She could’ve asked him what he was doing. Where he was going. But she wasn’t stupid.
Through glazed eyes, she watched from the doorway while Aaron tossed clothes into the open suitcase in the middle of the sagging bed. His face was hard, his jaw set. Though an icy silence hung between them, Mandi sensed that hot rage simmered just below the surface. And that it could erupt her direction at any moment.
But he didn’t look at her, didn’t speak to her. Why should he? What was there to say?
There’d been no comforting each other. No arms to keep her upright, no hand to hold. With their few friends and family members watching, they’d stood side by side while the reverend spoke a few words and prayed. Once, Aaron’s arm brushed against hers. The step he’d taken away from her was almost imperceptible. Almost. Other than that, he hadn’t touched her.
Mandi pushed off from the door casing and turned away. His departure was no surprise. The glue that had kept him there, the one thing that had held them together, was gone. Hugging herself around the middle, she padded back down the threadbare hallway carpet to the front room, sinking onto the worn sofa. With her hands in her lap, her whole body numb, she waited.
A few more minutes, and Aaron clanged down the narrow hall, the suitcase banging against the walls. He stopped and picked up his keys and sunglasses from the counter. And then he did look at her. Sharp pain sliced through her – not because he was leaving, but because the glare in his eyes held such disgust.
The door slammed behind him, and Mandi’s shoulders shook along with the thin windows of the mobile home.