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“She’ll be fine,” she says. “And if she isn’t, I know I’ll be fine as long as you’re there.”
“Damn straight. Okay, it’s already after twelve, so I’ll be a few minutes late. Traffic from here is always a pain. But save me a seat. I’ll see you soon, okay?”
“Okay.” And then after a second’s pause, “Peter? Please be careful.”
“It’s going to take more than some crazy college kid to keep me from you, Emily. Now you and Ted better get going or you’ll be late, too. Love you.”
“I love you, too, Peter,” she says, and hangs up.
I can hear in the tone of her voice that she’s not convinced of anything I just said. But this is a line of thought I’m going to have to keep repeating until it sinks in with her. I’m not going to have my family living in fear, and I sure as hell am not going to let this guy jeopardize my future with her.
A few months ago, I don’t think I would’ve cared at all if I got taken out by a gunman or hit by a bus. There was nothing in my life worth preserving. All of that has changed now, and I’m ready to fight like hell to keep it that way. Whether it’s a psycho stalker or disapproving mother, I’m not going to lose what I have with Emily.
Chapter Seventeen
Emily
I’m riddled with nerves as I sit waiting for my mother. I’m nervous about what her reaction is going to be when I tell her about Peter, and then when she hears the news about the baby. But mostly I’m nervous, terrified in fact, about Peter and what the stalker said to me earlier.
He obviously didn’t identify himself in the texts, so there’s no way to know this really is Trevor we’re dealing with. I’m still going on nothing more than the fact that I think I recognized his voice that day when he called out to me on the street. But whoever it is, this person is an A-grade psycho.
The way he worded those text messages gave the distinct impression that he truly and honestly believes I belong to him. And before today, when it was just me he was threatening, it was bearable. I had Peter for support and his best guys working the case. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to Peter, though. I would never forgive myself.
I just wish he didn’t have to be so stubborn about this. That he had agreed to miss lunch. I would have felt a lot better knowing that he was safe. I have Ted, who has become my trusted shadow whenever I step out of the apartment, so there’s that at least. But Peter refuses to have any kind of security detail. He says he can take care of himself, and I believed him up until now.
We don’t know what we’re up against with this stalker, and whatever Peter might think of his skills as a cop, there’s just too much at stake to go around playing hero. For one and most importantly, I don’t want my baby to have to grow up without a father. So much of my joy over this pregnancy is tied to the fact that I’m getting a chance to build a beautiful family. That family includes Peter.
“My God, Emily, you couldn’t find a spot in the gutter?”
My mother’s voice pulls me out of my head, and I look up to see her weaving through the tables as she approaches me. The look on her face almost makes this trip worth it. I knew it was a good idea to pick this place.
“Hi, Mom.” I stand up to kiss her cheek before she sits down opposite me. “You’ve never been here before? The atmosphere is great.”
She rolls her eyes emphatically. “If you like this sort of thing, I suppose.” She inhales deeply through her nose and then picks up the menu with a disgusted grimace. “Honestly,” she mutters to herself, “I don’t understand you kids sometimes.”
“The food here is great; just give it a chance, you’ll see.”
I pretend to be studying my own menu, but actually I’m peeking over the top of it and studying my mother. She is pulling all kinds of faces as her eyes scan the words in front of her.
Suddenly I get the feeling that Peter might have been right. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to upset her right before breaking the news.
My phone’s on the table and I tap the screen to bring it to life. The time I see there, emblazoned across the screen in huge numbers, makes my heart sink. It’s 1:15. Peter told me he’d be a few minutes late, but that was almost an hour ago.
I glance over my shoulder to where Ted is sitting hidden behind a newspaper. He’s been that way since we got here. As always, we stagger our arrival, with Ted going in first. Then I follow a minute after and make sure to find a seat within close proximity. I sigh and turn back around. If something had happened to Peter, Ted would be notified. So the fact that he hasn’t jumped into action is good news. This settles my nerves, but only a bit.
I’m fully aware that there’s still time for things to go horribly wrong.
“What’s wrong with your face?”
“Hmm?” I try to put on my best innocent confusion expression, but it doesn’t look like Mom’s buying it.
“Emily, I made that face,” she says. “I should know when something’s not right.”
Her intuition about me catches me off guard. So much of our relationship is spent in this constant push-and-pull that very little time is left to enjoy the finer side of our mother-daughter dynamic. As a result, I sometimes forget about it. Like now.
I tell myself that it’s a good thing, this perceptiveness of hers. It means that there’s still a concerned, caring mother in there somewhere. Behind all of that controlling and judgemental behaviour, of course. And if that’s true, then maybe this lunch won’t go over too badly.
“I have something to tell you,” I say, not wasting any time.
