THIEF: Part 1 Read Online Free PDF Page A

happened?”
                  “I don’t know,” he says.  “We fought a lot, didn’t have a place of our own…lots of things.  I’ve always figured it was just how young we were.  We didn’t know anything.  Even when we split up, we were still so naïve.  I mean, we were only twenty-one.”
                  Another punch to the gut.  My sympathy turns back to venom.
                  Silas notices. “Oh…no, Erin, I didn’t mean it like that.  You’re not like we were.  We were naive.  You’ve got experience, you know?”
                  Experience.   I hear “a record.”
                  I also notice the way he says “we.”
                  “I’m sorry.”  His hand slips to my knee, his touch like coals against my bare skin.  I can’t decide if I like it or not.  “I promise, I’ll make this up to you.  Let’s have a do-over date.”
                  “No, thanks.”
                  “Erin, come on.  Tonight wasn’t my fault.”
                  “Do you still have feelings for her?”
                  “Who?  Abby?”
                  I roll my eyes.  “Yes.  Abby.”
                  “Of course not.  We’ve been divorced for three years now.”
                  Something from the restaurant comes back to me.  “Then why was she yelling about how she hadn’t seen anything from you for weeks?”  I hate how jealous I sound; I shouldn’t even care.  What’s it matter to me if Silas still loves his ex?  We aren’t in a relationship.  We’re barely coworkers.  I know nothing about him.
                  But that’s the thing: I feel like I do know him.  Maybe not the details, but something deeper.  If I believed in karma, I’d wonder what I did to deserve this kind of connection.
                  He pushes his hand through his hair.  “All right, I’m not proud of this, but…I kind of owe her some alimony.  Like, six months’ worth.”
                  “Why don’t you just tell her you don’t have it?”
                  “Oh, I have the money.  But I’m not giving it to her until she gets her drinking under control.  I can’t stand the thought of basically paying her to kill herself.”
                  His explanation makes me feel guilty again, but also relieved.  I touch his arm and say, “That’s sweet of you.  To worry about her like that.”
                  “Yeah, well.  I understand if you still don’t want to get involved with me,” he says.  “I mean, I hope that isn’t the case, because I really like you.  I’m just saying, I’d get it.  I come with a little drama.”
                  “So do I.”
                  He smirks, scrunching the bandages, then flinches.  “I promise you, Abby is not a permanent fixture in my life.  She’s part of my past.  But, as you can see, the past likes to pop up now and then.  Right when shit starts going right.”
                  I nod, watching the city limits sign lunge towards us from the darkness.  This, at least, I can understand.
     
     
    When I tiptoe, shoes in hand, into the house, my mother’s waiting for me.  Or it might just be coincidence, a common bout of insomnia.  My mother is not the waiting-up type.
                  “How was your date?” she asks, patting the sofa.  All I want to do is fall face-first into bed, but the thought of navigating my room changes my mind.  My possessions are still crammed into boxes, filling ninety-percent of my old childhood bedroom.
                  Not for the first time, I desperately miss my apartment.  It was a converted loft downtown, in the historic district, with hardwood floors and giant original windows.  I loved looking at the city’s skyline