, knowing the words are far truer than she could ever realize.
She folds he
r arms across her chest as her lips press together in a thin, grim line. Transitioning right back to her stern side, the one that’s al too easy to recognize, saying, “Try me.”
It’s the angry Sabine.
The self-righteous Sabine.
The Sabine who gave me the ultimatum that ultimately convinced me to leave.
I peer over her shoulder, knowing Munoz is here somewhere since I saw his silver Prius in the drive. Heaving a huge sigh of relief when I see him coming out of the den, his face pretty much exhibiting al the same expressions as hers, minus the defiance and grave concern, which I take as a good sign.
“I’d love to explain.” I fight to keep my voice calm, nonconfrontational, knowing the only way to get through to her is to keep the emotion at bay. “In fact, that’s why I’m here. I plan to tel you al about it. I want to tel you al about it. But it’s kind of involved, so I thought maybe I could come in and sit down and we can take it from there.”
Her cheeks flush in indignation. She can hardly believe my audacity. Expecting to be let in after showing up on her doorstep, completely unannounced, after months of no communication whatsoever. I can practical y hear the thoughts as they swirl through her head even though I promised myself I wouldn’t eavesdrop. Though it’s not like I need to eavesdrop when I can see the way her energy radiates al around her, flashing and sparking in a rising tide of anger.
Stil , she swings the door wide and motions me in, fol owing me into the den, where I claim one of the overstuffed chairs and watch as she and Munoz place themselves side by side on the couch that sits opposite.
“Would you like something to drink?” she asks, her voice stiff as she jumps to her feet once again. Unable to contain her own nervous energy, unsure how to handle my sudden presence, she goes straight into hostess mode, a role she knows wel .
“Water,” I say, seeing the way her brows draw together, knowing she’s unused to seeing me drink anything other than the elixir, not realizing it’s been around six months since my last sip. “Water would be great, thanks.” I edge back in my chair, crossing my legs at the ankle as she heads into the kitchen and Munoz settles back on the couch, his arms spread wide across the cushions in the comfortable, relaxed way of a man who’s ful y at home.
“We didn’t expect to see you.” His voice is cautious, unsure what to make of my presence, worried about my motives, what brings me here.
I gaze around the den, relieved to find it exactly the same after so many other things have changed. Then I gaze down at my filthy clothes and quickly manifest some clean ones in their place.
“Ever—” Munoz keeps his voice lowered so Sabine can’t overhear. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea…”
I gaze down at my newly manifested blue dress and beige leather sandals and shrug. Drumming my fingers against the upholstered arms of my chair when I say, “Listen, I may need your help on this one, so please, just try to trust me. I’m not here to continue the argument, or make anything worse. I just want to clear up a few things before it’s too late and I no longer can.”