Tommy had never intended to spend his last night at the old house sweating through three shirts and four pairs of underwear. But that was because he’d never really had a plan before. At least, not like this one.
He wished it included a way to keep cool. The sweat pooled in the small of his back, and he could feel the money already sticking to his skin. The rest of the notes bulged in wads stuffed in socks and pockets and between the layers of underpants. He laughed at the thought of how he must look: a wry, noiseless chuckle. He was alone in the small bedroom but the walls were thin, and the thick, soupy heat just seemed to make everything louder.
He didn’t need anybody knocking on his door because they’d heard him laughing in the dead of night. How would he explain that one?
So Tommy stayed silent and waited for sleep. If it worked, maybe he could keep what he’d earned, payment for his aching shoulders and callused hands. And maybe—and this was the big one—he could find her. Tommy knew he hadn’t entered her thoughts once since she’d left.
That was hardly her fault, but it would make itinfinitely harder to convince her that she used to love him.Tommy peered around the darkened room, picking out the features of his home for almost seventeen years. He wouldn’t miss it, he decided. Not if this worked. He’d be gone before the sun rose, leaving nothing behind.
The others would eventually drag themselves out of bed and go about their day, not even remembering he’d been there.
Why would they?
They never had before.
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