“I do. Now get out of my way.”
“No.” He lunges for me again, and this time I swing my purse at him, knocking him in the head.
"What the fuck, Lily?!" he cries.
"Get the hell away from me," I say. "If you come near me again, if you try to call or contact me in any way, then I swear I'll have you arrested. We're over.”
I push past him and dive into the driver's seat of my car, but he reaches after me and tries to drag me back outside.
“Let me go!” I try to swing my purse at him again, but it’s too cramped. He has me halfway onto the pavement before I manage to jab my elbow up and hit him in the nose. He yowls and releases me, and I leap back into the car and slam the door behind me.
He’s still screaming at me, even as I pull out of the parking spot.
"Fuck you, Lily!" he says. "I saved you from that guy! I fucking saved you!"
I turn on my radio and crank it up, drowning out his words.
* * *
I don't go home. I go straight to the courthouse and apply for a restraining order. It won’t be official until we’re in front of a judge, but I’m hoping that being served with the paperwork will be enough to scare Garrett away in the meantime.
Afterward I'm still too jumpy to go to my apartment, so I drive around for a while. This is when I really wish I had a couple of good female friends in town. I’ve been too focused on the Center these last couple of years to have much of a social life. I could call up one of the women who works at the Center with me, but I don’t want this getting back to Dad. I don’t want to worry him or distract him from making sure everything runs smoothly at the party tonight.
Eventually I pull into a fast food restaurant. I order myself a value meal and sit eating it in the parking lot.
I'm halfway through my cheeseburger before I lose my resolve and pull out my phone. I can't help it—I need to tell someone about what just happened. I know I’m breaking every rule I set for myself, but I want to talk to Calder. I should be stronger than this, but I crave the reassurance that I did the right thing, that I'm not at fault for Garrett's insanity.
A call is too personal. Instead, I text.
You were right about Garrett. I applied for a restraining order.
I pause for a minute. There's so much I want to say to him, but I don't know how to say it. I don't know, after all this time, whether he wants to hear it at all.
Finally, I take a deep breath and add:
Forgive me for not respecting your decision about the pledge. I hope you and your sister are doing well.
I send it off before I can change my mind.
My cheeseburger is cold by the time I pick it up again. I munch on it absentmindedly. I move to the fries next, though they're soggy at this point. Only when I finish those and there’s still no reply to my text do I accept that I probably won't be hearing back from Calder anytime soon.
It doesn't matter, I tell myself. I said what I needed to say.
But did I? I’ve been thinking more about our argument in the garden. He told me I was using the Center as an excuse, and I realize now that he was right. I told myself that I engaged in his little games for the sake of the Center, but if I’m being honest, that’s not the truth at all. I played along because I wanted to. Because I wanted him.
But that’s too much to convey in a text message. And I’m not sure he’d want to hear it at this point anyway.
I take a deep breath and crumple up the food wrappers. I don’t blame him, truly I don’t. He has bigger things to deal with than our non-relationship. I only wish that thought made me feel better.
* * *
It's 11 p.m. when my phone goes off. I've been in bed for an hour, but as usual I'm having trouble falling asleep. When I hear the text message tone, I roll over and grab my cell off the nightstand.
The message is from Calder.
I almost delete it without reading it. Texting him this afternoon was a mistake. There's no reason to torture myself by trying to analyze his response. It won't change anything between us; it will only prolong this pathetic state I'm in.
But I cave to the temptation, of course. I open the text.
Are you okay?
I stare at it for a long time, trying to decide how I should respond—or even if I should respond at all—but my text tone goes off again before I've made my decision.
I've been worried about you.
I’m not sure if he’s being genuine, or just polite, but I respond anyway.
I’m fine now, I text.
His reply comes quickly.
What happened? Do I need to come over there?
My heart stutters at the offer. I want to say yes. I want him to come over and make me feel safe again. I want to look him in the eyes and apologize for my insensitivity. I want to share the Center’s success with him, and I want him to share his pain with me. And then I want him to take me in his arms and make me forget about everything else for a little while.
But I know it’s a bad idea.
I’m okay, I text.
His response is immediate: Are you sure?
Yes. I reply, and leave it at that. It’s better this way.
He doesn’t answer, and I sigh and put the phone back on my nightstand. I’m just drifting off to sleep again when his next message comes through.
Come out to the estate tomorrow.
What?
I sit up in bed and flip on the light. I read the text three more times before I accept the fact that yes, that is what he’s asking. He wants me to come back to his house, back to the scene of the weekend I've been trying my damnedest to forget.
How do I reply to his offer?
I set my phone down on the nightstand and lie back on my pillow. I want to see him. But I also know, deep down, that I'm only dragging out the heartbreak. How, at the end of the day, do I really expect this to end?
I flip off my light without responding. Let him sweat for a while. Maybe in the morning I'll see things a little more clearly.
In the end, though, this new development only makes it harder to fall asleep. And when I do eventually drift off, I find that I dream only of him.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I wake to a knock at my door.
I roll over and rub my eyes. Isn't it a little early for visitors? My cell reads 9:13 AM, far earlier than I'd like to get up on a Saturday morning after a night of restless sleep.
The knock sounds again, and I groan.
"Go away!" I yell at the unwanted guest. This crappy apartment is tiny enough—and the walls thin enough—that I have no doubt he or she hears me.
It's only then that I remember the events of yesterday and the encounter with Garrett in the parking lot. I flip open my phone.