“Are you sure?” Beth asked, leaning forward in her chair.
“Why don’t we go tomorrow?” Josh asked Ryan.
“I’m there,” Ryan said, nudging me.
“On a Tuesday? How much fun can a Tuesday night be?” I groaned.
“As fun as we make it,” Ryan said.
On our way back to Andrews, I grumbled to Beth about going out on a school night. She didn’t seem fazed by the prospect, so I left it alone. When we lumbered into our room, my cel phone buzzed.
“Hi, Mom,” I yawned.
“You sound tired, Nina. Are you getting enough sleep?” she asked.
“I am. It’s just been a long day,” I said, peeling back my comforter.
“Wel , I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to tel you that Thomas cal ed me today. He wanted to apologize about not returning your cal . Did you cal him, dear?”
“Er…yes. I did.” I hadn’t anticipated Thomas cal ing my mother.
“Wel ? What did you cal him about?”
I decided that sticking as close to the truth as possible would be the best option. “Wel , I was in dad’s office a few weeks ago and came across some unsigned papers. I didn’t want to worry you with it, so I cal ed Mr. Rosen.”
“You were in Dad’s office? Why?”
“I guess I just miss him.”
“Oh,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
“It’s okay, Mom. It was something I needed to do on my own.”
“You don’t worry about those papers, Dear. They’re nothing you need to concern yourself with. Thomas has copies of al of your father’s papers in his office; they’ve already been taken care of. I wasn’t….ready to move them just yet.”
“I understand,” I said, thinking of the letter opener I’d taken. She obviously hadn’t noticed, yet. I wondered if she went into Jack’s office at al . “Did Daddy ever discuss an urgent properties deal with you?”
My mother pondered that for a moment. “A properties deal? Your father didn’t deal with properties, Nina.”
“Oh. Okay.” I tried to make my voice sound idle to end the conversation.
“I’l let Thomas know that I’ve talked to you.” She seemed to accept my explanation, but was obviously unconvinced.
“That’s fine, Mom. I’m going to bed, now.”
I clicked my phone shut and noticed Beth staring at me. “What?”
“You didn’t tel her about the Dawson guy, did you?” Beth said, towel and toiletries in hand.
“I can’t put that on her right now.”
I clicked my fingernails together, waiting for Beth to return. Mr. Rosen chose to cal my mother instead of me. The thought flooded my mind with the disturbing words Mr. Dawson spoke, which in turn morphed into thoughts of my father being swindled posthumously. In that instant, I became angry beyond words and scrambled to my feet. Beth wouldn’t return fast enough; the only comfort would be a distraction. Without a second thought, I grabbed my keys and bolted out the door.
My BMW weaved in and out of traffic just a bit over the speed limit. I figured if I could somehow get lost, trying to find my way back would be an excel ent distraction. I drove until the buildings were less familiar and then I stopped paying attention to the street signs. When I was no longer in Providence, I slowed down to make a u-turn to start the chal enge of finding my way home. I veered off a bit to the shoulder before making the turn, and then my car bobbled over an unseen object as I pul ed my steering wheel in the opposite direction.
“Damn it!”
I peered into my rearview mirror, searching for what I’d run over to decide whether I should pul over to assess any damages. In the next moment I saw the reflective twisted metal and sighed.
I pul ed over to the side of the road and came to an abrupt stop. Realizing the situation I’d gotten myself into, I let my forehead fal hard onto the steering wheel with a thud.
A flat tire on the side of an unknown road in the middle of the night was definitely a distraction.
I shoved open my door and walked around to look at the front passenger-side tire. Seeing the rubber pooled on the ground, I raked my fingers through my hair.
Fog blurred the street lights so my vision was limited. In quick strides I ducked back into my car to cal Beth. At the same time that I remembered I had left my purse behind, it dawned on me that I’d also failed to bring my phone.
“Nina! You idiot!”
Logic overrode panic. The sun would rise in a few hours and I could flag someone down to use their phone. I turned the heater on high and let the dry air fil the cab. When it was too hot to breathe I flipped back the ignition and turned off the car. Just moments later, I tugged my coat tighter around me. It was going to be a very long couple of hours before sunrise; it didn’t take long at al for the stifling heat in the car to fade to mildly warm and then to an uncomfortable chil soon after.
Three quick raps on my window sent me an inch off my seat. I whipped around to see a man in a puffy blue coat standing just inches away. My hand flew up to the lock as he leaned down to look in.
“It’s a little late for that, don’t you think? I could have carjacked you by now,” Jared said, grimacing at my pitiful efforts.
I couldn’t speak, the fear sent adrenaline racing throughout my body and I experienced a dozen different emotions before I settled on relief.
“Open the trunk so I can get your spare,” he said.
I reached for the button and the trunk sprung open with a pop. Scrambling out of my car, I watched while he pul ed out a jack and quickly assembled it, and then pul ed out the spare tire, carrying it to his make-shift workspace. I’d always seen people rol ing tires around, but Jared lifted it out of my trunk as if it were a grocery bag.
He worked feverishly—as if he were being timed—pumping the jack, unscrewing the lug nuts and yanking off the flattened carcass of the old tire to immediately replace it with the spare. He repeated the process in reverse, tightening the lug nuts and spinning the tire. Once he finished lowering the car, he lobbed the flattened tire into my trunk, fol owed by the jack and tire iron.
“Go home, Nina,” he growled. He slammed the trunk shut and then wiped the grease from his hands onto his jeans.
“Jared….”
“Just go home,” he said, avoiding my eyes. He turned his back on me, disappearing into the fog.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
I shook my head and scrambled around the front of my car, staring at the new tire to make sure I hadn’t imagined everything I’d just seen. My new, perfectly capable tire was fitted flawlessly to my car. I looked to the fog where Jared had disappeared and puffed. It was no longer an indefinite prospect that Jared was always waiting in the wings. I didn’t know why or how he was doing it, but he was watching over me.
During the ride home my mind raced with theories and explanations. There was no way for him to explain it away. Jared had basical y admitted to fol owing me. Maybe that was why he was so irritated; I’d managed to get myself in yet another situation that he would have to make clear that he was nearby. I should have been panicking—anyone else would have repeated the word stalker over and over in her head—but I only felt an overwhelming sense of calm. Beyond the calm I was even more shocked to discover that I was flattered.
Something else became clear to me: I had absolutely no common sense concerning Jared Ryel. I had become an irrational, ridiculous, sobbing fool and incredibly, he was stil in my life. I didn’t care if he was a stalker or a miracle. The thought that he was always near me—that he could have been watching me at that very moment—sent euphoric shivers down my spine.