by Layne Deemer
It takes me less than forty minutes to pack up my life in Minnesota. I slide the old wooden chest over by the door and heap my bags on top. With my hands on my hips, I let my eyes roam over the small apartment that I called home. I was expecting to feel something resembling sadness, but standing here now on the verge of leaving this all behind, the only thing I feel is relief.
George meows loudly at my feet as he makes figure eights between my legs. When I look down at him, he stares back up at me and darts over to the door, scraping his nails across it. I had planned to take my old uncle with me, but it looks like he may have other ideas.
I squat down at his level and rub his back, starting from the top of his head down to his tail. He rolls his body in harmony with my hand and walks tentatively toward me. He leans his mottled gray face in and rubs his pink nose against mine.
I know he’ll be okay without me. He’s resilient. He always has been. Most cats have nine lives, but that’ll never be enough for my uncle George. I’m sure our paths will cross again someday.
I rise to my feet and open the door for him. George cocks his head and gives me one last long side-eye before darting out into the hallway. I lean out and watch for him, but he’s gone. It’s almost as if he disappeared. “Goodbye, Uncle G,” I whisper as I push the door closed.
I’ll miss him, but the truth is, I can live without him. I can live without almost everyone. Almost.
Rudy’s right, life is better when things are interesting. And there’s only one person who’s managed to provoke me and challenge everything I thought I knew about myself. My world was gray and dismal, and she made it vibrant and colorful.
I slide my phone from my back pocket and send Lydia a text. And then I wait.
Lydia’s knocks come in feverish succession. She’s banging her fist on the door while simultaneously calling out, “Owen? Can you hear me? Please open up!”
I fling open the door, and she regards me with narrowed eyes. “What gives, Owen? Your text said, SOS Emergency! but you look completely fine.”
“Well, it is an emergency, but it’s not the life or death kind. Sorry, I guess I should’ve specified, but would you have come if I had?”
She pauses, considering the question and regarding me with uncertainty. Her hesitation answers my question. I think I may have my work cut out for me here. I grab her hand, pulling her into my apartment. Her eyes widen as she takes in the starkness of the room. Her gaze lands on my pile of belongings, and I watch her throat bob with a slow swallow. When she looks up at me, her eyes glisten.
She clears her throat. “You’re leaving.” It’s not a question.
“I am.” I tell her what she already knows, and her head falls in response. She stares at the floor.
“And so are you.”
Her eyes snap to mine as surprise and confusion registers on her face. “What are you talking about?”
I take a deep breath, and then I go all in. “Listen to me, Lydia. There’s nothing for us here. I think we need a fresh start, and we need to do it together.” She leans in like she’s trying to absorb every word. “So let’s just go. What are we waiting for? We can rent a car and just leave all of this behind. We both started over before; we can do it again, but this time we’ll have each other.”
A look of bewilderment settles on her face. “Owen, we can’t just leave. Where would we even go?”
“We can just leave, Lydia. We can go anywhere. We don’t owe anyone anything. Jobs, apartments, furniture—it can all be replaced.”
She shakes her head in disbelief and begins pacing the floor. “This is crazy.”
I reach out and capture her arm, stilling her. “But what if it isn’t? What if it’s the only thing that makes sense? Just think about it for a second. Gabe found you. He knows where you live. You’re no longer safe here.”
Realization hits her, and she tugs her arm from my grasp. “And what about you, Owen? Am I safe with you? You’ve been getting mysterious notes and then last night I just happened to find that paper in your drawer. And you acted manic when you saw it.”
I don’t want to lie to her, but I can’t tell her the truth or she’ll never agree to go with me. So I opt for somewhere in between. “Those notes were meant to rattle me, but they’re nothing more than ghosts from my past.” I take her hands and hold them to my chest. My eyes plead with hers. “I’m not safe here either, Lydia.”
She takes a tentative step back toward the door as she eyes me with suspicion. “How can I trust anything you tell me?”
“You can’t.” Her eyes widen with shock, but I continue. “You can’t trust me any more than I can trust you. But the thing is, Lydia, for the first time in my life, I still want to try. So what do you say? Are you in?”
She closes her eyes and when she opens them, I see the answer clearly reflected in the golden flecks that swirl within them.
“Okay, Owen. Okay.”
54
Lydia grips the wheel tightly, her hands at ten and two. She’s humming along with the radio and checking the GPS on her phone every few minutes. We don’t have much of a plan for where we’re going aside from a loose idea to head south. Together we’ve determined that the west, east, and north haven’t done much for us, so we decide to try somewhere neither of us has ever been.
After I abruptly ended my phone call with Dr. Jamie, he decided to tattle to my mom. She and my brother immediately started taking turns calling and texting me until I sent off a quick response that I was taking a much needed vacation. And then I blocked both of their numbers. I don’t have the strength to appease their worry right now.
Lydia and I have been driving in comfortable silence for the past fifty-five miles, and aside from a few stolen glances, we haven’t acknowledged one another. We’re both lost in thought.
There’s a nervous energy radiating off of Lydia as she propels the car forward. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s probably having second thoughts about making such a rash decision with someone she hardly knows. And really, she should be. She stepped off the crazy bus with Gabe and right onto the insane train with me. I’m the type of guy she should be running from, not running toward. But I keep those thoughts to myself.
Leaning my head against the window, I watch as gentle hills blur with green pastures. The crystal blue sky matches the clarity of my mind. Leaving Minnesota was the only choice for me. Taking Lydia along for the ride was an added bonus.
We’re stopped for gas at a small convenience store. Lydia unfastens her seatbelt with a click and steps out of the tiny blue hatchback we rented. She rounds the car and stops at my door. Squatting down so that her eyes are level with mine, she knocks on the glass that separates us. The car keys are still dangling from the ignition, so I reach across and turn them to accessories. I lower the car window, giving her access. Her smile is wide when she speaks. “Hey, could you reach down and grab my wallet out of my purse? It’s underneath your seat.”
I tell her I’ll cover the cost of gas, but she holds up her hands in protest. I paid for the rental, so she insists on paying for fuel. I can tell it’s no use arguing with her, so I do as she says. I bend down and reach under the seat. It makes contact with the smooth leather of her purse. I make quick work of the snap on her bag and wade through the contents in search of her wallet. My fingertips graze the spiral spine of a notebook and I find her wallet tucked beside it. I hand it to her through the open window and when our fingers touch, we linger for a beat before letting go. She gives me a wink, and then she turns and saunters off to the store.
As I watch her walk away, I think about trust and how freely we hand it over like it’s a simple handshake instead of the most crucial part of ourselves. So often we trust blindly. It all boils down to human nature. We want to make connections, and so we give all that we have in the hopes it’ll be returned.
Lydia and I don’t play by those rules. She has her doubts and I have mine. Which is why I wait until the glass door of the store closes behind her before reaching
back under the seat to retrieve the notebook I felt in her purse.
It’s a simple black college-ruled tablet held together with a spiral of thin wire. It looks harmless enough, but I know that it’s much more than it seems or she wouldn’t carry it with her. When I flip open the cover, I’m met with rows upon rows of time stamps, and behind each time, there are words describing the actions of another person. She’s been keeping tabs on someone and from the looks of things, she’s been at it for quite some time. Every line of every page is filled.
I see his name repeated throughout the notes.
10:32 a.m. - Gabe stops for a bagel, but he doesn’t get sesame this time. Why?
* * *
1:18 p.m. - Gabe is talking to Jennifer for entirely too long. I FUCKING HATE JENNIFER!!!!!
Pages and pages of the same. I’m halfway through the book when I notice a drawing of a key with words above it. It’s rudimentary, but there’s no mistaking the uncanny resemblance it bears to the tattoo on Lydia’s ankle. Beneath the words Non deficere, she’s written:
7:28 p.m. - I went to the same artist as Gabe and now we have matching tattoos. I can’t wait to show him. The ink under the surface of our skin is a permanent reminder. We belong together. You have the key to my heart, Gabe. I’ll never give up.
Gabe was telling the truth.
I’ve seen enough, but I still can’t stop my fingers from turning the pages. As I near the end of the book, something shifts in the writing. It takes me a minute to realize what I’m seeing, but once I do, I feel my stomach plunge. There are still time stamps, but they’re no longer attached to Gabe. My name stares back at me as line after line documents every move I’ve made through Lydia’s watchful eyes.
8:09 a.m. - I just arrived at my new job and I’m looking at the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. (Sorry Gabe!) He hasn’t noticed me yet, but he will.
* * *
9:30 a.m. - We met this morning and I was stunned speechless. Even though I couldn’t speak, the connection was palpable. I know he felt it, too.
I did.
I do.
Reading Lydia’s words, I feel a strange mix of flattery and unease. But with each new entry my anxiety increases as I realize she was pursuing me with the precision of a surgeon. She dissected my actions, studied my behaviors, and used it all to gain access to me. It was all planned. Once again, I find myself as a line item on a to-do list. Something to be conquered.
12:23 p.m. - My dad called in the middle of lunch with Owen. I knew it wasn’t just a friendly call and I was right. Goddamn Gabe contacted my parents and told them I was stalking him. He’s unbelievable. I’m over him and if he’d just let me explain, he’d know that!
* * *
10:12 a.m. - I’ve been playing hard to get and I can tell it’s working. I can still feel his lips on mine from last night. Today I set the next phase of my plan in motion. I saw Owen through the peephole of my door and decided it was the perfect time to “introduce” him to Gabe. I pretended to be on the phone and spoke loud enough that I know he could hear me from the hallway. It worked! He’s almost mine. It’s only a matter of time now.
* * *
3:57 p.m. - I’m in my rental car idling in front of Gabe’s apartment building. I can’t believe he refused to see me! I thought if we could just talk face-to-face, he’d drop this whole “stalking” bullshit. That claim held no weight to begin with, but now that I’ve found Owen, I don’t need him anymore. Owen is all I’ll ever need and he feels the same way about me. I made sure of that. :)
It was all a setup. She dangled the bait in front of me and I snatched it right up. I drop the book onto the carpeted floor of the car. Leaning over, I slide it back into Lydia’s purse and shove it back under my seat.
Lydia skips out of the store, her hands loaded with snacks. There’s paper hanging from her mouth, and as she nears the car, I can make out the faint metallic gleam of a scratch-off lottery ticket. I lean across the seat and pop open the driver’s side door. She plops down into her seat and lets the bags of chips and gummy bears tumble onto her lap. Taking the ticket in her hand, she releases it from her teeth and hands it over to me.
“Are you feeling lucky?”
I plaster on a smile as I take it from her. But I think her luck may have just run out.
55
I tilt my head and look at the girl sitting next to me. Her left hand remains fixed on the wheel while the fingers of her right hand tap in rhythm with Sia’s “Cheap Thrills.” She looks over at me and smiles like she’s on top of the world. She looks comfortable. She looks content.
It feels familiar.
The road winds up ahead. I lean back against the seat and close my eyes, letting my mind drift back to the twisty road of my past.
There was a chill in the air—the kind that makes you shiver despite multiple layers of clothing. It was beginning to sleet, and the road in front of Duncan’s house seemed to sparkle from the glow of the lamppost at the foot of the driveway. On any other night, it would feel magical and romantic, but that night it was just another thing to worry about on the drive home.
Pulling onto the deserted private road, Sarah was quiet, but I knew it wouldn’t last. On an exaggerated sigh, she began. “Listen, Owen, I understand the need to unwind and have a beer or two. But everyone has their limit. I mean, did you even see yourself in there? You were out of control. You let alcohol consume you. There’s no excuse.”
I opened my mouth without a plan for what I would say and found myself blurting, “The last time I checked, four beers doesn’t qualify as being consumed by alcohol. And I do have free will. I can make my own decisions. You don’t own me, you know?”
She looked over at me as though I had horns growing out of the top of my head. “Do you hear yourself? Owen, of course, you have free will, but you also have a history of making the wrong choices.” She looked at me pointedly; clearly recalling all the mistakes she thought I had made over the years.
Mumbling mostly to myself, but loud enough for her to hear, I said, “Oh trust me, one bad choice that I’ve made has suddenly become glaringly obvious.”
She was silent long enough for me to wonder if I spoke those last few words out loud or just in my head. Leaning against the window, I angled my head and snuck a glance over at her. Her hands were resting dutifully at ten and two, but I could see her knuckles bulging. They were white and strained from the force of her grip.
She heard me.
There was an eerie calm inside the car as she weighed my words. I watched the road crawl by outside and wondered if the car was moving slow enough for me to jump out without seriously injuring myself. I couldn’t believe I’d lost myself so completely that I was actually contemplating launching myself out of a moving vehicle just to regain some control.
“Listen, Sarah, I—”
“Actually, Owen, I think it’s better if you listen.”
I wanted to protest, but something about the chilling tone of her voice gave me pause.
“You seem to think you have a choice in how this all plays out, and I blame myself for that. Perhaps I wasn’t totally clear. You see, everything in your life from the moment we met right up to this point is because of me—my influence, my wishes, my commands.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let me put it this way, have you ever stopped to think about how things have worked out for you and your family these past few years? Hmm? Take your father’s dental practice, for instance. It was in dire straits when we met, and then suddenly an anonymous donor began funding the much-needed improvements to the practice. Now he’s so busy, he’s looking to hire more hygienists and add another dentist. Or how about the stress your mother was under caring for your ailing grandfather? She desperately wanted to move him out of his apartment and into The Meadowlands, but openings were hard to come by. And then lo and behold, a room became available, and now your grandfather is living comfortably and your mother has so much freedom and so much less worry. And then there�
�s you, Owen. You are a student at Yale University. Just think about that for a second.” She paused for dramatic effect, and I tried in vain to understand where she was going with all of this.
“Do you remember what your grades were like in high school? Do you think they were on par for what a school as prestigious as Yale is looking for?” She looked over and studied me for a moment before continuing. “I can see the confusion written all over your face, so let me spell this out for you. The answer is no, Owen. You weren’t Yale material. Not even close. In fact, the Director of Admissions wouldn’t have even reviewed your application had it not been for a phone call from my father. As an alumnus of this school and one of the top donors, all he had to do was promise to fund the Dean’s latest plan for an expansion on the campus library, and boom—your acceptance letter was in the mail.”
I could feel the blood leaving my fingertips, making them ice cold. My stomach dropped to my feet and my chest rose and fell in rapid succession. If I wasn’t sober before I got in that car, I sure as hell was then.
“Are you actually suggesting that your father is behind everything that’s happened? My parents, my grandfather, me—it’s all because of him?” She couldn’t be serious. That was far too invasive, even for her.
“Oh, I’m not suggesting that at all, Owen.” She smiled at me, but there was a wicked gleam in her eye. “After all, it’s not a suggestion if it’s the truth. When I say, ‘Jump,’ Daddy asks, ‘How high?’ He’d do anything to keep his princess happy.”