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Resolute, I decide to tell Meredith that once the set is finished, I really need to turn my attention back on club-related business. I’m going to quit and get Seer to make someone else pick up Meredith’s payroll forms at the end of every week. I’m going to go drink this woman out of my system and then find another woman to replace her with.
I nearly run to Meredith’s office, ready to be free of the whole thing. My friends won’t give me shit anymore. There won’t be anything for them to give me shit about. My heart is racing as I knock on Meredith’s door, hoping she’s inside. It’s time to rip the Band-Aid off and get this over with. I hear her call, “Come in” and I go inside, the words positioned on the tip of my tongue.
“Oh, Bones,” she says happily, no hint of any sarcasm or relationship-related glee. “I’m glad you stopped by, I wanted to say thank you.”
“Thank you for what?” I ask stonily, ready to get set up for a punchline.
“I’ve been getting rave reviews from parents about you!” she answers, beaming. “I have to admit, I was a little skeptical about you doing mentorship classes, but they really love you. Micah’s dad told me he’s been helping to build a treehouse since you showed him how to use a hammer.”
My cheeks flush slightly, and I realize that my work here is about so much more than just some girl. I can’t give up on these kids just because I’m embarrassed about what my friends might say. Maybe I can find a way to keep my distance from Melissa and still help out.
“And Melissa is so grateful for all of your help with the sets,” she goes on. “She’s been really impressed with what you’ve done. Frankly, so have I.”
There isn’t a hint of sarcasm or innuendo in her voice. She’s genuinely thanking me for my help, either unaware about my friendship with Melissa or genuinely uninterested. I always knew she was my favorite of all the wives. She doesn’t meddle as much.
“Thanks,” I tell her, the fight knocked out of me. I know I’m not going to quit, not after all that. “I just wanted to thank you for taking a chance on me,” I lie. “It means a lot that you’ve trusted me to help.”
She bats me away and shrugs. “I know people would think it’s weird that you guys are so involved in the center. No offense, you aren’t exactly the pillars of society,” she says quickly, to which I shrug myself. “But I think it’s good for you. For all of you. You’re doing more good for these kids than you can possibly imagine.”
I nod and turn to go, feeling slightly stupid for wanting to give up this opportunity out of embarrassment. Melissa and I are just friends, right? I’m allowed to have female friends without them becoming something more serious. I can help out the dance teacher in a completely platonic way.
“Are you going by the dance room by chance?” she asks as I turn to go. “Melissa has a package, and I was just about to head out. It’s probably something for the recital, so you may need it anyway.”
“I’m the world’s best mailman,” I deadpan.
I grab the package from her and go back to the dance room, waiting for Melissa to finish up her last class for the night. I already know I’m going to walk her to her car tonight, just like I have every night. And I know I’ll probably want to kiss her, but I’ll fight the urge because we’re just friends. It’s good for me to have female friends. It’s helping me mature and shit. It doesn’t mean we have to have sex again. We’re definitely not going to end up married.
Juliana comes back to pick up Charlie, smirking at me once again, but this time I ignore her. Why should I care what she thinks? She used to be a ghost.
When all the kids are picked up, I hand Melissa her package and wait for her to open it, thinking it probably is something I’ll need for the set. But the second she has the box open, she screams bloody murder and drops it. I look at her curiously and pick it up off the floor, wondering what could have scared her so badly.
Inside the box is an ugly voodoo doll with a knife stabbed through it’s heart. And her name is stitched into its chest.
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
It takes a lot for me not to cry when I see the doll. My whole body is trembling and I feel the hot tears forming in the corners of my eyes. But there’s still a part of me worried about self-preservation and not letting James see me cry. He examines the doll closely, curiously, as if it isn’t the vilest thing to ever exist.
I don’t mess around with voodoo. When I was a kid, I was told that if I didn’t believe in it, it couldn’t hurt me, but it’s always terrified me. I’ve seen too many strange things growing up in New Orleans to not believe that there can be some truth to it all. And now someone’s used my worst fear against me.
“It’s okay,” James says softly, finally looking up at me and realizing I’m not okay.
I must look awful, because there’s a concern in his eye that I haven’t seen since that first night. The night that I was attacked. And now this. I feel sick to my stomach, and I’m worried I’m going to throw up on him. That would absolutely be the least flattering thing I’ve ever done. He’d never look at me the same way again.
Since I can’t bear the thought, I grab the doll from him and put it back into the box, closing it up tight. I never want to see it again, but I know the image is going to be etched onto my mind for a long time. My stomach rolls again and I walk out of the room, leaving him to turn out the lights. I walk quickly through the halls until I reach the bathroom. I immediately stuff the package into the trash can, burying it down under the discarded paper towels. Then I run to a stall and puke.
When I’m finally able to stand, I feel shaky and weak. Why would anyone send me that? I try to be a good person. I mind my business and color inside the lines. I teach dance classes to a lot of underprivileged kids and I don’t sleep around. I’ve never stolen anyone’s boyfriend or cheated on my taxes. But, of course, I know why someone would send that. I know why that man attacked me.
I splash water on my face and try to take deep, calming breaths. When someone knocks on the bathroom door, though, I nearly jump out of my skin. I walk over to it and wrench it open to find James standing there holding my workout bag.
“Let’s get you home,” he says reaching out his hand and grabbing mine.
His hand envelops mine completely and he’s so warm, so soft. He doesn’t look like he’d be a man with soft hands, but they aren’t overly calloused or blistered like other guys I’ve been with. They’re slightly smooth, just right, his fingers long and gentle. I know well what those fingers are capable of, though I don’t have the emotional capacity to think about that just now. I can only focus on taking deep breaths and not throwing up again.
For the second time, James grabs my car keys and puts me in the passenger seat. He doesn’t need to be reminded where my apartment is, and I vaguely wonder if he’s just good with directions or if our night together meant as much to him as it did to me. Even if he’s barely looked me in the eye since, and definitely hasn’t touched me the way I would like. A part of me still foolishly hopes that he enjoyed being with me.
Even when I gave him the perfect opportunity to make a move—learning how to lift me and holding me tightly around the waist—he was perfectly respectful and professional. It made me want to scream. That wasn’t the purpose of the lesson. I wanted to see what he’d do. Of course, he is driving me back to my apartment now, so it wasn’t a total waste. I just wish we were going back to explore each other’s bodies and not because I can barely function.
I walk him into my apartment and immediately analyze everything that’s wrong with it. But that’s not why he’s been avoiding me. It’s not a slightly messy living room or dishes in the sink that’s been keeping him away. The simple fact of the matter is he doesn’t want me. And I have to be okay with that. He’s here now, supporting me as a friend, and that’s going to have to be enough.
