“Ember saw him down the street and had me take the kids in as soon as she felt like something was off,” Atlas continues.
Charlee, Rawley’s mom, pulls away from Atlas and looks over at me, her eyes widening. Some sort of an unsaid knowing must pass between us. “Oh my god,” she says, her hand covering her mouth and tears filling her eyes.
She knows who I am.
“Did you tell him?” she asks with panic in her voice.
“No. No, I would never do that,” I tell her, tears running down my face now. “I only got a semi-confirmation today when my boyfriend was making conversation and asked about his age.”
She grabs my hand. “He doesn’t know. I never told him.” I had assumed as much, and I didn’t expect it to hurt to hear out loud. It feels like I’m being ripped into pieces and stomped on at the same time.
“You should know what happened today,” I tell her, knowing the truth about Dean and his psychotic tendancies will seal any possibility of a future that could have come from the baby I gave away.
I go through everything, starting from when I decided to give him up for adoption fifteen years ago. She listens, not asking any questions. Just taking it all in, wincing after some of the intense parts. I see the fear in her eyes as she listens to everything Dean is capable of.
I don’t blame her for being scared, because I'm scared, too.
“He’s dangerous, and he doesn’t care about the law,” I tell her. She’s rocking back and forth on her heels, arms crossed now over her chest.
“Can you give me his information so I can look him up and be on the look out?” she finally asks.
I nod and text out all the information, sending it to Atlas so she can forward it to Charlee. I give her any and all the information she would need.
“Officer, can I file for a protection order against him, for my son?” she asks without wavering.
“Ma’am, it sounds like he’s stalking Ms. Alden…” The officer starts speaking to her before she cuts him off, holding her hand out to stop him.
“My son is her biological son. The man who is stalking her is his biological father. I have a reason to be worried about my son’s safety in this,” she tells the officer matter-of-factly.
Everyone goes silent. His eyes spread wide, jumping back and forth between different people. My eyes land on Harley’s, who’s eyes are already on me, watching me closely.
“This is only the second time I've been around Rawley, but Dean isn’t stupid,” I say out loud to no one in particular. “Rawley should have protection.”
The cop rubs the back of his head with his hand, clearly not knowing how to go about this. “The problem is, he hasn’t done anything to the boy to warrant a protection order.”
Charlee’s face is a mix of understanding and frustration. Dean hasn’t done anything to him as of now. He could have thought he was a random kid.
“If we had a solid pattern of evidence of him stalking your son,” he says, looking at Charlee before flashing his eyes to me. “I mean your son. I mean the boy. Then we could put a protection order in place.
“He’s her son,” I tell the officer, trying to reassure Charlee. Charlee gives me a tight smile, before looking back to the cop.
“So we can’t do anything until something happens, am I correct Officer?” she asks pointedly.
“Yes ma’am,” he tells her. He writes on a new sheet of paper in his pocket book before ripping the page out. “If you don’t have cameras, I’d suggest it. Even if it’s just to see if you can get evidence,” he tells her. “If you recognize him lurking around, give me a call and I'll come check it out.”
That gives me some bit of comfort. I can’t help but hope that he never noticed Rawley and he stays creeping outside my house.
If he’s watching me, he’s not watching Rawley, and his safety is more important.
After the cop leaves, getting all the information he can for my own restraining order to be put in place, we all stand there in silence.
“I’d like to talk to you, Ember, but I want to get Rawley home.” Charlee looks at me, our eyes connecting, and I feel nervous. The air is thick around me. She reaches out, placing a hand on my arm that's crossed over my front. “He gets anxiety too. I’m not mad. I just have more questions.”
She goes to drop her hand and I reach over and grab her hand, holding it tight when I say, “Thank you for being his mom.”
She pulls me into a hug, her arms around my neck. One of those tight hugs, that feels genuine. She’s a stranger, but she feels so familiar.
“We’ll talk later. I’ll get your number from Atlas.” She gives me a squeeze before she follows Atlas into the house.
