“Why?”
“Because this can’t last, James.” Not just whatever is happening between us, but the feelings he provoked in me. It’s not sustainable. That’s been proven this morning by my confrontation with Lawrence and the onslaught of shittiness that followed. It would be a wholly unhealthy cycle of relief and shame. I’d be jumping out of the frying pan into the fire. Setting myself up for a bigger fall. No. I need to call my therapist. James will have to find someone else to finish painting his office.
“And you need it to last,” he says simply, with no judgement.
“I don’t know what I need.”
“What if I do?”
“You could never even comprehend what I need, James.” I cut the call and sink to my back on the grass, chasing the clouds with my eyes, willing them into various recognizable objects. I spot a car. A dog. An enormous heart. The clouds are being kind to me today.
My cell rings again. “Stop,” I order him quietly, lifting my arm to see the screen. But it’s not James. It’s someone else—another person I’d rather not speak to. But a mindless phone call every so often keeps him at a distance. I don’t have to see him. Face him. Restrain myself from unleashing my anger on him.
I answer. “Dad.”
“My darling girl.”
My teeth grate, my smile tight. “How are you?” I ask. I only have to look in a newspaper to find that out.
“You missed my birthday.”
“I did?”
“You can make up for it. Come to dinner with us.”
Us. Him and his girlfriend. I cringe. “You know I can’t do that.”
“I’ll book the entire restaurant out. It’ll be just us three.”
You can’t knock the man for trying and usually I wouldn’t have a problem declining, whether politely or not. But today? “Can I think about it?” What the hell?
“Yes, yes, of course.”
I can’t bear the hope in his voice. The happiness. “I’ll call you.” I hang up and sigh in despair. I can’t forgive. Won’t. But surely that’s a healthier option than this madness I’m going through with James. It has to be.
I don’t know. I honestly don’t know, and that’s why I hate this life. I. Don’t. Know. I was never indecisive in the past. I was on top of life.
Was.
Was.
Was.
What am I now? Desperate? Bitter? Twisted? All of the above?
Again . . .
I. Don’t. Know.
I chase more clouds, these ones darker, and the sky finally relents, the rain falling. It comes hard and fast. I don’t run to the church for cover. Instead, I lie there, being thrashed by the angry bullets of water, letting it numb my skin.
The thunder clashing matches my loud, crowded head.
Lonely?
Always.
It’s getting dark by the time I find the will to move. There have been many days when I’ve sat with Mom for hours, but today is a record. I’m drenched through, my clothes stuck to me, my hair heavy. I trudge through the sodden graveyard and slide into Dolly, looking up into the rearview mirror and wiping under my eyes to get rid of the black smudges.
Then I drive to Walmart.
I grab a cart and start my usual route through the aisles, finally ending up at the alcohol section. I grab a bottle.
“I’m not following you, I promise.”
I glance to my left. “You sure?” I ask, as I place my wine in the cart. “Because you look as guilty as sin.”
Ollie shrugs, stuffing his hands in his pant pockets. “I didn’t think you still did this anymore.”
“Shopping?” I question, and he rolls his eyes as I start walking. This habit of mine started only a week after I was discharged from the hospital. Everywhere just felt so crowded, even our spacious apartment with only two of us living there. But when Ollie would get home from work, the suffocating feeling would overwhelm me. So I’d come here. He found me on numerous occasions when I’d go missing, roaming the aisles.
I arrive at the checkout and place my wine on the belt, and Ollie grabs a bag and flaps it open, slipping the bottle inside once the lady’s scanned it. “Let me get this,” he says, pulling out his wallet.
I smile, but it’s sad. I should never have had that coffee with him. Should never have fallen apart on him. Definitely shouldn’t have let him take me back to the apartment we shared. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to. It’s been a long time since I could buy you a drink.”
I don’t have the energy to fight him, offering a small smile instead. He’s just an additional element to my ever-increasing mindfuck.
He pays and we walk toward the exit together. “So are you going to tell me why you look like a drowned rat?” he asks, looking me up and down.
I reach for my shirt and pull the cold, wet material away from my stomach. “I went to see Mom. I got caught in the downpour.”
“It’s not rained since three o’clock.” He looks down at his watch, as if checking it’s as late as he thinks it is.
I don’t bother explaining. “Anymore dead bodies at scrapyards?”
“Stop it,” he warns, giving me a playful nudge. “Just think, if you go back to work, we could talk all day long about the mutilated remains of various wanted men.”
“So he was wanted?” I ask, ignoring everything else.
Ollie rolls his eyes. “One of The Bear’s men.”
I blow out my cheeks. “There’s gonna be no more bad guys for you to lock up soon.”
“Hmmm,” he hums, thoughtful.
“Are we talking serial killer?”
He sighs, and I see him cave under my questioning. And perhaps just his need to keep my attention. “Do you remember hearing about The Enigma?” he asks, and I nod, knowing the name well.
“Assassin. Mom’s nemesis,” I confirm. “She swore she’d catch him before she retired. Or at least find out who he was.”
“Yeah. He went quiet for a while. After your Mom . . .” Ollie looks down at me, pensive. Nervous. “Well, the last three bodies suggest he’s back. Or has been resurrected. Or that we’re now finding the bodies given one was a few years old.”
“Wow,” I breathe, my mind racing. The Enigma. He was top of Mom’s list. What would she think if he was caught? If it was me who caught him?
Shit.
“You sound like you have a lot on your plate,” I say, getting my thoughts back under control. Nothing could make me return to the MPD. Nothing.
“Coffee?”
I slow to a stop, as does Ollie, and I hate the hope I see in his brown eyes. “You don’t want me back,” I say evenly but softly, because I just know where this is leading. “Really, you don’t.”
“Don’t tell me what I want, Beau. You did that when you left me at the church too. That was twenty months ago, and I still want you.”
“I’m a different person.”
“You mean bitter? Twisted?”
I look away.
“I still love you despite that.”
“You shouldn’t.” I return my eyes to him. He was a popular guy at the force, with his male colleagues, and definitely with the female ones. I can’t imagine that’s changed since he’s moved on to the FBI. He could have had the pick of the bunch. And he chose me. Mistake. I tried so hard to see our wedding through. I sat by Mom’s graveside in my dress, a mess of a woman, willing her to give me the sense and courage I needed to marry Ollie four months after she was taken from me. She didn’t speak to me. I couldn’t go through with it.