Paul begins unloading my bags, and I rummage through my purse for the key. Holding the weight of it in my hand, I can envision Miguel when he gave it to me. It was almost closing time one night last week, and Connor was in the back figuring out the next day’s bank deposit. We had some time to talk, and as our conversation progressed it all came pouring out of me. I never expected that Miguel would make such a generous offer, and it was one I couldn’t refuse. He provided the solution I so desperately needed, and I could count on his discretion when it came to keeping my whereabouts a secret.
Paul gives me a concerned look. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay out here?”
I admit I’m a little freaked out, but I don’t want to reveal my uncertainty in front of him. “Oh yeah. I’ll be fine.” I try to sound casual but end up nervously chirping my reply.
“Well, if you need anything…” I don’t allow him to finish. Instead I shove a wad of bills in his hand. “Whoa, that’s too much.”
“Keep it. You deserve it for carting my ass all the way out here.” He laughs, shaking his head as he gets back in his cab. I wave as he makes a sweeping turn across the driveway, leaving me utterly alone.
Stepping into the cabin, I feel the floorboards creak beneath my feet. It’s tiny, no doubt about it. There’s just enough space for one person, maybe two. Similar to my studio apartment in Greenwich Village, it consists of a main room and a claustrophobic-sized bathroom. That’s it. The furnishings are sparse—a couch with a fold-out bed, a card table with two mismatched chairs, a refrigerator, a stove, and some kitchen cabinets—only the bare necessities, nothing more, nothing less. And I thought the amenities in my room at the pub were minimal. This is really roughing it.
It’s a bit musty in here. I try opening the windows, but it proves to be a challenge. Straining with all my might, I can’t get them to budge. I locate a hammer in one of the drawers and tap gently on the frame to loosen it up. Giving it another go, I manage to push one open about two inches or so. Overheated, I amble into the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face. The tap is dripping, and when I turn on the faucet, a brown, muddy stream shoots out. I let it run for a while and eventually the water turns clear. Drying my face on the front of my shirt, I inspect the shower. There’s a deep circular stain around the drain, but nothing I can’t handle. I hear the hum of the refrigerator from here, so at least I know the electricity’s on.
Plopping onto the couch, I take in the view of the lake. Just the sight alone brings me a sense of contentment. I can already feel my body starting to relax after escaping the tumult of the city. It’s weird to think how quickly I adapted to a fast paced, urban lifestyle. Now it’s going to be an adjustment to experience life at a slower tempo, but it’s one I’m looking forward to. I feel strung out, and I don’t know if it’s from dealing with Connor’s unpredictable nature or my anxiety about the future, but all I know is that it’s time to hit the reset button on my stress level before I burn out completely.
There’s a rocking chair on the front porch and I gravitate toward it. Slipping off my black Converse high tops, I move across the floor, propping the front door open with a two liter bottle of Diet Coke from one of the grocery bags. It’s probably best to give the cabin time to air out since it’s been shut up for so long.
Bringing my cell phone along with me, I debate whether or not I should call my parents to let them know where I am. I wouldn’t put it past Connor to have already called them looking for me. I don’t want them to think I disappeared or that I’m lying in a gutter somewhere. But what if they tip off Connor? Is it worth the risk?
I weigh the options in my head, flipping back and forth, matching the to and fro rhythm of the chair. Stilling its motion, I rest my ankles on the porch railing. My battery’s getting low. Before I can chicken out, I scroll through my contact list, hitting the dial button. My palm is sweaty so I place the phone between my shoulder and my ear. After a series of rings, the answering machine kicks on, prompting me to leave a message.
“Hi Mom. Hi Dad. It’s me. Just wanted to let you know that I took a little break from the city. But everything’s cool, and there’s no need to worry about me. I’ll try calling you again later, okay? Love you.”
With relief, I hang up. I’m glad that’s over with for the time being. Now they won’t have to call the police to issue a missing person’s report. The last thing I need is for them to fly off the handle. Connor, on the other hand, is another story.
A family of ducks skims the water in front of the cabin, quacking away, following each other in a staggered formation. No doubt their webbed feet are paddling furiously beneath the surface. I’ll have to remember to bring some slices of bread down to the dock tomorrow to feed them. They’re about as much company as I’m going to get.
Suddenly my phone rings, and I nearly drop it. The volume of the ringtone disrupts the stillness around me. I check the caller ID. Connor. Should I answer it and settle things once and for all? I can’t avoid him forever. Besides, I don’t want him going off the deep end. That lingering worry in the back of my mind refuses to be quieted.
Biting the bullet, I take the call. “Hi, Connor.”
“Hi, Michelle.” His voice is too mellow. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Holding my breath, I don’t give him much to go on.
Sighing heavily on the other end, he whispers, “Thank God.”
He’s not taking the approach I expected. He’s not demanding to know where I am.
“Are you okay?” I can’t help it. I’m worried about him.
“I’ve been better.” He sounds hoarse. “I miss you.”
And those three words nearly break my heart. I want to tell him where I am. I want him to come to me. But I can’t. Standing up, I walk across the yard. I have to be strong for his sake. He knows I’m safe. I have to end this conversation before I weaken and give in to him.
Dipping my foot in the water, I place it on the smooth stones of the lakebed. The sensation revives my resolve. I can do this. “I miss you too, but I have to go.”
“Michelle, wait.” His panic is evident now, filtering beneath the surface of the brave facade he’s trying to maintain.
“It’s for the best, Connor.” And with a frustrated moan, I hang up on him. Seconds later, my phone rings again, but I don’t pick up. Instead, I slide it into the pocket of my cut-off shorts and wade into the lake up to my knees. This separation has to work. It has to.
Chapter Forty-One
After five days of glorious solitude, I’m beginning to feel like I’ve lived in the cabin all my life. I like setting my own hours and doing whatever I want. I like hiking in the woods, but I bring a bottle of red nail polish to mark the trees in order to facilitate my return. The last thing I need is to get lost and not be able to find my way back, because no one’s going to come looking for me. But I like the thrill, living on the cusp of danger.
I feel empowered fending for myself. Cooking hot dogs over an open flame. Unclogging the drain when the toilet wouldn’t flush. Dragging Miguel’s heavy canoe to the dock and floundering with the heavy oars on the water. It’s a rush being so self-sufficient, like I can conquer anything.
Too bad I can’t settle my heart.
Connor’s called at least a dozen times since I hung up on him, but I refuse to answer his calls. They go right to voice mail, and I’m afraid to listen to his messages. But I’m okay with knowing that he didn’t succumb to his emotions. He’s still functioning on some level. He didn’t completely shut down like after Danny died.
But today, he didn’t call. And now I’m starting to get nervous.
Wrapped in an oversize sweatshirt, I stretch it over my bent knees covering my bare legs. Tomorrow’s the Fourth of July, and I’m sitting on the front porch watching a fireworks display that must be a good ten miles away. The reds and yellows and blues burst into the night sky without a sound. Only the croaking of frogs can be heard from the water’s edge.
G
iving into my fears, I begin playing Connor’s messages one by one.
“Michelle, it’s me. Please call me back. We didn’t get to have breakfast this morning, and there’s so much I need to say to you. I’m begging you, call me back.”
Beep.
“Michelle, you need time away from me. I get it. I didn’t mean to scare you by forcing you to go back to school. We can still work this out. Please call me, no matter what time it is. I swear I’ll pick up.”
Beep.
“It’s me again. You must be really sick of me by now, but I called your parents this morning and they don’t know where you are either. Michelle, we’re all worried about you. If you’re over me, I’ll handle it, but don’t put your parents through this. Let them know where you are at least, okay?”
Beep.
“I’m starting to feel like a stalker, but I’m not giving up on you, Michelle. If I have to call you every day from now until the end of time, I will. I’ll do whatever it takes to get you back in my life.”
Beep.
“It is Monday, our day off. But you’re not here, and we still have more museums to see. I thought our goal was to visit them all? You can’t back out on me now. I have a MetroCard here with your name on it.”
Beep.
“Remember that thing I wanted to talk to you about? Well, I’m moving forward with it. I’ll tell you all about when I see you. If I see you…”
Beep.
Hearing his voice is like stumbling across an oasis after crossing a barren desert. It soothes the ache surrounding my heart, but only temporarily. It’s not enough. I want him, all of him, not just his voice.
My mind is on fire running through all the possibilities of his last message. What is he up to? What plan is he going ahead with? It doesn’t sound like he intends to harm himself. But can I be sure? No. Especially when I didn’t hear from him today.
I hold my thumb over the redial button.
Looking up at the stars, I pray for guidance. For some sign that he’s all right.
There’s a thud on the overturned canoe. I peer into the darkness, but my only source of light comes from inside the cabin. There’s something on top of the boat, but all I can see is a shadowed figure. Gathering my courage, I step off the porch. Getting closer, I squint trying to make out what it is, but it’s frightened by my approach. It takes off thumping wildly across the length of the canoe before running for the protection of the woods.
Laughing at the antics of whatever critter it was, I raise my eyes as the grand finale of fireworks begins. The light reflecting off the metal surface of the boat draws my attention to the name painted on its hull. Rosada.
There’s my answer.
Skipping over the dew-covered grass, I leap onto the porch and through the front door. Digging through my purse, I tip it over, emptying its contents. And there it is—the napkin. Scanning it quickly, I find Miguel’s phone number penciled on the bottom. It’s after ten o’clock. He should still be at the bar. I dial.
“Hello?” He’s cranky, not knowing who is calling him. I can hear the noise of a crowd in the background and a TV blaring nearby. Hopefully, he is where I think he is.
“Miguel? It’s Michelle.” I speak loudly so he can hear me above the commotion. “Can you talk?”
“Yeah, he’s busy with a customer. He can’t hear me.” I’m glad we’re on the same wavelength. He gets what I’m saying without any explanation.
“How’s he doing?” My heart pounds in anticipation of his response.
“The bar’s still open, so that’s saying a lot.” He chuckles into the receiver.
“Oh, thank God.” I settle onto the arm of the couch.
“But there’s something you should know.” His tone is wary.
“Yeah?” If it’s bad, I just want to know, no fooling around.
“There’s a ‘for sale’ sign in the window.”
“What?”
“Connor is selling Donnelly’s Pub.”
Chapter Forty-Two
I’m groggy from tossing and turning all night as I fold the bed frame back into the couch the next morning. My head is fuzzy and my eyes are burning. I can’t think straight. Wandering up to the refrigerator, I pop open a can of Mountain Dew even though the sun is just peering over the horizon. I don’t care. I need something to bring clarity to my jumbled thoughts. I’m counting on a carbonated breakfast to wake me up.
Why is Connor selling the pub? Why now? Especially after his parents just bailed him out. It doesn’t make any sense. Is he doing it to get back at me for leaving him? Is it a ploy to get me to return? I have to admit, it’s working. I know I didn’t leave him with any sense of closure. Maybe if we talk things out face to face he’ll accept the fact that he needs to sort himself out before there’s any way we can be together.
I twist my hair into a haphazard knot on top of my head. It’s going to be a hot one. I can already feel the humidity rising as dawn breaks through the white fluffy clouds. It’s sure to be a beautiful day for the Fourth of July. Too bad I’m not in the mood to kick back and celebrate like everyone else. I may have demonstrated my independence, but I certainly didn’t escape my problems.
Connor’s latest move is really another threat, albeit in a different form. Return to him, or he’ll wreck his life. He’s willing to give up his one source of stability to lure me back. His message is clear. But why is he taking such a risk? The stakes are too high. If he thinks he can win me back by pressuring me, he’s wrong. I never respond well when I’m backed into a corner.
And how did he think I’d find out? Obviously, my parents know and he’s counting on them to spill the beans. Or he’s planning on leaving me another voice mail to drop the bomb himself. I hate playing right into his hands, but it appears I don’t have much choice. I can’t stand back and let him sell the bar. I’d never forgive myself, or him.
I guzzle the remainder of the soda before heading into the bathroom to brush my teeth. As I stare at my reflection through the cracked glass of the mirror, it’s like I’m fighting a battle with myself. My feelings are so divided. I haven’t even been gone a week, and he’s already figured out a way to draw me out of my hiding place. I’m such a fool. I can’t stay away from him. It’s pointless.
Spitting into the sink, I wipe the remaining toothpaste from my mouth with the back of my hand. It’s a showdown, me versus him, and it looks like he’s going to win. It’s time to come to terms with one another, even if I have to back down and enroll in NYU. I can face my demons, even if he can’t face his.
After drawing back the yellowed shower curtain, I feel the harsh spray of water pound my scalp. It’s lukewarm at best, and I hurriedly envelop my body in what little suds I can manufacture from what remains of the sliver of soap. It’s up to me now. I’m going to have to call him back and find out what’s going on. I have to put a stop to his childish behavior before he goes too far and loses everything.
I wring out my sopping hair with a ratty towel and step into a fresh pair of panties. It’s too damn hot for a bra. Wiggling into a white tank and khaki shorts, I slide a pair of flip-flops on my feet. With determination, I stride across the room and grab my phone. But to my surprise, there’s a voice mail…from Maria.
Holding my breath, I play the message.
“Hi Michelle. It’s Maria from the support group. Listen, I have the day off so I went to check on Connor, but there’s a realtor’s sign in the window and a note on the door that says, ‘Closed until further notice.’ I tried calling his parents, but no one’s picking up.” Stopping, she seems flustered, upset even. “I didn’t know who else to call, so I thought I’d try you. I hate to ask you this, but do you think you can try to reach out to him? I don’t mean to alarm you, but after what you’ve told me, I’m concerned. Let me know how you make out.”
My heart is stuck in my throat. He’s closed the pub. My worst fear has come true. My mind races through a myriad of bleak scenarios. He’s upstairs, unconscious. He’s left town. He’s
in a hospital somewhere clinging to life. He’s intoxicated, slumped on a street corner. He’s done something that he can never take back.
“Stop it!” I scream out loud. I’m riding the crest of a panic attack. I can’t let it take me under. I need to keep my wits about me and hold onto my last shred of sanity with all I’ve got. I have to maintain focus, if only for him.
Hitting his name on my speed dial, I feel myself slipping as a wave of dizziness causes my knees to buckle. And even with a damp head, I feel like I’m burning up as my vision becomes blurry. Multiple rings echo in my ear, but he doesn’t answer. His voice mail doesn’t even click on. The connection drops, and I’m left with nothing.
In frustration, I throw the phone across the room. It hits the wall and breaks in two. Realizing the enormity of what I just did, I crouch down in horror, but it’s beyond repair. I have effectively severed my connection with the outside world. There’s no way Connor can reach me, even if he wanted to.
Oh God, what if he tries calling and can’t get through? What if he does something rash in response? What if he harms himself? And I could have prevented it.
There’s no time to waste. I have to get to him.
Shoving random items into one of my bags, I half zipper it and wrap the strap of my purse around my body. Leaving half my stuff behind, I don’t even lock the front door. Trying to run down the gravel driveway in flip-flops, I lose my balance and crash, skinning my knees in the process. The wind is knocked out of me as I lay on the ground, stricken with grief. Reeling from the brush burn on my arms to the blood flowing from my legs, I let out an anguished scream.
There’s nothing I can do. The enormity of the choice I made when I decided to come here begins to sink in. I doomed Connor to this end when I ran away from him. I set these events in motion. He wouldn’t have acted out on his own.
Chapter Forty-Three
Sitting at the edge of the dock, I’m paralyzed with regret. I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but I haven’t moved in hours. The sun is slowly setting in a gorgeous array of colors that I don’t even bother to notice. I wasn’t able to locate any bandages in the cabin, so my knees are wrapped with a combination of toilet paper and duct tape. I’m a mess, both inside and out.
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