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Harvey sighs and rubs at her back. “Are you okay?” I ask her, concerned when I see the dark shadows under her tired green eyes. She still looks beautiful. Just tired as hell.
She nods and leans her chin on her hand. “Yep. Just tired and a little queasy.” She takes a sip of water and leans back against the back of the booth.
“Why are you drinking water?” Amanda asks her.
“No reason.” She won’t meet our eyes and my back straightens.
“Oh my god! You’re pregnant again!”
“Shhh! I’m not telling anyone until I tell Jeremiah. That’s why I want the watch to surprise him on Father’s Day.”
“That doesn’t make sense. He’s already a dad.”
She rolls her eyes. “I can’t explain it. Just take my word for it. He’ll know what it means.”
I shoot Amanda a frustrated look. “I hate couple shorthand. I always feel like I’m only getting half the story. It’s very annoying.”
She laughs, throwing her head back. “I’m sorry to tell you this but I think John and I have shorthand too. It just goes with the territory when you love somebody and you’re close to them.”
I nod my head but inside I’m cringing. I never had that with Adam. All I had with him was worry and fear, trying to keep from ticking him off. Trying to stay under the radar as it were.
An uneasy feeling settles in my belly, making it flip. Is Tate right? Should I tell the police? Am I setting myself up to be one of those women in the horror movies? The ones that take a shower when the power’s out. The ones that hear a noise and head right for it in the dark.
My eyes slide to the dark window. My breath stalls and I freeze when I see something glint across the street. It’s gone so fast that I wonder if I imagined it.
That weird, uneasy feeling stays with me the whole time I’m sitting with my friends. I laugh and smile at all the right times. Drink my half glass of wine early on so that I’m good when I leave.
But when I leave and separate from the girls, smiling and calling good-bye, I feel that chill settle in my bones again.
I dive into the car and start it, jerking it into reverse so fast that it almost rolls backwards. I turn my old car towards home and struggle to make myself believe that it’s all in my imagination.
Until I see the headlights following so close behind me that I’m blinded by the glare in my mirror. My eyes keep darting back to it but it doesn’t change directions. Just follows me, getting closer and closer.
I speed up and it speeds up. I turn onto a side street and it turns. My heart hammers out of control and my breath starts to huff out until it feels like I’m going to black out.
I slow down to pull up to my house and I see the car slow down.No freaking way! I can’t let him follow me into my house!
I hit the gas and jerk the wheel away from my driveway. I speed up and drive quickly towards my brother’s place. I need help. I glance up into the mirror and see the headlights slew my way, speeding up and weaving crazily behind me.
It feels like forever and yet it feels like seconds. I don’t know what I’m going to do when I get to Jeremiah’s. They’ve got a kid. I can’t lead trouble to their door.
I remember that most cops say if you are being followed, drive to a public place like a police station.
I swerve around and drive right past the car before he realizes what I’m doing. I glance over, trying to see who’s behind the wheel but the damn windows are tinted so dark that I can’t even catch a glimpse of them.
I hit the gas pedal, the speedometer climbing to sixty, then seventy. And he keeps up with me. Right behind me like a damn shadowy demon.
And then lights flare behind me and I almost cry with relief. I don’t slow down though until the other car whizzes past me. Then I slow, shaking like a leaf, tears rolling down my cheeks. I stop and put my head down on the steering wheel, trying to pull myself together.
A tapping at the window makes me jump. “Aaah!” I scream.
“Ruth, open the door. What going on?” With a shaking hand I reach out and unlock the door, opening it slowly. Nerves crawl up my throat and I groan, stumbling out of the car. Tate follows close behind me as I move to the side of the road, wretching dismally.
He doesn’t say anything, just holds my hair back until I’m done, his big hands gentle yet firm. Warm and comforting.
I finally stand up and he hands me a bottle of water that he must have fetched when I started getting sick. I rinse out my mouth and grimace.
He crosses his arms across his broad chest and I can’t help but notice how his khaki uniform shirt fits him like a second skin. I wonder lazily if he gets them tailored.
