Meant To Be

Chapter thirty-four

The bedroom curtains hadn't been closed. Ronnie moved onto her back, stretching her arm across the empty space possessed by daylight, her hand stooping into the shape his body left behind in the mattress. Pressing her nose into the pillow there was little else to prove he'd been next to Ronnie's hours ago, enjoying her body. The infiltration of tobacco and beer, her own doing.

Ronnie was drifting in and out of sleep when a tight double knock bounced off the front door. When it stopped, she laid there staring at the celling, wondering if it would come again. It did. Ronnie got up and put on pants, a pair of shorts and her grey hoodie. She lowered her nose into the neck of the hood. All she could smell was detergent - silky lavender.

Through the frosted glass, Ronnie noticed Zac wasn't wearing his cowboy hat. She looked around the living space but couldn't see it. Opening the front door, he was standing with his back to her, admiring the early morning view like he was seeing it for the first time. His hair was much shorter with a tight fade, lighter too. And his clothes, it wasn't the outfit he'd worn last night. They were picked to match like on a shop mannequin. Slim jeans and a tight shirt that was too good for a day's work. Ronnie's nerves leapt to life like an old engine. Her bloodstream a riptide, taking the curves of her body too fast. He turned towards her; the sharp tip of his nose; the sea inside his eyes; the smell of home that her hoodie no longer housed.

"What the hell are you doing here!?"

Patrick held his hands up, his features chiselled with remorse. "Look, I can explain everything, just hear me out. Please," he said.

Ronnie pushed out onto the porch forcing him back. She pulled the door hard behind her, shutting it with authority. "You can explain here."

"Ok, that's grand," said Patrick.

Ronnie folded her arms. His agreeable approach working to dismantle her anger. But it was as useful as petrol on a fire. "You've some fucking cheek on you," she said.

"I swear to God Ronnie I'm here for your benefit."

She puffed, shaking her head, walking the width of the porch. Zac's house was sitting quietly in her eyeline. Ronnie caressed the foot of her neck, remembering him on her skin. It seemed worthwhile now.

"Ron?"

Ronnie glared at Patrick, mustering more hate for him than she had when she left home. Patrick saw it too, blazing behind her eyes. "You shouldn't have come here. Why would you come here!?"

Patrick unzipped the side pocket of the duffel bag that hung from his shoulder. Ronnie remembered it. She wrestled to get out of the memory, wishing there was a delete button.

On the front of the brown envelope Ronnie's name was written in handwriting she didn't recognise. "What the hell is that? Divorce papers?"

"No but I have those too. All you have to do is sign on the dotted line."

Ronnie mocked a smile as she managed the haemorrhaging in her chest. "You could have sent those without my signature."

"It would only drag the whole thing out."

"Right," said Ronnie. "I guess your doing me a favour then."

"Ron-"

"Who's that from?"

Patrick let go of a breath. "It's from Gemma. Kyle's mother."

Ronnie's face clenched.

"She went to visit you at work and found out you left. So she came to ours, to the house. She asked me to give you it."

"Why didn't you tell her where I was, to post it?"

"Sure I didn't know where you were?"

"You're standing on my porch for fuck sake! You should've posted it!"

"Yeah, maybe I should've." Patrick's arms slapped his sides. "But I wanted to make sure you got it. That you were ok."

Ronnie snapped the letter from his hand. "Mission accomplished," she said, before going back inside, slamming the door.

*

Zac's stomach grumbled. Jacob's opinion that a phone call wouldn't be suffice hounded him into the truck instead of the kitchen when lunchtime came around. It had only been a piece of fiction to begin with. He never considered Ronnie deserving better. He still wasn't sure if she deserved better. But Zac couldn't bear the thought of Jacob sympathising with Ronnie like he was some kind of monster.

Driving in Ronnie's lane, Zac worked the unfamiliar figure standing on her porch. He stopped the truck and walked towards the man, noting his Irish aesthetics - pale and freckled. Zac made eye contact, stopping a few feet away. The man's silence prevailed.

"Who are you?" asked Zac.

"I'm Ronnie's husband, Patrick. Can I ask who you are?"

"I'm Zac, Ronnie's neighbour."

Patrick walked down the porch steps. "It's nice to meet you Zac." He held out his hand. Zac took it. His grasp was mild. Friendly - almost.

"Is Ronnie here?"

"She's in the shower but feel free to wait. She shouldn't be too long."

"It's ok. I'll catch her later." Zac turned on his heel, heading back towards the truck.

"I'll tell her you called."