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By the weekend, almost paralyzed with indecision, and no Cress to turn to, I take off for my folks’ house in Evanston. Liam is my bodyguard again today, so we’re in another black SUV. I wish, not for the first time, I could just hop in my little red vintage Karmann Ghia, but it will sit in the parking garage at the condo for the foreseeable future.
As a consolation prize, we drive through Dunkin’ Donuts on Broadway, just south of Devon, then continue up Sheridan Road. Liam picks up black coffee, sandwiches, and a box of donut holes. I nibble on one of the golf-ball size treats as we negotiate the heavy traffic through Rogers Park.
“I’ll stay in the SUV. That way, I can make sure no one approaches the house. Sam knows where your parents live, right?”
“We were together for eight years. He’s been there lots of times.”
“Would he threaten your parents?” When I glance over at him, his face is serious.
“Never thought about it.” A tremor runs up my arms. Would he? The Sam I thought I knew wasn’t that person, but maybe I never really knew him at all. “Maybe?” I say uncertainly.
“Do they know about his threats?”
“N-o-o. Didn’t want to worry them.”
“Hope you’re planning to tell them now,” he chides.
I throw down the donut hole I just picked up and clench my fists. Who are you to judge me?A lightbulb goes off.Oh yeah, the person who has to protect me, even when I’m stupid.
Mom and Dad never really liked Sam, although they tried hard to be pleasant when they saw him. We met in 2004 at a found-art exhibit and he’d already cut ties with his parents, telling me their middle-class Lake Forest lifestyle stifled his artistic temperament. I’d laughed; he didn’t.
Mulling it over, I still don’t understand what attracted me. No one ever courted me with such persistence. I never had a love-at-first-sight, stars-in-your-eyes romance. Sam was abrasive and opinionated, always willing to dictate and criticize. Maybe it was his single-mindedness. Or the rough exterior he presented to the world. A safer walk on the wild side?
The guys who attracted me in high school and college seemed vapid in retrospect. All of them were smart, clean-cut, Ivy League, dressed-for-success types with perfect manners and probably a 1950s mindset about the perfect “little woman.” When I mentioned law school, some backed off, some looked skeptical. By the time I met Sam, I was clerking for a judge and interviewing for a more permanent job in a city firm.
I never thought it strange, the way he popped up unexpectedly, always acting as if we’d made some kind of date. We circled around each other for a couple of years before finally hooking up.
Soon after I gave in, the warning signs were there—the subtle undermining of my self-confidence, the attempts to isolate me from my friends. Refusing to believe someone so buffoonish could be dangerous, I brushed them aside. Made excuses to my friends—and myself.
Besides, wasn’t he what I deserved? Even though lots of women were going into law, I felt uppity with ambition. A partner who kept my inflated ego in check was perfect. Now that I was dodging Sam, Hayden reminded me every day.
I barely notice we’ve arrived until Liam parks at the curb. My parents have a bungalow on Forest Avenue. Over the years, they’ve remodeled the place and added a heated back porch, where I find them sitting on the couch. Dad watches Northwestern basketball and Mom, noise-canceling headphones blocking the sound, reads.
I step through from the kitchen and the door snicks behind me. Dad looks up at the sound. “Micki,” he says, nudging Mom with his foot.
She frowns at him, then when she sees me, turns it into a smile as she pulls off the headset, and gets up to give me a long squeeze.
“What brings you here, darling?” I don’t usually come without calling first, so I know they wonder if something is wrong.
“Are you ready for your trip to France?” Dad says.
“Yeah.” I curl up in one of the bright red Adirondack chairs and chew my lip.
“It’s less than a week away. You don’t seem very excited.” Mom combs her fingers through her long, gray hair. A sure sign she’s upset.
“I am. But there’s other stuff going on and I need some advice.”
“You got it.” Dad loves giving advice. A counselor for a nonprofit, he counsels indigent clients on everything from jobs to housing to food pantries and fast-food giveaways five days a week.
He reaches over for the remote and hits the off button. The Wildcats disappear from the screen.
Their expectant faces don’t comfort me. After a long silence, I say, “First, and I don’t need advice on this, Sam is stalking me.”
Dad, face turning red, starts to speak, while Mom’s jaw drops. My hand goes up like a school bus stop sign. “Don’t need advice on this. Cress’ friend Max works for a security company. He’s arranged bodyguards for me, so I’m safe.” They’ve met Max and now is not the time to mention JL.
“How safe was Cress when that madwoman shot her outside the Palmer House? Didn’t she have bodyguards?” Dad’s voice is a gravel rumble.
“No one can ever be one-hundred-percent protected,” Mom counters.
