Page 44

The thought arrives fully formed, not a decision so much as a recognition of something I've been avoiding since yesterday. I can't stay in this cottage. Not long-term. Maybe not at all.

But where would I go? I don't know anyone in Bloomfield except Kieran. Can't afford a place in town on short notice. Don't want to go back to Richmond where Trevor's friends and family are, where his lawyer works, where I'd have to see him at the trial.

My phone rings and I jump so hard I nearly drop it. Kieran.

"Hey," I answer, too fast. "How'd it go?"

"Better than expected." His voice is solid and calm. "Bail was set at fifty thousand. Trevor couldn't post it."

Relief floods through me so fast I have to sit down. "He's staying in jail?"

"Yeah. The judge wasn't impressed with the stalking charge. Or the assault. Or the fact that he drove to your cottage after being ordered to leave town." I can hear the satisfaction in his voice. "He's staying locked up pending trial."

"Oh my god."

"And the restraining order was granted. Five hundred feet, valid for two years. If he violates it, he goes straight back to jail."

I'm crying suddenly, big stupid tears of relief that I can't hold back. "It's really over?"

"Not completely. There'll be a trial. But he'll be transferred back to Richmond for that, and between what happened here and the breaking and entering at your apartment, the prosecutor thinks he's looking at significant jail time."

"How much time?"

"Could be years if they charge him with everything. Definitely enough that you won't have to worry about him showing up again."

We talk for a few more minutes about logistics. When the trial might be. Whether I'll need to testify. What happens if he somehow makes bail later. Kieran answers every question patiently, thoroughly, until I've run out of things to ask.

"You okay?" he says when I've been quiet for too long.

"Yeah. Just processing."

"It's a lot."

"Kieran?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I see your house? Where you live?"

There's a pause. "Yeah. Of course. When?"

"Today? Now? I just..." I don't know how to explain the sudden urgency. "I need to see it."

"I'll pick you up in an hour."

I spend that hour pacing the cottage and trying to figure out what I'm doing. This is too much too fast. We've known each other three days. I can't ask to move in with him. That's insane.

But I also can't stay here.

When his truck pulls into the driveway I'm on the porch waiting, my coat already on. He gets out and takes one look at my face.

"What's wrong?" he asks, climbing the porch steps.

"Nothing's wrong. I just need to get out of here for a while."

He studies me for a moment, then nods. "Okay. Let's go."

The drive into town is quiet. I watch Bloomfield pass by outside the window—the trees blazing with October color, the houses getting closer together, the evidence of actual community. People raking leaves. Kids on bikes. A woman walking a golden retriever.