Page 95 of The Image of You

I made many trips to the windows, looking for her car, but Emma still hadn’t shown up.

It had been two hours since Emma had pulled me back into the shadows, her face as shocked as my own senses.

“What the fuck is going on, Emma?” I hissed. “Why is Ally looking at me as though she doesn’t know me? What happened to her?”

Her eyes searched my face, trying to determine if I was telling the truth. “You really don’t know?”

“What the hell am I supposed to know?”

She shook her head, her hand covering her mouth. Her gaze was wild as she scanned the room. Then she gripped my arm, tugging on it. “Adam, you have to go. Now.”

I wrenched my arm free. “I’m not fucking going anywhere until I get some answers.”

“I’ll come to you. As soon as I can. You have to leave.”

“Right,” I scoffed. “I’ll leave and never hear from you again. You’ll make sure I don’t get back in.”

“No, I will come to you. I promise.” She held out her hand. “Give me your phone.”

Wordlessly, I did, and she tapped in her number. “What’s your address?”

“It’s the same. You dropped Ally off after lunch.”

Her fingers faltered. “You didn’t move?”

“Move? No, I didn’t move.”

“Go home, Adam. Wait for me.”

I looked past her, trying to find Ally, who, after shaking my hand, had turned and fled, leaving me gaping after her. It was only Emma’s hand pressing on my chest that stopped me from storming after her and demanding to know what the fuck was going on.

“Do it for her,” she pleaded.

“You’ll come? You give me your word?”

“I gave you my cell phone number. So, yes. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She stepped closer. “Don’t let anyone see you, or I can’t help you.”

I left as she requested, hugging the shadows, slipping out the employee entrance.

Now, I was waiting.

I groaned, rolling my neck. I felt as if I was going to burst out of my skin. I had shed my jacket, tugged off my tie, and pulled my shirt out of my pants, leaving it loose. It still felt as if I was choking. The loft felt confining and small, my thoughts rampant. My gaze swept the unused space that, for a brief time, had felt like a home because of her. Pivoting, I stared out the window, recalling the past six months.

I had returned to Africa. I had a burning need to forget, bury myself in a project that would distract me, to escape the pain. When I showed back up at the clinic with trucks of supplies and looking like a ghost, Peter and Edwina were surprised but welcoming. When they’d found out I had no determined time frame for staying, they allowed me my privacy until I was ready to talk. Then they offered only their support and comfort. We grew closer as the weeks passed.

Over the next while, the Elena Ames Center was built. It was a rough wooden structure that would service this small area. I also set up a fund that would ensure the clinic had supplies whenever they were required. Elena had been right, as usual. I knew when and where to use her money. These people would benefit from her generosity for years to come. I spent my days building and working with Peter and Edwina, and my nights fighting the memories and pain that never seemed to stop.

Finally, I came to understand they never would for me. I packed my bags and sat staring at the stars one last night. Peter joined me, sitting down with a sigh.

“Ready?”

I nodded in the darkness. “It’s time, Peter.”

“I’m grateful for every day you gave us.”

“I’ve arranged for supplies to be delivered monthly. If there’s something you need, all you have to do is call. Me or John. Whatever you need will be sent.”

“That’s incredibly generous.”