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Chapter 23
Jason Miller
After Layla disappears into her bedroom, I stand outside her door debating what to do. Obviously, something’s bothering her, but I haven’t figured out how to read her yet. She’s twenty-one—no longer a teenager, but just barely a woman, and she’s led a very sheltered life. I don’t know when to push her and when to give her space. I don’t know her well enough to know if today’s mood shift is typical for her and I should just accept it, or if it’s an indication that she’s struggling with something.
I decide to give her some space for the moment. Maybe she’s had enough of me for today and just needs a break. I head to my own room to relax for a while. Dinner is served at six, and it’s only four, so we have a couple of hours to kill. I make myself comfortable on the sofa in my room and watch some educational videos on auditory hallucinations.
The more I learn about what it’s like to have these kinds of voices in your head, the more I hurt for Layla and what she’s going through. God, she’s stronger than I ever imagined. Despite what she endures on a daily basis, she still manages to do well in her classes. She manages her diabetes very well, and she keeps moving forward.
A few minutes before six, I wash up and get ready for dinner. Then I stop at Layla’s door and knock. When she opens the door, her dark eyes are bloodshot.
“You’ve been crying,” I say.
She shrugs. “It’s nothing.”
It pains me to see her looking so defeated. There has to be something I can do to help her. On impulse, I reach out and brush her soft cheek. Even that slight contact sends a shiver of awareness up my arm. When her eyes widen in startled surprise, I drop my hand. “What’s wrong? You can talk to me, you know. That’s why I’m here—to help you.”
Immediately, I know I said the wrong thing because her lips flatten, and her eyes tear up again.
Jesus, why do I keep screwing up with her?
“Layla? What’d I say?”
She pushes past me and heads for the stairs. “Nothing. It’s time for dinner.”
Sighing, I scrub my hands over my face before following her. I always feel like I’m two steps behind her when what I need to do is get out in front.
* * *
After finishing a gourmet meal of filet mignon with roasted vegetables, salad, and homemade rolls with herbed butter, Layla stands and lays her linen napkin on the table. She gives everyone a small smile. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of homework to do.” And then she leaves the room.
She was quiet throughout the meal. I didn’t miss the concerned glances her parents gave her and each other. Oh, sure, Layla smiled when necessary. She laughed at the appropriate times and answered her parents’ numerous questions about her first day back on campus. But she clearly wasn’t her usual bubbly self. She was disconnected and often seemed distracted, her gaze wandering off as she stared across the room at nothing.
I rise to follow her, but Ruth lifts her hand, stopping me.
“Jason, please wait.” She looks concerned, as does Martin, who’s sitting at the opposite end of the table.
Ruth waits until Layla is safely out of hearing before she says to me, “Sit a moment, will you?”
I do as she asks since I can hardly ignore her request.
Ruth glances at her husband, then at me. “Did something happen at school today? Layla seemed uncharacteristically subdued just now.” She meets her husband’s stern gaze. “Is there something we should know about?”
I sigh. “Nothing significant—I mean, nothing regarding her security. A local photographer followed us onto campus, but I chased him off. A number of students took pictures of Layla, but she seemed to take that in stride. One of her classmates asked her out for coffee, and she declined. Later, he asked her out to dinner, and again she said no.” I shrug. “That’s about it. But I agree with you. Something’s bothering her.”
The parents share a long look, the two of them communicating silently, as if they each know what the other is thinking.
Ruth continues. “Someone asked her out on a date?”
I nod. “A student in her anatomy class.”
“Layla attracts a lot of attention from men,” Ruth says. “She’s a beautiful young woman. And then there’s her wealth to consider—that’s an attraction in its own right. She’s constantly getting asked out—or even worse, propositioned. She has always said no because she’s afraid to take a risk. She doesn’t know who to trust.” Ruth’s gaze shifts from her husband back to me. “It all goes back to trust, Jason. Many people have tried to take advantage of her over the years, either socially or financially. And her lack of confidence in her own judgment is exacerbated by the voice, which tells her everyone is out to use her.”
Martin sets down his wineglass. “Who asked her out?”
“Reese Hendricks. If you want, I can run a background check on him.”
Martin shakes his head. “That won’t be necessary. I know Reese. I play golf with his father. From what I know, he’s a decent young man from a good family.”
