Crossing the Lines

by S. J. Hooks

  “Everything I’ve made you do,” he asks, his voice low and gritty. “Did you hate it? Was it all an act?”

  I don’t want to be a liar anymore. I don’t want to hurt him any more than I already have. I don’t want him to believe he’s forced me to do anything I didn’t want, when the truth is, I’ve loved every moment of our time together.

  “No,” I sob, as my voice cracks. “N-no, Mr. Thorne.”

  I jump into the cab. “Please, just go!” I cry to the puzzled driver.

  “Abigail, please wait!”

  I watch as Mr. Thorne reaches for the door handle just as the taxi starts to move. His usual composed exterior crumbles as he chases us halfway down the driveway before stopping and putting his hands on his knees, lowering his head.

  “Are you okay?” the driver asks. “Should I call the cops?”

  I shake my head, feeling hysterical. I’m not okay at all. None of this is okay. But after a few minutes, I’ve calmed down enough to give the driver my address. I can’t have Luke seeing me like this right now. Digging out my new pre-owned cell phone I bought last week, I send Jo a text, telling her I’m not feeling well, but that I’ll pick Luke up in the morning and not to worry.

  I watch the dark waters as we drive across the bridge, knowing I won’t be making this trip again. The thought brings a fresh batch of tears and I cry silently until the driver pulls up in front of my building.

  Feeling numb, I climb the stairs, wanting nothing but a hot shower and to lie in my own bed. I have to figure out where I go from here, but right now, my head is fuzzy and I’m so very tired.

  Abruptly, I stop dead in my tracks. The door to my apartment is partly open, but I know I locked it behind me when Luke and I left. With a shaking hand, I push it open, listening carefully for sounds. There’s nothing. I step into my hallway, already seeing the devastation in the living room: The coffee table has been knocked over and there are books scattered everywhere. The DVD rack is empty.

  Luke’s movies.

  There’s sudden movement in my peripheral vision and I gasp when a man comes barging out of my bedroom, a duffle bag over his shoulder. He’s wearing a ski mask. My heart slams against my rib cage as we stare at each other.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” I manage to croak, my throat constricting with fear. “I have a child.”

  “You got money?” His voice is gruff.

  “Y-yes, yes!” I cry, pulling out the envelope and throwing it in his general direction. “It’s a thousand dollars.”

  He picks it up slowly, glancing into it before stuffing it into his bag, only taking his eyes off me for a moment. Without warning, he jumps forward and slams into me, knocking me down before I can react. Thankfully, he doesn’t stop, running out the door and then down the hall.

  Stunned, I sit up before jumping to my feet and slamming the door shut. The lock’s broken, so I can only use the chain. Feeling safer, I quickly walk through the apartment with one goal in mind.

  Please be there, please be there.

  The moment I turn on the lights in the bathroom, I start to cry. On the floor is the now-empty Tupperware container I’d taped to the back of the toilet, which once stored all the money I’d saved. There’s nothing left.

  I walk back into the living room and sink down on the floor, looking around at the ruins of my life. I’m right back where I started. Nothing has changed for me, after all. I promised Luke we’d be okay. I promised him and I’ve failed him once again.

  At that moment, I’m beyond relieved that I didn’t go by Jo’s to bring Luke home. My son is safe, but for how long? I can’t bring him back here. We’ve been lucky up until tonight, but this is such a bad neighborhood and break-ins, muggings, and robberies happen all the time. Just a few weeks ago Mrs. Watt chased a prowler off her fire escape. This will probably happen again, and then what? What if it’s someone violent or on drugs who breaks in next time? Someone who isn’t content with stealing money and DVDs, who will see a young woman and her child as easy victims?

  I look down at my hands. They’re shaking. Wrapping my arms around my body, I rock back and forth as hot tears stream down my face.

  “Please,” I sob into the quiet of the night. “I can’t do this anymore. I need help. I need help.”

  By the time it starts to get light outside, I’ve made a plan. I clean myself up, straighten up the mess, and pack a bag, knowing I won’t spend another night here ever again. First, I’ll go to Jo’s to pick up Luke, and then we’ll go to Pinewood, back to my parents. It’s not what I want, but it’s what I have to do. I have to go home.

  I have to cross another line.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Abbi, no! You can’t!” Jo exclaims, then quickly lowers her voice to a whisper. “Sorry.”

  We’re sitting at her kitchen table, both of us sipping strong coffee, and I’ve just finished telling her everything that happened tonight. The kids are still asleep, thankfully.

  “What choice do I have?” I say. “I can’t go back to my place.”

  “No, I agree. But going to your parents’, after everything that’s happened? They don’t deserve you or Luke back in their lives.”

  “I don’t know what else to do. All the money’s gone. I should’ve hidden it better.”

  “Why did you keep it all at home?” Jo asks. “You have a bank account, right?”

  Sighing, I nod my head. “I don’t know. It seemed safer, I guess? It sounds ridiculous, considering what happened, but Patrick still has access to the account and it’s not like I had paychecks to show where I got the money. What if someone started asking questions? How does an unemployed woman suddenly have thousands of dollars each month?”

  “Yeah, I see your point.” She draws a deep breath, bringing her hands together. “Okay, here’s what’s going to happen. You and Luke will move in here with us.”

  “Jo—”

  “No, Abbi. I know what you’re going to say: that you don’t want to impose, that I can’t afford it, that this place is too small, and probably a million other reasons why this isn’t a good idea, but I just don’t care.” She grabs my hand, squeezing it tightly. “You are not going back to Pinewood to have your mom shame you for the choices you’ve made. We’ll work it out somehow.”

  “Oh, Jo.”

  “Don’t you ‘Oh, Jo’ me, Abigail Winters,” she says sternly. “You’d do the same for me, and you know it. You’re my best friend, you’re staying here, and that’s final.”

  I’m completely overwhelmed with gratitude, but knowing Jo, a grand speech about how she’s the most amazing friend in the world will only make her uncomfortable. So instead, I nod my head. “Okay.”

  Jo smiles, standing up to clear the table. “Now, I want you to go lie down for a while in my bed. I’ll keep the kids quiet when they wake up so you can get some sleep and then we’ll figure everything out, all right?”

  I nod again, and as I pass by her on my way to bed, I reach out and hug her from behind. Jo doesn’t stop rinsing off the mugs we’ve used, but she leans her head back against mine as I cling to her. “Thank you,” I whisper.

  After what feels like only five minutes of sleep, I’m woken by Luke jumping on the bed.

  “Mommy, you’re back!”

  “Shhh, baby. Not so loud,” I scold gently, wrapping my arms around him.

  “Come and play,” he begs.

  “Why don’t we play the sleeping game?” I suggest, only half-serious. “Both of us close our eyes and see who can pretend to sleep the longest?”

  “That’s boooring,” he complains, tugging my hand. Well, it was worth a shot. Reluctantly, I sit up.

  “There’s donuts,” Luke tells me. “Pippa and Piper’s daddy brought them. I had three!”

  Thomas is here? “That sounds good, baby,” I say, stifling a yawn as I follow him out.

  In the kitchen, the girls are eating and chattering away, their faces sticky from donut glaze. Jo is at the sink, and on a chair sits an awkward-lookin
g Thomas, stiff postured, with a shirt and tie and strangely groomed hair. He looks nothing like the red-eyed, lazy guy I remember from Pinewood, who always wore ratty band T-shirts and wild blond curls.

  “Hey, Thomas,” I mumble, clearing my hoarse voice.

  “Abbi, hi, hey. You, uh, nice to see you … you,” he says, wiping his hands on his pants.

  Okay, weird.

  The girls ask to put on a movie and disappear with Luke in tow, leaving me alone with their parents. Jo is still fake-cleaning the mugs she already washed this morning and Thomas just sort of sits there, wide-eyed and jittery.

  “Is there any coffee?” I ask. Or did Thomas drink it all?

  “Oh, sure,” Jo replies, practically pushing me into a chair as she starts serving me with hurried movements.

  Finally, she acknowledges her ex-boyfriend’s presence. “Thank you for the donuts,” she says. “Abbi and I have a lot to do today, so …”

  “Right. Right,” Thomas says, standing up, fiddling with his tie. He starts to walk out of the kitchen, but then he stops, turning to look at my best friend. “Jo. I know … I know I haven’t been perfect, and I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but I—I love you. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

  Oh, boy. “I’ll just …” I say, pushing my chair away from the table.

  “No, stay, please,” Thomas says. “I want you to hear this too, Abbi, so Jo knows how serious I am.” He turns to her again. “I’ve made you a lot of promises in the past, I know that, but I swear I’ve changed. I have a steady job now. I can take care of you and the girls. And, more importantly, I want to. You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”

  Hesitantly, he slides a small box in front of her. “Will you marry me?”

  Jo’s stance doesn’t change and I feel as though I can’t breathe, waiting for her reply. But after a minute, when Jo still hasn’t thrown herself into his arms saying, “Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes!” I realize I shouldn’t be listening to this. As stealthily as I possibly can, I stand up and tiptoe out of the kitchen, leaving the two of them. The kids are watching a Disney movie; I can’t remember the name, but going by Luke’s mesmerized expression, I’m sure I’ll learn it soon enough. The minutes tick by without any news from the kitchen. I’m dying to know Jo’s reply, my own problems momentarily forgotten.

  “Look, Mommy, she can do snow magic!” Luke’s exclamation penetrates my thoughts and I smile at his excitement. Glancing at the screen, I see two girls skating inside a large room, having a great time.

  “I see it, baby,” I reply.

  “Abbi?”

  I look up, seeing Thomas in the doorway.

  “Jo wants to talk to you.”

  In the kitchen, Jo is now sitting at the table, looking red-eyed and happy. It’s like she’s been lit up from the inside.

  “I said yes,” she tells me unnecessarily.

  “Of course you did,” I say, choking up as tears well in my eyes. “B-best wishes.”

  “Oh, Abbi!” Jo exclaims, rushing to embrace me. “Please don’t cry. You’re still staying here with us. We’d never ask you to leave.”

  “T-that’s not, I’m not …” I blubber, still hugging her.

  “Of course you’re staying,” I hear Thomas say. “Oh, shit, Abbi, don’t cry. We’ll figure everything out.”

  “I’m just s-so happy for you guys,” I manage to get out. “I’m sorry. I’m a mess. When’s the big day?” I ask, eager to change the topic.

  “No idea,” Jo says. “There’s no rush or anything.”

  “Right. I’m just happy to be home.” Thomas’ voice is soft as he gazes at Jo. I feel like an intruder in their happy moment.

  “I’ll take Luke to the apartment for a little while. You should tell the girls and celebrate in private.”

  Both of them start protesting, but I cut them off. It’s almost noon now and the safest time to go. This morning, I only managed to throw a few things in a bag before leaving. I know Luke will want his toys and I need to pack up some more clothes.

  “Take a cab,” Thomas finally says, handing me some money. “I insist.” His words remind me of Mr. Thorne, making my heart feel heavy.

  Half an hour later, driving toward our old neighborhood with my son next to me, I’m happy to be able to give my new roommates some privacy. With the two of us moving in, they won’t have much of that from now on.

  “Are we going home now?” Luke asks after a few blocks.

  “Yes. We’re just getting a few things, though. We’re gonna stay with Aunt Jo for a while.”

  “Why?”

  “Because …” I don’t know if I should tell him the truth. I don’t want him to be scared.

  “Is it like a slumber party? That’d be awesome!”

  Relieved, I smile, giving his hand a small squeeze. “That’s exactly what it is, hon. You’re going to have so much fun with Pippa and Piper.”

  He grins up at me. “Can I bring all my toys?”

  “We’ll see how much we can fit in the trunk,” I laugh. Exiting the cab, I ask the driver to please keep the meter running for us. This won’t take long.

  “C’mon,” I say, helping Luke out onto the sidewalk. “Let’s go pack, buddy!”

  But we don’t go pack. Instead, I freeze on the spot, my heart jumping into my throat at the impossible sight of him standing there, right in front of my building, only ten feet away. His back is half-turned to me, but I know it’s him. Mr. Thorne. Here, in my neighborhood, looking completely out of place in his expensive suit and coat.

  My instinct tells me to run, to hide, but I can’t move. I watch, terrified, as he turns and the anguished look on his face melts into relief as our eyes meet.

  “Mommy! Let’s go!” Luke complains, tugging on my hand.

  Mr. Thorne’s gaze flickers and settles on my son, who’s trying unsuccessfully to pull me forward. His lips part, his eyes widen, and he takes an unsure step back just as Luke manages to free himself, rushing for the door of the building and tripping right in front of Mr. Thorne.

  “Luke!” I run to him, reaching out to help him up, but another pair of hands is faster than mine. I look up into Mr. Thorne’s face as he lifts my son to his feet and then immediately recoils as though he’s been burned.

  I get it. I do. But it still hurts seeing him so repelled by my son.

  “You okay, hon?” I ask, looking Luke over.

  “Fine,” he replies, before glancing at Mr. Thorne. “Thanks!”

  “You’re … welcome.” His voice is hoarse, faint, as he stares at Luke.

  All of us stand up and Luke grabs my hand again, tugging it impatiently.

  “Abigail, I …” Mr. Thorne’s face is ashen at this point and he looks as though he’d rather be anywhere but here.

  “Please,” I whisper hurriedly. “Just go. It’s okay.” I allow myself to get lost in his eyes one last time, knowing this is it. Somehow, I hope he’ll understand what I can’t say out loud. I’m sorry I lied. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Thank you for everything. Goodbye.

  “Come on,” I tell my son, ushering him inside.

  The door slams behind us and we walk up the stairs. I make it to the apartment door before the prickling sensation starts at the corners of my eyes. Ignoring it, I hold Luke behind me and look inside to make sure it’s safe before letting him in. He runs to his room while I shut the door, putting on the chain while I suppress the urge to start sobbing. I can’t do that right now. We have about five minutes to pack and then we have to leave again.

  Pushing myself away from the wall, I stop midstep at the firm knock on the door. Time seems to stand still.

  It can’t be.

  My hand trembles as I take the chain off and open the door.

  “M-Mr. Thorne, Sir?” My voice cracks and I absolutely hate how it highlights my emotions. But not as much as I despise the tears that now refuse to stay put, and instead trickle down my face for him to see. “What are you doing here?” I demand.

  “May I come in?” he asks.<
br />
  “Why?”

  “I have a proposition for you.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Mr. Thorne takes a step forward, examining me closer. It’s fairly dark in the hallway since most of the light bulbs need changing and the windows haven’t been cleaned in forever.

  “Why are you crying?” he asks with a hint of alarm in his voice, reaching out to brush his fingertips against the apple of my cheek. “Sweet girl?”

  “Please don’t call me that,” I whisper, closing my eyes.

  He sighs, tilting my face upward. “Abigail, look at me.”

  I do as I’m told. He looks tired and worn, just like me.

  “Let me in. There are things to discuss.”

  I feel like Molly Ringwald in Pretty in Pink. I do not want Mr. Thorne to see where I live, especially not with the state the apartment is in at the moment.

  “What things?” I ask. “What proposition?”

  Mr. Thorne glances around. “I’d really rather talk about that in a less public place. I’m sure you can appreciate why.”

  “But … my son.”

  “I can be discreet.”

  “How did you even find me?”

  “I tracked down the taxi driver this morning. Told him it was very important that I talk to you.”

  “And?”

  “And when that didn’t work, I paid him.” He’s unapologetic. “I had to see you again, Abigail,” he elaborates. “The way you left—I was worried.”

  I draw a deep breath, stepping aside to hold the door open. “All right, we can go into the kitchen, I guess.”

  Mr. Thorne walks past me and I close the door, putting the chain on it again.

  “What happened?” He touches the busted lock, frowning.

  “Break-in. Last night,” I respond.

  His lips purse and his brows draw together. He’s angry but doesn’t say anything as he follows me into the kitchen.

  “You can,” I motion to the kitchen table, “sit down, if you’d like. You want … coffee?” I have no idea how to act.