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There. I’ve acknowledged his concerns, but I want him to know that I’ve got this under control without him. I don’t want to drag him down into my crazy whirlwind again. He’s too good for that.
His reply comes immediately.
I’d rather judge that for myself. Can I come see you? I can get a flight to Barberville for the day after tomorrow.
I immediately push my computer away. Oh, no. This isn’t what I wanted. Not at all.
I stand up. Walk from one end of the room to the other. Pick up a brush and tug it through my stupid blond hair.
I won’t let him come, of course. I shouldn’t have responded to his email in the first place. That would have given him the right idea—that this thing between us is absolutely, positively done. He knows the truth about me. He knows how messed up, how selfish I am. Why is he trying to drag this out? I throw down my brush and march back to my bed.
There’s another email from him. It’s just a single sentence.
It’s okay to need someone, Lou.
I slam the laptop shut. No. I’m not going to let him get inside my head. I’m not going to let him shower me with his kindness and understanding and get dragged back into my mess again. He deserves better.
I put my computer in the closet and shut the door. As if somehow that might keep Ian out of my mind as I get ready for bed. And then I throw myself onto the mattress and pull the sheets up around my ears, ready to drown out the rest of the world for the night.
You’re doing the right thing, I tell myself. But why does the right thing always make me feel so awful?
I don’t know when I finally manage to drift off to sleep. But even in slumber, I’m restless. I dream that I’m running, faster and faster and faster, until I don’t know whether I’m fleeing toward something or away from it. The ball of emotion in my belly is growing bigger. I can feel it stretching out my stomach, expanding too quickly, and when my dream-self presses my hands against my abdomen, I can feel it beneath the skin.
And then suddenly I’m standing in front of the house. The boulder is still swelling inside of me, but the house gives me hope. I run up the steps and throw open the door.
“Hello?” my dream-self calls into the lobby. But the house is empty. I move through the hallways, peering into rooms and calling into the darkness, but no one answers. And then I see it—a sliver of light peeking out from beneath the door to my father’s study.
I race to the door. When I open it, I find that the study looks as it always did—my father’s books still on the shelves, the desk perfectly organized. There’s a photo of me and Calder together, and another of our mother. There’s a piece of paper in the middle of the desk with a pen discarded beside it, as if someone left in the middle of writing something. I walk over and peer down at the words. They’re in my father’s scrawl.
Smile, Little Lou. Don’t let them see you sweat.
The boulder shifts in my belly, pressing up against my lungs.
“Dad?” I say, looking around. He’s here. I can feel him.
But the boulder keeps rising, expanding, filling my chest.
“Dad!” I scream, but my voice cracks. I can’t breathe. The boulder’s cut off my airway, and I’m gasping, desperate for any bit of air. Spots dance across my vision, and I grab at the letter, but somehow it’s out of my reach now. Whatever I felt of my father is gone—gone I don’t know where—and I’m alone. I’m choking and I’m alone.
When I finally jerk awake, I still can’t catch my breath. I’m shaking again, worse than I was last night. Worse than I was in the wine cellar today. My pajamas are soaked through with sweat.
It takes three attempts to push the covers off. I roll out of bed, barely catching myself on my feet, and stumble my way over to the window. The frame’s been painted shut, but I beat at it until I can swing it open.
That first rush of night air across my face feels like heaven. I lean myself halfway out of the window, letting the cool summer breeze dance across my skin, and try to concentrate on calming down.
It was just a dumb dream. A dumb dream after a horrible day. But that doesn’t change the emotions it dragged up or the horrible panic that still seems to grip my whole body. And it definitely doesn’t change the fact that, like in the dream, I’m completely alone.
My heartbeat has started to settle, and I reach up and push my hair away from my face. The strands are wet, and I’m not sure at this point whether it’s sweat or tears.
When I finally feel well enough to pull myself back inside, I don’t go back to bed. I won’t be getting any more sleep tonight. Instead, I go to my closet and pull out my laptop. As soon as my computer wakes up, I pull up my email.
I only write one word to Ian. Even as I type it, I know it’s a mistake, but I don’t know where else to turn.
Okay.
CHAPTER SIX
The airport is louder than I remember.
It’s been about two months since the last time I walked through here, but that seems like a lifetime ago. Like a dream. I stand in Baggage Claim next to the single luggage carousel. Barberville’s airport is small, but today it’s still overwhelming. Once I was excited to walk through these terminals—they were my link to the world outside of my family. Now they only serve to remind me of the emptiness I found on the other side of the planet.
I glance around. This place is pretty busy for a small, local airport. I imagine things will go crazy around here when Huntington Manor officially opens. They’ve already cleared the land to the south of the airport. It looks like they have plans to expand.
I’m so busy watching the people pass that I almost miss the one I’ve come to meet. Suddenly there’s a figure in front of me and I find myself looking up into those gray eyes I know so well.
I open my mouth to greet him, but no words come. Something must show on my face, though, because without a word Ian reaches out and pulls me against his chest.
I melt into him. His arms wrap around me, strong and warm and secure. He smells just as I remember him, and he’s wearing a flannel shirt that feels so soft against my cheek. He’s much taller than me, but that was never a problem. I fit perfectly in the crook of his neck, just as I always did, and he presses his cheek against my hair.
In spite of my nerves, I wasn’t expecting this meeting to be emotional, but he feels so right, so comfortable. I wrap my arms around his waist and hold him close. I can hear his heartbeat beneath my ear. My head rises and falls with the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing.
