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“Before you go,” she says, blocking my exit with the cream-colored folder that she’s holding out to me, “your father told me to get you these.”
Chapter Eleven
Emily
It’s been almost a week since I stopped going to classes, and I’m still not able to relax. After Peter left, I got dressed, opting for my yoga pants and an old school t-shirt from my freshman year, only because I didn’t see the point in dressing up if I am forbidden from setting foot outside the apartment.
Being in a particularly sulky mood because of that, I put on some Lana Del Rey and flopped onto the couch with my Organic Chemistry textbook. I’m sure anyone else in my position would be glad for some time off school, but with graduation still hanging in the balance, I’m a wreck about it.
My phone rings, the sound piercing the stillness of the apartment. I check the time as I answer and realize I’ve been lying here reading for three hours already. But before I give my lunchtime hunger pangs any attention, I answer the call.
“Hey, Heather, what’s up?” I’m happy to hear her voice. She’s been calling me every day to check up on me. I miss her.
“I miss you, that’s what’s up,” she says, as if she’s reading my mind. “Please tell me we can do something this weekend.”
“Peter doesn’t think it’s a good idea. Not until they can get a location on—on the stalker.” I curse softly under my breath at nearly letting Trevor’s name slip.
That’s another one of Peter’s rules: nobody can know he’s a suspect until the cops are ready to bring him in. I hate having to keep things from Heather this way, but she’ll understand once I can explain it to her.
“And how are things with Peter?” I can hear disappointment in her voice, but also something else that sounds like amusement.
“Are you ever going to give me a break on this?”
“Oh, come on, Em, you can’t expect me to say nothing when you break the news that you’re seeing someone, have subsequently moved in with him, and that he just happens to be a chief of police with ripped abs.”
I laugh. “As your best friend, I can ask anything of you.”
“Yeah, but as your best friend I reserve the right to make fun of you at will.”
I won’t say it, but I like that Heather spends some time giving me grief about Peter on these phone calls. It makes me feel as though things are normal. Even if it’s just for a little while.
We talk for an hour, just like every other time she calls. She fills me in on school and life on the outside, and I lament about being cooped up and losing my mind, just like every other time she calls.
“Okay, so spill,” Heather says, after I’ve given her a boring rundown of my breakfast routine. “What’s the deal with you and Peter?”
“What?” I don’t know how to respond to that. Mostly because I haven’t really made much sense of it myself.
“Don’t play coy with me, Em. I’ve known you for four years now, and I’ve never heard you get this way about a guy. Hell, you’ve never had a guy to speak of.”
“There’s nothing much to say, Heather. I don’t know what you—”
“Fine, I’ll spell it out,” she interrupts me impatiently, but in her Heather way, so I know she’s not mad or anything. “Is this a convenience? Are you going to be scanning the classifieds for apartments to rent once this whole creepo stalker thing is over…. Or is it the other thing?”
I wait for her to go into detail about what the other thing might be, but she doesn’t. She’s waiting expectantly for me to answer her question.
I’ve never thought of Peter as a convenience. I mean, yes, it worked out that he had a place for me to stay when I couldn’t go back to my old apartment and that he’s in a posi
tion to drive the investigation of my case. But I was never using him for any of that.
And the thought of leaving him once it’s all over makes my stomach ache.
“It’s the other thing,” I say eventually.
A loud squeal rings through the phone. I can hear Heather quite clearly freaking out, even though I have my cell phone a good distance away from my ear.
“Are you finished?” I project my raised voice toward the mouthpiece and hear Heather immediately quiet down. “I wish we could have had this conversation in person,” I say, once the phone is back at my ear and Heather is again approachable.
“I know, me, too. But you can still give me all the details over the phone,” she says hopefully.
