Chasing Peace (16 page)

“Ah. Perception is reality.”

“Huh?”

“He doesn’t understand why you broke up. He thinks you used
him, so that’s his reality.”

“So I don’t have to convince him I care. Instead, I have to
show him that I wasn’t using him.”

“It’s worth a try.”

“Thanks Luke. I’ll keep working on him.”

“Give me your phone. I’ll give you my number in case you
need to talk.”

I handed over my phone. “Hey. You’re not steaming anymore.”

“Yeah. It’s getting kind of cold out here.”

“Sorry. You should go.”

We stood, Luke smiling as he handed back my phone. “I’ll be
fine. You’ll be okay?”

“Yeah. I’ll be fine too.” I felt my smile lift my icy
cheeks, the corners of my eyes crinkling as I waved. We went our separate ways,
my toes aching with cold and making my gait stiff and uncoordinated.

Annie and I are leaving class. Philosophy has turned out to
be my favorite, partly because of Annie, partly because the material challenges
how I look at life.

There’s bluster in the cold November air, but it’s
refreshing on my flaming cheeks.

“What happened with you and Boston?”

“I’ve tried to talk, but he’s pretty good at ditching me.”

“Keep trying. Emotions aren’t like magnesium. They don’t
burst into flame only to disappear in a wisp of smoke.”

“He won’t let me explain.” I’m stonewalling, trying to save
face with Annie. I’m holding my composure tight like it’s a loose cloak that
might fly away with a sudden gust of wind.

“I haven’t seen him at breakfast either, but I’ll work on
him if I get a chance.”

“Ms. Adams?” A man in a suit approached. A trench coat
perfect for a gloomy autumn day flapped around his knees. He led the way while
another came alongside wearing a cheap chamois jacket with navy pants and no
coat. Cheap jacket reaches toward me, something shiny in his hand and I
startle, ready to run.

He’s holding a wallet with a shiny badge that reflects
glints of light, but not sunlight. I’d seen one of those before, the night Emma
died.

My breath disappears as if I forgot to breathe while the
black wisps of panic swirl up within me. Dread dark and oily coagulates in my
gut. This will be bad and Annie is here, sure to be caught in the middle.

“Rand. What are you doing here? Did you find the guy?”
Before he could respond, she turned to me. “This is my friend Rand from the DA’s
office. I called him after that party.”

She raised her eyebrows, silently asking whether I
understood.

“Annie.” The man in the suit smiled a warm, friendly smile
and became imminently less threatening, the other, not so much. “I’m sorry I
didn’t see you there. I’ve been looking for Ms. Adams on another matter.”

“Sterling?” she says, turning toward me, questions in her
expression and tone.

I have questions too. “You know Mr. Hawthorne?”

“Rand is a friend. Actually,” she corrects herself, “Rand’s
father and mine have been friends for ages. We go way back.”

The panic begins to ebb, the oily oozing away but leaving a
gritty rawness in its wake that makes my voice come out in a croak. “Hello?”

“Ms. Sterling. We need to talk. Here. Have a seat.” He
ushers me over to a bench along the sidewalk, sitting down next to me, his
knees turned toward me while the other guy stands alongside Annie.

He’s here about Emma and I’m positive I don’t want Annie to
know anything about it. Sliding one hand over the other, I massage the back of
my wrist, ready to press down.

“Brock Dane is out on bail.”

“What? How?” I’m surprised and disheartened, but not at all
afraid, the need to relieve the pressure in my wrist all but forgotten.

“His attorney petitioned for reduced bail arguing that
holding him because his family can’t afford bail is unjust when others on
similar charges are free awaiting trial.”

Unjust? I roll the word around in my head, wondering what
justice really means.

“We have an order of protection for you. You won’t need to
appear.” I raised my eyebrow in question, not quite understanding. “Brock can’t
come within 500 feet of you, at school, home, work or really anywhere except
court. The judge granted it based on the facts of the case. He can appeal if he’s
found not guilty, but until then it stands.” He watches me, earnest and eager. “I
just need your signature.”

I sign, my name jagged, my movements wooden.

“I’m Detective Dillard.” I look up. The man in the ugly
jacket hovers above me. “If he comes near you, call us.” He hands me a business
card. Up close, Dillard appears older than I’d thought, and he has compassion
in his eyes as if I were the victim. “If you see him, call nine-one-one.” He
became gruff and stern, his eyes going flat, lips compressed.

“Am I in danger?” I had first-hand experience with Brock’s
rage, but I also knew how sweet he could be.

“We don’t think so. He had to agree to electronic monitoring
in place of bail so we can see where he is at any time,” says Dillard.

“Okay. Good. Thank you.” I want them done and gone. I don’t
want Annie to hear anymore. She’s already heard too much.

“Be careful though. We’re not watching him. The monitoring
will only confirm where he’s been after the fact, if we check.”

I nod, my neck stiff, my movement wooden.

“Ms Adams?” said Rand. My head snaps around. I’m acting
nervous and guilty and embarrassed. “I also have a subpoena compelling your
testimony.” Somehow I knew this was coming. “The trial is set for December 7
and you’ll need to be there beginning Tuesday after jury selection.”

“I don’t want to testify. I want to move on with my life.”

“That’s why I got a subpoena. If you don’t show up, we’ll
issue a warrant.”

“Why can’t my mom do it,” I plead.

“She’s not reliable. We can’t be sure she’ll be there and
the jury won’t be compassionate. We need you in order to get justice for Emma.”
He looks at me, his soft brown eyes encouraging and warm. “Isn’t that what you
want?” He makes me want to say yes, even when I don’t want to.

“What good is justice? It doesn’t fix anything. Justice won’t
bring her back,” I snap, tears like memories flooding my eyes. I dash a knuckle
across my cheeks, sniffing as if that might retract the tears, although the
memories are here to stay.

A gaping hole yawns within me, bigger than me, bigger than
the sky and justice won’t even begin to fill it. Compartmentalizing, moving on,
and keeping it at bay. That’s the only thing that has kept it from swallowing
me whole. My eyes refill with water as I sink beneath the weight of that void.
I can feel my posture changing as I shrink in on myself, my hands limp in my
lap. I can’t hear it over the roaring in my ears, but I feel the pop, relieving
a bit of pressure in a tiny burst.

Annie takes charge “I’ll make sure she’s there.”

“Thank you Ms. Oakes. Is that alright with you Sterling?”
Rand looks my way, but I don’t make eye contact. Instead I nod, agreeing to
anything, if only so they will go away.

* * *

“Sterling?”

I have no idea how long I’d been sitting there, but the
detective and attorney are gone. Annie is sitting beside me, the light dim as
if we’d been here awhile. It’s overcast and autumn so maybe it’s been only
minutes.

“Are you ready to go?”

“Go where?” I can’t remember what we were doing when Rand
and the detective interrupted.

“I thought I’d take you home. You don’t work on Thursdays,
do you?”

“No.” I’m not sure whether I respond to the question or
object to Annie taking me home.

“Well we can’t stay here. We’re going to be frozen soon. C’mon.
Let’s go.”

I let her usher me along, still feeling disconnected, the
restraining order and subpoena clutched in fingers turned red from the cold. I
try desperately to keep my old life and my new life apart, but to no avail. My
worlds have collided and now I need to make sense of this new reality.

“Where’s your car?”

“Sixth Street.” I respond without awareness, a gloom
surrounding me.

“Do you have something for dinner at home or should we stop?”

“I don’t know what I have, but that’s okay. I’m sure I have
something.” My lips are numb and I mumble, but Annie understands.

“No worries Sterling. We’ll stop here.” I look around, not
quite aware of my surroundings. We’re at the sandwich shop.

Annie orders for both of us and pays with her meal card. We’re
back on the street in only minutes. The cushion that has kept me insulated is
fading, becoming gauzy. My thinking is clear one moment and fuzzy again the
next, but I’m making progress. By the time we reach Sixth Street, my awareness
is finally sharp, at least as sharp as can be expected.

“Keys,” Annie demands.

“I can drive.”

“Drive? Hell. I needed them to find your car.”

I laugh. “It might take awhile to try them in every car on
the street.”

“Well not the keys exactly, the clicker.”

“As if my ratty old car has one of those,” I snort.

“You know where you’re parked?”

“Of course I do. C’mon. I’m this way.”

I feel better now. I can drop Annie at her dorm before
heading home. She follows me to my car and I rummage in my bag for keys as I
reach the driver’s door.

“This is your car?”

“Just think of it as an adventure.” I’m not bothered by her
look of horror. I know exactly how my car looks.

“I’m not thinking aesthetics,” she says. “I’m worried it’s
not safe.”

“Nope, it’s not safe at all, but it’s gritty and edgy. You’re
not going to chicken out now are you?”

“No.” I can see Annie draw her courage around herself. I
have to give her credit for taking on a new experience, for not letting the
unknown derail her mission or her dignity.

“You want a ride to your dorm or would you rather walk?” I
should have realized the question wouldn’t matter after watching her prepare
mentally to ride in my car.

“Neither. I’m going to your place. We need to talk and I
need to see that you make it home okay.”

“Suit yourself.” I slide into the driver’s seat and lean
over to unlock Annie’s door, muttering. Lyla’s probably right. Annie thinks I
need a friend and now I’m some strange humanitarian project. Thankfully my car
is spotless. Maybe I can’t afford a luxury SUV or even a middle-class sedan,
but at least I can take care of what I have.

While I’d promised adventure, the five-minute drive to my
apartment proves uneventful. We’re quiet at first as I contemplate telling
Annie about the massive black hole that sucks in anyone who gets too close to
me. I only have to tell her about Emma, the stuff that Rand Hawthorne knows. It
might feel nice to share the burden. I’ve been so busy compartmentalizing that
I never realized locking away my past has made the rest of my life feel phony.

Climbing out of my car, I decide I don’t really have a
choice. I have to give Annie an explanation. It’s freeing really, to have no
choice, no responsibility for decisions, no pressure to hide a secret.

“Do you ever feel like you’re living someone else’s life and
your hearts not in it, like you’re playing a part that isn’t really you?” I ask
the question not expecting an answer, but wondering if maybe I need someone in
my new life who understands where I come from, understands what makes me who I
am.

“I know all about ennui,” she says as we walk to the door. I’m
thankful for the mask of dim lighting that hides the peeling paint and tired
persona of my home. Tonight it feels and looks so much more romantic than it is.

“This is cozy,” says Annie as she wanders through the living
room into the kitchen in only five short steps. For some reason, I’m
illogically happy that I’d scrimped and saved to make this wasted little
apartment a home. I’d done it for Emma, more than for myself, but right now I’m
happy that I’d done it at all, with Annie inspecting my little piece of the
world. It’s not the money so much as the dignity.

“Thanks. Did you wanna drink? I have coffee, tea, orange
juice and diet cola. There’s water too.”

“No vodka?”

“No. I’m back to not touching the stuff.” It’s true. I haven’t
touched the stuff since I found the stuffed turtle in Emma’s bed.

“I’ll take a diet.” Annie sat down at my tiny bistro set as
I set out plates. She unpacked our sandwiches while I turned back for sodas and
glasses. I had only one soda, but instead of splitting it, I gave it to Annie
and poured myself a glass of water.

As I sit, I see there’s plenty of room for our knees. They’re
not anywhere near touching, like when Boston and I ate together here, yet it’s
no less intimate. We make small talk, neither of us interested in bringing up the
detective and attorney who just tracked me down.

When we’re done, I jump up, avoiding the building tension by
removing plates and paper wrappings. I lean back against the counter, unwilling
to sit back down where I can see the layers building in Annie’s eyes. They
reflect concern and question, sympathy and remorse. I hoped to avoid it all,
but she won’t let me.

“You’re going to tell me about it, if not here, then maybe
the sofa’s more comfortable.” She tips her head, motioning toward the living
room. “You can’t avoid me and I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going
on.” She pauses for a moment, giving me a chance to respond. I don’t so she
jumps in, going right to the heart of the matter. “Who’s Emma?”

Worrying my lip between my teeth, my hands sliding together
and pushing the pressure out of my wrist, I consider my options. No. I don’t
have any options. I’ll tell Annie, but I’m not sure how to begin.

Screwing up my courage, I push against my wrist one more
time, the pop much more quiet and more painful, but the pain thrusts me into
action.

“I have to show you something.” I shove away from the
counter and make it to the bedroom door, but Annie remains sitting, watching
me. You can see into the bedroom from where she sits, but looking from the
doorway is a better view. “Come here,” I motion with a wave. Annie stands,
coming to my side.

Then, for the first time since it happened, I open the door
because I want to. I share my past with someone new.

* * *

I’m nervous, my motions jerky, as I swing the door wide with
too much force. It bounces against the wall and comes back again. Annie puts
out her hand to stop it. I don’t know what I expect Annie to understand with
only a glimpse into my bedroom, but anything she gets that I don’t have to say
will be a bonus.

My eyes trace the room, lighting on furniture and a few
scattered personal belongings to my left. The bed, also to the left is made up
with sheets, but not blankets and pillows. They’re in the living room.