Theo.
He bows his head. He starts to shake it back and forth, covering his ears with his hands. Then he turns and runs off down the beach. In a few moments, he’s swallowed by darkness.
My legs like rubber, I sink to my knees on the balcony and stare down the beach at the place he disappeared until my vision is so blurred, I can no longer see.
16
When I can stand again, I go inside, my limbs numb with shock. I can’t sleep, so I pace the floors of the Buttercup, spending long hours in a dark place inside my head.
By the time the sun rises, my brain is spaghetti.
I shower and dress, eat a muffin for breakfast, make myself a cup of coffee, and read the paper. I do all that on autopilot, with minimal awareness. All the other parts of my operating system are tied up in thoughts of a man who makes no sense to me, and the improbability of the situation I’ve found myself in.
It. Does. Not. Compute.
When Coop and the guys arrive at 8:00 a.m., Theo isn’t with them.
“Said he wasn’t feelin’ well,” explains Coop with an apologetic shrug.
That makes two of us. I feel spooked, relieved, and disappointed, all at once.
“We should’ve finished up this afternoon, but without Theo, it might take another day.”
“Take your time,” I answer, already turning away.
I grab my laptop and phone and head upstairs to the master bedroom. I shut the door, sit on the floor with my back against the bed so I can see the ocean, and fire up the computer. Then I send Theo an email, because I only have two options to deal with this situation: avoidance and denial, or tackling it head-on.
Though I’m scared to death, tackling it head-on seems like the better choice.
So here goes nothing.
To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Subject: I’m confused
Here’s a bit of radical honesty for you: I’m confused as fuck.
I know that was you on the beach. Another strange midnight visit from my silent friend. Enemy? Frenemy? What is this? What’s happening?
Am I making things up in my head?
Tell me something true or tell me to go to hell, but communicate with me, Theo. I feel like I might be going crazy.
Please tell me I’m not.
After I hit Send, I wait with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I feel hungover and strung out, as if I’ve spent the last week drinking wine for every meal. When he doesn’t answer right away, I stand and begin to pace.
After thirty minutes, a chime tells me I have an incoming email. I’m so nervous, the muffin I ate for breakfast almost makes a reappearance, but I manage to swallow it down and click open the email with trembling hands.
To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Subject: Re: I’m confused
I apologize for not being able to come to the job today. I’m not feeling well. I’ll be back tomorrow to finish things up.
Best,
Theo
The job?
“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” I mutter, angered by his impersonal response.
This bastard thinks he can prance around outside my house in the middle of the night, kick down my front door, walk out on me in a restaurant, glare bloody murder at me every other time our eyes meet, act like a psychopath one minute and a lost puppy the next, tell me I make all his broken parts bleed, and generally make me feel like I’m starring in a bad soap opera, then brush me off like nothing ever happened?
So not gonna happen.
To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Subject: Give me a break
I’m calling bullshit on your lame excuse for not showing up today. You feel fine, and we both know it.
For future reference, I hate being patronized. Have the balls to tell me what’s up or don’t bother coming back. Coop is perfectly capable of finishing the job without you.
To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Subject: Re: Give me a break
I’ll let Coop know you prefer that he handle things from here on out.
Not even thirty seconds passed before his response came through. Now I’m not just mad. I’m steaming.
I send a single word back to him:
COWARD.
Then I close my laptop and go about my day, telling myself that the next time Theo Valentine shows up outside my house in the middle of the night, I’ll call the cops.
I almost believe it.
* * *
“This here’s the smart home central controller that you can program all your devices and home electronics into,” Coop says, pointing to the small digital tablet installed on the wall inside the kitchen door. There are four more of these controllers in various rooms in the house, I’m told, that can do everything from turn on the heat and lights to send an alarm to my cell phone if the security system—not yet installed—is breached.