Poetry peered around to see if anyone gawked.
Other than a young woman on a laptop, they were the only customers.
A furrow appeared between the girl’s brows as she typed.
“Whoa, whoa,” Poetry said, her hands going out to squeeze Jenny’s.
“What did he do?”
Terrible thoughts surfaced. She pictured the biceps on Gary, what they
could do to a woman of Jenny’s petite stature. “He didn’t hurt you did
he?”
“What?” Jenny stopped wheezing long enough to scowl at Poetry.
“No. It’s not like that.”
“Then what is it?” Poetry asked as she took her hand back. What else
could a new boyfriend do to upset her so much?
Jenny exhaled, a weary sound that suggested reluctance. “We got into
an argument about money.”
Poetry’s shoulders slumped. Of course. What else would it be?
“Wow, that was quick,” Poetry said. “Don’t waste any time, do you?
Most people don’t fight about money until they’re married.”
“He wanted me to help pay rent,” Jenny said. Her gaze drifted away
from Poetry, past the parking lot to the traffic along Jasper Avenue. Her
lips tightened into a stiff line of resentment.
“Oh, is that all?” Poetry couldn’t help the sarcasm that oozed from her
lips. “How dare he.”
“Why should I pay rent?” Jenny’s slicing glare prevented Poetry from
smiling. “Gary makes four times as much as I do.”
Poetry fumbled for words. “That’s not the point.”
“The point is I can’t afford a place like that on my wage,” Jenny said.
“Why should I pay for it when he can?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do. Because you don’t want him to
think you’re with him for his wallet. Besides, I’m sure he doesn’t expect
you to cough up half.”
“Hello?” Jenny smacked herself in the forehead. “I’m a waitress?
He’s a lawyer? He drives a BMW? He can afford his own rent.”
“Whatever.” Poetry wanted to smack Jenny in the forehead too. Not
everything was about money. “So what happened?”
Jenny drained her mug. “I left. Then I called you.”
“I see,” Poetry said. She sipped at her water, wishing for a stiff drink.
“So what are you going to do?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking.” Jenny began wringing her hands.
Not a good sign. Whenever Jenny did that it meant she was working
up to something.
“I don’t have anywhere else to go…”
Oh no. No.
Poetry’s stomach rolled.
Not that.
“Could I stay with you?”
Hell no. “Jenny, my new place is way too small.”
“I could sleep on the couch.”
“No, you don’t understand…”
“No, you don’t understand.” Jenny’s fingers knotted over and over
themselves, squirming like vipers in a nest. “I have no place else to go.
And besides,” she peered at Poetry from under her eyelashes, “you did
get me evicted.”
Poetry swallowed her anger. It didn’t want to stay down.
I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Of all the obnoxious…
“Please?” Poetry made the mistake of making eye contact.
Jenny had changed tactics. She leaned forward, resorting to the doeeyes Poetry had seen her use on countless people. “It’ll be fun.”
Fun? I’m going to puke. That would be more fun.
An ear-shredding blast cracked the windows of the coffee shop,
chasing the thought from Poetry’s head and replacing it with confusion.
“What the hell?” Poetry could hear screeching brakes and car alarms.
The girl with the laptop stood with one hand covering her open mouth.
“Oh my God!” She jabbed a finger eastward. “Buddy’s is on fire!”
“What?”
“Where? What’s going on?”
Poetry shot to her feet and pressed against the spider-webbed glass.
Jenny did the same, mashing her nose into it as though it would help her
see.
A barista abandoned the counter and ran outside. Poetry followed. She
needed a better view.
“Poetry?” Behind her, Jenny shuffled around chairs. “Where are you
going?”
Poetry ignored her and bolted for the parking lot, nearly bowling into
an employee
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