The Choice - Nicholas Sparks [10]
“Yeah,” she said. She made a point to cross her arms as she said it, then subconsciously brought a hand to her ribs where a dull ache remained. From there, it traveled to her ear, which was already beginning to itch.
Staring at her profile, Travis could tell that she was angry. Her mouth had a tight, pinched look he’d seen on any number of girlfriends. Somehow he knew the anger was directed at him, though he had no idea why. Aside from being tackled by the dog, that is. But that wasn’t quite it, he decided. He remembered the expressions that his kid sister, Stephanie, was famous for, ones that signaled a slow buildup of resentment over time, and that’s how Gabby seemed to be acting now. As if she’d worked herself up to this. But there the similarities with his sister ended. While Stephanie had grown up to become a certifiable beauty, Gabby was attractive in a similar but not quite perfect kind of way. Her blue eyes were a little too wide set, her nose was just a bit too big, and red hair was always hard to pull off, but somehow these imperfections lent an air of vulnerability to her natural good looks, which most men would find arresting.
In the silence, Gabby tried to collect her thoughts. “I was coming over because—”
“Hold on,” he said. “Before you begin, why don’t you sit down? I’ll be right there.” He started for the cooler, then rotated in midstride. “Would you like a beer?”
“No, thank you,” she said, wishing she could get this over with. Refusing to sit down, she turned with the hope of confronting him as he strode past. But, too quickly, he dropped into his chair, leaned back, and put his feet on the table.
Flustered, Gabby continued to stand. This was not working out as she’d planned.
He popped open his beer and took a short pull. “Aren’t you going to sit?” he asked over his shoulder.
“I’d rather remain standing, thank you.”
Travis squinted and shaded his eyes with his hands. “But I can barely see you,” he said. “The porch lights are shining behind you.”
“I came over here to tell you something—”
“Can you move just a few feet to the side?” he asked.
She made an impatient noise and moved a few steps.
“Better?”
“Not yet.”
By then, she was almost against the table. She threw up her hands in exasperation.
“Maybe you should just sit,” he suggested.
“Fine!” she said. She pulled out a chair and took a seat. He was throwing this whole thing completely out of whack. “I came over because I wanted to talk to you . . . ,” she began, wondering if she should start with Molly’s situation or what it generally meant to be a good neighbor.
He raised his eyebrows. “You’ve already said that.”
“I know!” she said. “I’ve been trying to tell you, but you haven’t let me finish!”
He saw her glare at him just the way his sister used to but still had no idea what she was so wound up about. After a second, she began to speak, a bit hesitantly at first, as if wary that he was going to interrupt her again. He didn’t, and she seemed to find her rhythm, the words coming more and more quickly. She talked about how she’d found the house and how excited she’d been, and how owning a home had been her dream for a long time, before the topic wandered to Molly and how Molly’s nipples were getting bigger. At first, Travis had no idea who Molly was—which lent that part of the monologue a surreal quality—but as she continued, he gradually realized that Molly was Gabby’s collie, which he’d noticed her walking occasionally. After that, she began talking about ugly puppies and murder and, strangely, something about neither “Dr. Hands-on-me” nor vomit having anything to do with the way she was feeling, but in all honesty, it made little sense until she started gesturing at Moby. That allowed him to put two and two together until it dawned on him that she believed Moby was responsible for Molly getting pregnant.
He wanted to tell her that it wasn’t Moby, but she was on such a roll, he thought it best to let her finish before protesting. By that point, her story had veered back on itself. Bits and pieces of her life continued to