On my way to lunch, I get a text from David.
Hi.
Hi back.
Day going well?
Slow. Yours?
Hands in a toilet so not so great.
Um, ewww. TMI.
Sorry, but true.
I guess I never thought about David having to do that kind of work for Carl, but obviously he does.
Not your favorite job, I’ll assume.
Correct.
See u at 6:00?
I’ll be there.
I appreciate it.
Good.
I miss u.
Better.
I don’t really think about what his reaction will be. It is something else that doesn’t matter. And so I put myself out there.
I love u.
I press Send. I stand in line for a deli sandwich, holding my breath. My stomach is dancing. I don’t expect him to say it back. Hell, I don’t know what I expect. My phone pings almost instantly.
Best.
It makes me smile. Clever motherfucker.
* * *
David is waiting outside for me at six, double-parked and sexy as shit. I am really freaked out about our little text exchange. I would never forgive myself if it changed things between us. If it was too soon.
I have never said “I love you” to a guy before, because I have never loved one before. Hell, compared to this, I barely gave a damn about a guy before. But, David. David makes me love him. He makes me love us.
“Hey,” he says to me as I reach the car. He is freshly showered. I can smell the soap and the remnants of his shaving gel. He is wearing dark blue jeans and a plaid button-down. It’s ironed. Very neatly ironed. The idea of David ironing is an absurd turn-on. I think I must be nuts. “How did the rest of your day go?” he asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Great, thanks,” I say as he plants a small kiss on my forehead. “You look extra mighty fine today,” I add as I climb into the car.
“Must be a girl,” he says, closing my door. I am wearing a stupid-ass smile, and he grins at me as he walks around the front of the car to his side.
When we arrive home, I get my mail before we head inside. I haven’t checked the mailbox since early last week. David is standing behind me when I insert my key and open the slot. There is only one envelope inside, and when I look at my name and address written on the front, I know immediately who it is from.
I wave the letter at David. “Christ all-fucking-mighty,” I blurt out emphatically. “What the fuck is it with these people?”
“What is it?” David asks. I am sure he sees my skin starting to sear. I feel the red creeping up my neck and across my face. He is looking at me cautiously. And then I see his face change. I see the crazy current starting to move through him. I see his body tighten and his skin flush, just like mine. “Is it from him? Is it from Michael?” he asks.
“No,” I say, practically shouting it at him. “It’s from one of my fucking asshole brothers.” I recognized Ricky’s handwriting the moment I saw it. He must have gotten my address from Michael. I want to break something.
“What?” David spits back at me in disbelief. “Jesus, Emma.”
“Michael must have given him my address. Fucker. Seriously, what the hell am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know,” he says. He’s calmer now. His voice settled.
I work my index finger under the lip of the envelope and tear it open. Inside is a written letter. A note, really. My heart stops.
Em—
Michael is in the hospital. He might not make it. I thought you should know.
R.
241-445-7878
And folded up with the note is a newspaper clipping.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Anna
I am standing on this bridge, and I know that he is watching. He is always watching. First it was from his bedroom window, the one across the courtyard from mine. But then, after David got him evicted, he started watching me from his car, from the sidewalk, from the coffee shop adjacent to the restaurant where I work. Hell, he watches me from wherever he can. I hate him, and the more he watches me, the more I want him to die. The more I want to die.
David keeps trying to tell me that it isn’t true. That Thomas isn’t watching me. That it’s all in my head, and I’m just being paranoid. I hate that word. Paranoid. How the hell is it paranoia when I see the motherfucker standing there watching me? That is not paranoia. That is the truth. I know that David is only trying to help, but, really, the only way he can help me is to make Thomas and his video camera go away. Even when I take my meds, he’s there. He is real. I swear it.
David is standing next to me on the bridge, holding my hand. He made me take a walk with him tonight. He said he wanted to help me clear my head and to show me that Thomas is not following me. Not following us. But Thomas is here. I can feel him. I don’t mention it to David, though, because he won’t believe me. He never does. Even the girls at work don’t believe me. Only Thomas knows it’s the truth.