MOM WORRIED as my attitude swirled into depression. She made an appointment for me with a doctor, then dragged me to his office. At first I resisted, because the outside world was in such a sorry state. I could see so many places where it could be better. When we got to the doctor’s office, she introduced me to Dr. Robert Treadway. When he ushered me inside, a sense of peace prevailed.
I liked it there. For the most part, he had everything neat and organized, even if I saw a few places that could be better. When he saw me reaching to straighten something, he smiled and indulged me, allowing me to rearrange things to make more sense. Every week for the next three months, he’d let me come in and put things back the way I’d had them. I got comfortable in his office, as it seemed like an extension of me.
Our conversations were kept light. How was I feeling? How were things at home? Just surface stuff that I knew he was using to try to get into my head. Finally he got down to the big question.
“Do you want to talk about what happened with your teacher?” the doctor—“call me Rob”—asked.
“Not really, no.”
I didn’t want to even think about the man, but he lived in a corner of my mind and wouldn’t go away. And to talk about it with the doctor? That would simply be reliving the whole mess again. Definitely not something I wanted to do.
“You know, it’s not going to get better if we don’t work on it together.”
And wasn’t that the crux of the situation? It wouldn’t get better if we didn’t talk about it, but talking about it would make me feel worse than I did because the memories would overwhelm me. I straightened the items on his desk, moving the penholder with a beautiful pair of gold Cross pens to the far corner of his desk.
“Why did you put it there?” he asked. “Last week you had it on the left side.”
And I had. My hands started shaking when I reached for it again, but it looked right, even if my mind told me it wasn’t.
“Matthew?”
No one called me that unless I’d done something to piss them off, but Rob said it in a nonthreatening kind of way, and I found it soothing.
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “It seemed like it should be there.”
“That’s a good enough answer. Sometimes when something feels more right in one place, it’s okay to move it. Nothing needs to stay as it is forever.”
But it did. Or at least it should. There could only be order if nothing moved after I put it in the proper place. But I hadn’t lied; it did seem like it belonged more where I put it than on the other side of the desk. I’d noticed Rob was right-handed, and it seemed foolish to have it where he needed to stretch all the way across the desk to reach it.
He started again. “So. Your teacher. He changed his story quite often. Why do you think he said the first time you’d gone willingly?”
My gaze darted around the room, the feel of him being in the enclosed space with me nearly overwhelming. I could smell the stale sweat, hear him panting, feel his grip on my hair. My breath began to quicken and my body shook. In my mind I could hear his voice telling me that this was what I’d come for.
“It wasn’t!” I shouted, pushing up out of the chair. “I didn’t go there to have sex with him. I thought… I thought I was helping him out because his car didn’t work. He lied to me, and I won’t trust him again. I won’t be stupid enough to trust anyone ever again.” I turned to run for the door, but Rob’s voice cut through the haze.
“Matthew, please sit down.”
Sit down? Screw that. I wanted to run and never stop. Get away from the voice, from the memories that assailed me every night. Away from the nightmares that were my constant companions until I turned eighteen, gained the money that had been put aside for me, and bought my property, built a house, and removed myself from society.
Familiarity brought me peace, even if it took my mother and brother away from me.
A small price to pay, though, I told myself. Every night when I lay there, unable to sleep.
CHAPTER TWO
“ONE HUNDRED and sixteen, one hundred and seventeen, one hundred and eighteen….”
He kept an even pace, and I counted every footfall. His lean body moved with a fluid grace I might have been more than a little jealous of. When he turned in the direction of my house, he must have seen me watching him through the window, because he gave a little wave, then chugged on. I sputtered as my heart pounded and my mouth went dry. I closed the curtain, which made me lose my count and caused me to grow frustrated with the change in our… relationship. It had taken me six months to accept him near my property, and now he’d gone and messed up everything. Tomorrow I’d go back to fretting over seeing him, because now I had to wonder if he’d expect me to wave if I saw him, or worse, would want to stop and talk.
Despite repeated calls to Clay, he still refused to ask the man not to jog by my house. I pulled my phone out, sat down in the chair I had reupholstered, and dialed his number again.
“What is it this time, Matt?” Clay answered, his tone weary and unhappy.
“Please, Clay,” I begged. “You’ve got to stop him.”
He sighed. “Has something changed? Is he coming onto your property? Has he threatened you in any way?”
The temptation to say yes zipped through me, but he hadn’t, and I couldn’t lie.
“No,” I replied, running my finger along the arm of the chair.
“What’s wrong with him jogging down the road, Matt? I need something to go on before I can ask him to stop. Going up to him and saying, ‘Do you mind not making my recluse of a brother uncomfortable?’ won’t really do much.”
“Why do you have to be such an asshole?” I barked. “You know I don’t like people near me, so why can’t you just ask him nicely, as my brother if you won’t do it as the sheriff, to find somewhere else to run?”
“Because….” He sighed again. It was something I heard pretty much every time I talked with him. “You know I love you, but I think you need to go back to see your doctor. You’re not getting better.”
It wasn’t true. As long as people left me alone, I was fine. It was when they disrupted my life that things went wrong.
“I’m going to talk to Mom,” he told me, his voice barely a whisper. “If you won’t see someone on your own, then we’ll have to see if Judge Hamlin can get you into a program.”
Which was more shocking? That my brother and mother were conspiring against me, or that I knew if they went to see Hank “Happy” Hamlin, I’d be committed for sure. The man had never liked me when he’d been my teacher, so this little bit of retribution would probably send him over the moon.
“I’m not coming back to town,” I insisted.
Clay made a humming noise, then said, “Okay, I’ll tell you what. You prove to me that you’re okay, and not only will I apologize to you, I won’t ever bring it up again.”
There had to be a trick somewhere, but I couldn’t see it. “How do I prove it?”
He stayed quiet for a moment, and then I heard him chuckle. “Talk to the jogger.”
“No!”
“It’s that or you come home and see your therapist again. You know he wanted you to stay in your sessions. He thought you were making progress.”
Only a shrink would say that night terrors and waking up in a cold sweat could be considered progress. Clay had me trapped, and the bastard knew it. There was no way I’d be able to get out of this. “Fine. I’ll talk to the jogger.”
“Oh no, bro,” he said, his tone triumphant. “This isn’t going to be you saying hello and that’s it. It’s not quite as simple as that. I need proof that you’ve done the deed.”
“I’ll save you a condom,” I snarked.
“A world of ew. No, I’m going to make this very easy on you. All you have to do is tell me his name.”
“That’s it? Are you sure you don’t want blood type, a DNA sample, or maybe his firstborn?”
“It’s a small town. I’m sure I know everyone. Yo
u talk to him, tell me his name, and maybe I’ll see what I can do to convince him that another route might be better for everyone concerned.”
I tried to figure out a way to get him to change his mind, but knowing Clay, it wasn’t about to happen. He’d always been stubborn, and it got him in plenty of hot water when we were kids. My heart thudded hard at the thought of having to talk to the man who’d been running past my property every day for the last six months, who now had acknowledged me.
“Please, Clay,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “Don’t make me do this.”
“I’m sorry, Matt. I’m not doing this to hurt you. I want to know you’re okay, and this is the only way I know how.”
“But I can’t,” I whined. He had no idea how hard his request… shit, his demand would be. Even thinking about it had my hands shaking. Beyond my monthly calls to order my supplies, I hadn’t talked to anyone except my brother—and that was only by phone—for several years. I hadn’t even spoken to my mother, but that was for different reasons. Still, being out here was a balm to my soul. I likened it to an adventure, sort of like My Side of the Mountain, except without the hawk and I didn’t live in a tree.
“Then you’ll have to come home and talk to Robert. Those are your options, bro.”
Now I knew what they meant by being stuck between a rock and a hard place. I held the phone between my shoulder and ear and wiped my damp palms over my pant legs. He’d left me no viable option, and the bastard knew it.
“Still there?” he asked.
I grabbed my phone again, then snapped, “Yes!” I took a deep breath. I couldn’t have him changing his mind and simply going to the judge. Even though I hated the options given to me, at least they were there. I glanced around my house, looking at the sparse belongings I had. The centerpiece of my home was my bookcase, standing in the center of the wall, surrounded by smaller tables that held my trinkets and baubles. This wasn’t about my fixation on order in my life, at least not entirely. I’d built a home here, and I had no desire to give it up.
“Okay,” I told him. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Fine. You’ve got a week.”
“What?” I spluttered. “You didn’t say anything about a time limit.”
Clay chuckled. “One of my favorite memories growing up is when you convinced me that skunk was the neighbor’s new cat and told me to go pet it. Mom got so pissed when I came home, reeking of skunk spray, and you howled with laughter, even when she made you give me a tomato juice bath.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I demanded, more than a little frustrated with Clay.
“Because I’m not that stupid anymore. I know if I don’t make you do this within a certain time frame, you’re going to hedge until I forget. That won’t be happening either,” he promised.
I sighed, leaning in the chair, resting my head along the back of it. “Fine. I’ll do it within the week.”
“The next time you call me, I want to know his name. No stalling for time, no prevarication, nothing. The only excuse you’ll have is if he stops running by your house.”
“How do you know I won’t just say that?”
“Because it bothers you that he’s doing it, and you won’t be able to let it go. It will gnaw at you until you call me to complain again, and then we’ll both know you lied.”
I slumped into my chair and groaned. Growing up, especially after the incident, Clay had been both savior and bane. He stopped having friends come over because I freaked out anytime someone new came into our house. I’d lock myself away in my room and then have to clean for hours to get rid of any sign of their presence. I knew he didn’t exactly understand it, but he also took on the role of my protector.
By the time the new house was finished and I’ve moved in, Clay had gone away to college. I envied him and the freedoms he had. What must it have been like, with a whole new group of people in a school that had more students than our entire town had citizens? What had he seen? Learned? I couldn’t imagine it. Then Mom called and said he would be coming back to town, and that made no sense to me at all. He’d gotten away from here—why come back?
He called me occasionally, and we would talk. I had no problems with phone calls, at least not from Clay. He told me he’d been hired to be the deputy of the county, and how much he looked forward to seeing me. That never happened. As much as I loved Mom and Clay, they were no longer part of my world, and having them in my house would require me to put things back to rights after they were gone. In essence, I’d be excising them from my life each time, and I couldn’t handle that. Easier to just not let them visit.
I admit, I was proud of him and what he’d accomplished. Roy Campbell retired several years after the incident—partly because he claimed he never really recovered after what happened to me—and Clay became the youngest sheriff in the state. He had the respect and admiration of the majority of the town for his fair and evenhanded policies, which apparently did not extend to me.
“Fine,” I agreed. “If he comes by, I’ll talk to him and get his name. But that’s it, Clay. I won’t do anything else. As soon as I have his name, you promise me you’ll ask him to stop running by my house.”
“No,” Clay replied, his tone harsh. “I’ve told you, there’s no law against running. I can ask him to find another route, but should he say no, I can’t force him to stop. If—and I stress, if—he threatens you, or you feel honestly unsafe because of his presence, then I’ll speak with him.”
At the moment I hated him so much, I hung up. I knew it was a childish act, but I needed balance in my life, and even though it would likely take me months to get used to the jogger being gone if he stopped running by, it would be better than trying to come to terms with having him around.
I COULDN’T find it within myself to talk to him for the first four days. I kept hoping he’d stop running by and my life would go back to normal. I should have known better. Ever since the incident, nothing went the way I expected it to. I continued to watch him, and I had to admit, the apprehension that coursed through me had eased. He didn’t really frighten me anymore, but the thought of talking to him filled me with dread. What made it worse for me? He’d continued to glance toward the house, and if he saw me, he’d give a smile or a little wave.
No, I wasn’t being honest. After a few weeks of him waving, I had actually started to weave that into my daily routine. I stood in front of the window, looking out at the road every day at ten thirty. One day it rained, and he was thirteen minutes late. I went into panic mode, hyperventilating and pacing around the house, chastising myself. How had he become a part of my world? Why did I now depend on him to be where I expected him to be? I grew angry with myself for that. Despite the pleading I’d done with Clay, I no longer wanted the man to stop running by my house now that I’d grown used to seeing him.
And worse, when he waved, I had started waving back.
Days five and six were spent trying to psych myself up, telling myself it was no big deal. I only had to ask the man his name. How hard could it be?
Morning broke on day seven. My last chance. I’d hedged as long as I could, and now I had to suck it up to keep my brother off my back. Midmorning, I glanced at the clock and saw it was nearly time for him to begin his first pass by my place. I considered waiting for his return trip at eleven forty-five, but I knew if I didn’t get this over with, I’d chicken out and then have to deal with Clay.
I stepped outside and took a deep breath. The air had a nip to it now that October had come. The changing leaves were beautiful, all gold and red, falling from the trees to where they would become food for the animals, or to wait for spring so they could become part of the circle of life. I’d stored my canned goods in the root cellar, knowing they’d keep me well-fed when the deep winter snows began to pile around my house, and I would curl up, warm and cozy, in front of the small fireplace in my home.
It struck me then like a bolt from the blue. Winter would be here soon. That meant the jogger wouldn’t
be coming back this way at least until spring, if ever. After the winter thaws, the roads would be filled with potholes big enough to lose a car in, so why would he want to take that kind of chance? I could feel the tremors in my chest at the thought of my life changing yet again, and I didn’t know if I could handle it.
The house beckoned me, offering safety and security. If I went inside and ignored the jogger for the next month or so, I could wean myself away from expecting him, and maybe the separation wouldn’t be so bad. As I was taking several steps toward the front door, I heard the slap of feet and the steady inhale and exhale. I turned, and he came into view, and the air got sucked from my lungs. He had on thin shorts and no shirt. He reminded me of the stories of Apollo, the Greek god of the sun. His sweat-slick skin literally shone in the morning light.
As he approached the yard, I stepped toward the fence. He smiled when he saw me and slowed his pace. His chest heaved, and I found myself staring at it. From a distance it had been beautiful, but standing near enough to see droplets of sweat trickling down? Stunning didn’t even come close to describing him. He wasn’t what I would consider classically handsome. His nose seemed a little small on his face, and his deep-set brown eyes, the same shade as creamed coffee, were spaced just a little far apart. But taken as a whole, he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
“Good morning,” he called as he stopped, still jogging in place.
“Hi,” I replied, my voice breaking. “Hi,” I said again, a little stronger this time.
“Nice to finally meet you.” He held out his hand. “Charlie Carver.”
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