And then I lost control.
Rather, for the first time in a very long time, I ceded control to emotion and instinct. Launching myself at him, I encircled his neck with my arms and held tight. He felt like a life raft. Like a strong, steady, safe harbor in the tempest of the last twelve hours. Or maybe in the chaos of my entire life.
“Thank you. Thank you so much. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“Hey.” His arms came around my middle and he returned my embrace. “No big deal, okay?”
“No big deal? I cannot thank you enough. I owe you ten. I owe you a hundred. I owe you infinity.”
With each of my words I felt Dan stiffen a little more, until he disentangled himself from my grip and pushed me slightly away. “Kat, you owe me nothing.”
“I do. I owe you so much. Like I said, I will pay you. I’ll give you anything you want.”
“Helping you is reward enough, okay? I don’t want your money. Or anything else.”
I got the vague sense he was frowning at me now, but I couldn’t be sure. I couldn’t see him, not really, not through the enormity of what I was feeling. It was like being pardoned.
He’d given me my life back—or he was about to—my safety and my freedom.
How could he not see?
I owed him everything.
Dan was too tired to discuss any details—he looked exhausted—so I insisted we save the long conversation for another time.
Dan, in turn, insisted on driving me home. He used one of Cypher Systems’s company cars and brought Wally along for the short ride. During the drive, we decided to meet at the County Clerk's office tomorrow, where Luis worked, after Dan’s morning meeting across town. The plan was to obtain the marriage license. Then, we’d go back next Friday late in the afternoon—once he returned from his business trip—for the ceremony, mostly just to get it on video with the Cook County judge at the Marriage and Civil union Court.
In the meantime, Dan’s friend would make it look like we’d already done the deed a month ago.
Wally seemed content to sit in the back of the SUV at first, but as soon as Dan turned left on North Michigan Avenue, the sneak made his move. I didn’t suppress my delighted laugh at Dan’s attempt to return the dog to the back seat. My lack of inhibition was likely a by-product of enduring shock; I still couldn’t believe Dan had agreed to marry me. I just . . . I just could not believe it.
As much as possible, I encouraged Wally to lay on my lap. He was much too big to be a lapdog, so he ended up with half his body on my legs and the other half on the floor next to my feet. Dan gave us both a disapproving side-eye, but—again—I was too preoccupied to care.
I was distracted during the car ride. I was distracted as I waved goodbye, while I climbed four flights of stairs, and when I entered my studio apartment. My brain didn’t focus until I plugged my phone in to charge and checked my messages. Eugene had called and left two voicemails.
The first was to check on my progress finding a spouse.
The second was a warning.
“Kat, this is Eugene again. Caleb sent over the preliminary list of witnesses he plans to use in his petition for guardianship. I’m going to email it to you. A large percentage of the individuals are men he claims you were intimate with. A few he has noted as suppliers of illegal substances or witnesses to acts of petty crime and theft. Unsurprisingly, he also included the team of specialists who diagnosed you as bipolar when you were a teenager. One woman in particular is of concern. She alleges she sold you drugs—specifically, ecstasy and heroin—as recently as last month. More important, I need to talk to you about having your future spouse sign a prenup. I should have brought this up earlier today, I apologize for this oversight. I’ve taken the liberty of sending you an initial draft. Obviously minor changes can be made, but I advise against revising the section related to inheritance and community property. Please call me when you have a chance.”
I didn’t sleep well that night. At Dan’s apartment I’d been so focused on the miracle of him agreeing to my proposal—without explanations, without terms, without assurances—I’d been too overwhelmed and grateful to recall the reasons why I hadn’t wanted him to be the one to marry me.
I’d never touched heroin. I might have been reckless, but even at fifteen I’d been afraid of addiction. Caleb was a terrible human. If my cousin felt justified finding some woman to lie about me buying drugs last month, to ruin my life, then what would he feel justified doing to Dan?
What about Dan’s family and friends?
Could I ask Dan to do this? Should I? But if not him, then who? Could I put Steven through this torture? Ugh. I was thinking in circles. Lest I forget, very soon Dan would know almost everything about my history.