She rolled her eyes, and I saw hints of the spirited young girl I’d come to know. “I’m sure you used geometry theorems every day.”
“Every night, baby. My work is all about angles.”
“Was,” she said tentatively. “That was your work, but not anymore. Right?”
“Right,” I said. “Though don’t ask me what I’m going to do. I don’t know.”
I had some ideas. Marguerite had asked me to join her at the shelter. “Who better than to teach Jenny and the other girls how to function in society?” she had said. I knew where they were coming from, that much was true. But I wasn’t in a position to tell them where to go next, not when I was still searching for that myself.
Claire shared a few stories from school, things about boys and class clowns, before broaching the topic I dreaded.
“Did you ever find out why he took me? What started it all?”
I swallowed. I could tell her now, and it would make sense, but it would break her. What started the whole chain reaction was her deciding to be naughty, stepping out to the club with a fake ID. What started it all happened nine months before she was born. No, it had started years ago, lifetimes ago, endless cycles of abuse and betrayal. I didn’t want that for her. I wanted this. The pristine room. The goofy friends who thought they knew everything.
“It was random,” I said, and as the words left my mouth, I realized there was truth to them. I would never know whether other decisions, other roads would have kept me safer. I could be somewhere without this pain, without these scars—without Luke. There was only now, tomorrow. There was only love in all its forms, even the ones that made me lie to her. “His business was struggling, and he thought a new girl would bring in extra cash.”
“Well,” she said after a moment. “That sucks.”
And yeah, it did. But I had gotten to know her, which mattered more than I could say. “Will you come visit me sometime?”
She made a face. “Where are you staying?”
I laughed. “Not at Philip’s. I’m going to live outside the city for a little while.”
A long while, if I had my way. But Luke’s job was here, and so I was playing it by ear.
“I’d love to,” she said. “I have to thank you for what you did in that hotel room. And after. I know no one else would have.”
It was my turn to make a face. I had wanted to shake this need to please, this compulsion to keep everyone around me grateful to me. But here I was, thanked twice in two hours. It seemed I would never escape it, and maybe it had been a mistake to even try. These were my friends. Of course I should help them. It hadn’t been the gratitude I needed then, but the company. There had been a void in me, and I had frantically filled it with fawning men and a neat collection of owed favors. The void was gone, filled with things far more weighty. Filled with hope.
I left her room with the jade necklace in my pocket. It was rightfully her inheritance, like those jewels had been mine. But they had been like poison, infecting me with their very presence. If Jade had wanted to be sure Ella received it, she could have sent it herself. By giving it to me, she was leaving it to my judgment. I would throw it away like the trash that it was.
Chapter Eighteen
From the bed, I watched the leaves drift to the ground through the window, a mural of greens, browns, and reds as autumn arrived. It was hard to believe that a few weeks ago, I had stared out the window, seeing only the gray tones of the city.
Luke came into the bedroom, carrying a mug of steaming tea.
I took it with thanks, wrapping my fingers around the hot ceramic.
“How’s your leg?” he asked softly, but he didn’t wait for an answer.
He crouched in front of me and carefully pulled up the long sheet. He cradled my foot gently as he examined the wound. It had completely closed, so the bandage was off. The raised, jagged line ran from my knee down along my calf. It would probably scar, just like the round wound in my shoulder.
Some days I felt like I was nothing but a collection of scars—a cautionary tale. Other days I found a certain quiet glory in the pain of my past. I had survived them. Sometimes triumph wasn’t a fanfare but a series of small events: the first breath of morning, a warm body sharing the sheets, the sight of green eyes watching me as I came awake.
“It looks like it’s healing well,” he said. “How does it feel?”
“I barely notice it.” At his disbelieving look, I said, “Except when I walk. Or, you know, move. Sitting’s good, though.”
“We’ll sit, then.” He sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb my leg.