He Shelved My Designs, Then Crashed Into My Bed novel · Chapter 12 of 24

Chapter 12: Seawall

Rett's truck would not start at five in the morning.

Ward leaned against his own car in the yard and said nothing at all.

"Don't," Rett said.

"I didn't speak," Ward said.

"You were thinking it," Rett said.

"I was thinking that I sent a car, and you said you'd drive yourself."

"I'm going to kill that starter."

"Get in," Ward said, and opened the passenger door.

It was a grey Volvo, ten years old, with a child's sticker on the glove box from some earlier owner.

Rett had expected black leather and a driver.

He sat in the passenger seat with his bag of drawings on his knees and watched Ward fold himself behind the wheel.

"This is your car?" Rett asked.

"I like it."

"You're a billionaire," Rett said.

"I like it very much," Ward said.

They drove through the dark streets of Charleston, past shuttered shops and gas lamps and a single jogger.

The sky over the harbor was beginning to go grey.

Ward did not turn toward Legare Street.

He drove down to the end of the peninsula, past the old houses on East Bay.

He pulled up beside the long stone seawall at the Battery.

The engine ticked.

Out beyond the railing the water lay flat and pewter.

A ribbon of mist drifted over it toward the dim shape of Fort Sumter.

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