Beth's Place

She sat back down on the bed and motioned to the door with her hand. "You can leave now," she said flatly.

I looked at her in puzzlement. She repeated herself, "I said: You can leave now."

Exhausted, confused and perplexed, I put myself together, left Beth's house and walked home in the rain.

I couldn't stop thinking about that encounter. I stayed away from Beth's house. Even on the days when I would normally go over to mow. I didn't know if she was angry, turned on or indifferent. Days turned into weeks. Weeks into a month. Finally, I was at work when I received an email from her. It simply said,

"Brett, I need you to mow this Wednesday. Beth."

Wondering if enough time had passed for our relationship to return to some kind of normalcy, I made my way over to her house the next Wednesday. The grass was tall and there was work to be done. She and the girls weren't home, but there was a note on the door.

"Brett," it read. "The doors unlocked. Coffee's on. Thanks."

I opened the door and went inside. I poured myself a coffee and headed to the garage. Beth's bedroom door was open. Nothing was out of place.

Except, of course, for a pink pair of panties tossed on the floor by the bed.