Riley turns on his heel to leave the store as Royce turns to face me fully.
"I'm going to call Jackson and we'll make sure the paint is cleaned off once we get the okay from the sheriff’s department and Deputy Doodle." He says.
"Deputy Doodle?" I fight a smile.
"He wasn't writing anything on his little notepad. He was clearly doodling your name and his with hearts around it," he teases me as I roll my eyes. "I saw the way he looked at you, and I heard it in his tone with some of the random questions he threw in there."
"You're so immature." I playfully swat at his arm as he closes in on me and wraps his arms around my waist and brings me to him.
"Seriously though, are you okay?" he whispers against my cheek as he kisses me lightly.
"Yeah, I'm good. I just can't believe that this is all happening. If it's not one thing, it's another. I don't understand what the heck is going through her mind to do all of this." I rest my head against his chest as Royce hugs me tighter.
"I'm sorry you and your business have been caught up in all of this," he murmurs against my hair.
"It adds a little extra thrill to my summer," I say sarcastically, pulling back to look at him.
"How did I get so lucky?" he says to me.
HIM
I have had enough of all of this shit!
I am going to do the one thing I haven't done since Sylvie and I divorced.
I close my office door and sit down. My cell phone sits on my desk, taunting me, waiting for me to pick it up and get this over with. I run my fingers roughly through my hair, tugging at the ends. I take a deep breath and then wipe my hands on my thighs.
"It's now or never," I mutter to myself.
I’ve given her number to the sheriff and every deputy that I’ve spoken to, I’ve tried to call her while being in their presence, but she didn’t answer. I want some end to all this, and while I don’t want to get involved any more than I am, I need this to just stop.
I grab my phone and slide my finger across the screen to unlock it. I scroll through my contacts and find the number I've creatively named so I won’t answer when she calls me. I press the phone icon, place the phone against my ear and wait for her to pick up.
She picks up on the third ring, sounding out of breath, yet happy to hear from me.
"Why, hello there, stranger," she greets me.
“Sylvie, whatever this game is, I need it to stop, please.” I seethe into the phone.
"Well, this isn’t what I was expecting you to call me about."
"I'm not sure what's going on with you or what you are expecting, but really? I didn't know you were capable of such acts," I say, exasperated by her antics.
"I'm not sure what you could be talking about," she says in a singsong tone, a tone she used when she wanted something, back when we were happily dating.
"Cut the crap, I just need you to stop. To leave Sweeny and get over the fact that we are over and have been over for years."
"What are you talking about, Royce?" she asks innocently.
"You know damn well what I'm talking about. You need to get over us." I try to refrain from calling her names. I try to keep my anger in check. How can she be so… so… conniving?
"What if I don't want to get over us?" she asks her tone hopeful.
"There's no choice but to. I've moved on and you should too," I breathe out as I run my hand over my face.
She's silent. I can hear something in the background on her end clicking, probably her nails or a pen tapping on something. It’s been her habit as long as I’ve known her. When she wanted to say something but couldn't figure out how to word it, she would click her pen or nails on a nearby surface.
"Roy. Can we just meet up in person and have a civil discussion? I think it would be beneficial and you may change your mind."
"I'm confused as to what you think will change. We are divorced, plain and simple. I'm with someone else; there is no chance for any sort of reconciliation with you. I'm sorry, Sylvie, but you and I, we just weren't meant to be. So no, I will not be meeting up with you. I'm only having this conversation with you to ask you to please knock off the vandalism and interfering in my life shit and leave town."
"I just wish you could understand how much I love you," she whines in my ear.
"You don't vandalize somebody’s property if you love them. You do not spy on them. And you certainly do not involve their new significant other in the craziness that makes you think we're getting back together. I hate to break it to you, but it drives that person away. If you don't leave town, Emma and I will obtain a restraining order against you."
She gasps on the other end. "Why?"
I want to bang my head against the desk.
"Leave town, Sylvie. Stay away from Emma and away from me." I hang up the phone and place it on my desk.
With my elbows on my knees, I hold my head in my hands and take several deep breaths.
I pick my phone back up and dial the sheriff's department. I tell them about my conversation with Sylvie and then get back to work.
"Man! I hope you're ready for tonight!" Cyrus says as we're walking to our cars at the end of our day.
I give him a quizzical look. "I'm not sure what you're talking about."
"The double date. Tonight?" He looks to me with confusion.
"What double date?"
"Well, I'm kinda sorta dating your girlfriend’s friend and I thought the girls arranged some sort of double date for tonight."
"So, first, no, I haven't heard of any double date. And second, you seem awfully excited about going on a double date with me," I tease him, batting my eyelashes and holding my laughter in, but barely.
He pulls out his phone and calls Willie.
"Hey, babe, I'm standing here with Royce and he's telling me he knows nothing about our double date tonight," he says as he has her on speakerphone.
"Oh shit!" she shrieks. "That's because I never told Em. Omigod, I fail at life. Let me call her and tell her."
I chuckle silently.
“Wait,” he says to Willie. “Hold on.” Cyrus turns to me. "Do you and your girl wanna go out on a double date with Willie and me tonight?"
I shrug and give him a small smile, acting nonchalant. "Sure, I guess so."
"Babe, Royce will call Emma and us guys will get the details ironed out. I’ll pick you up in an hour," Cyrus tells her and takes her off speakerphone. He turns away from me and I walk over to my truck and lean on it while he finishes his phone call.
I pull out my phone and pull up my texts to Emma to let her know about our pending double date. When I look up, Cyrus is walking toward me.
"All right, I like this chick. So you can quit your grinning," he says defensively.
"Hey, man, I'm happy you've got yourself a girlfriend," I say, smiling.
"Well, we're not exactly girlfriend and boyfriend. I mean, we're in our late twenties — isn't that shit for teenagers?"
"Fuck if I know. Whatever you want to call yourself, I'm happy for you. Now, about tonight. What's the plan?" I ask.
"I was thinking a fancy as fuck dinner and then a walk?"
I stare at him, my jaw slack; feeling like time is standing still.
"What?" he asks.
"Who the hell are you and what have you done with Cyrus? You know, tall guy, a little goofy looking, likes to talk about how manly he is?"
"Fuck you. Don't you get all uppity. You and your girl use any excuse to suck face."
"Now who’s acting like a teenager?" I poke at him.
"I hate you." He rolls his eyes and walks away.
17
HER
The summer is winding down. The shop is closed so I have the day off and I'm at the lake. My boat is docked and I'm sitting beside Royce as lounge and eat PB&Js while watching everyone on the beach play games and lay in the warm sun. With our feet dangling over the side of the boat, we eat in companionable silence. When Royce finishes his sandwich, he places his arm around me and pul
ls me closer to him.
"I'm happy I met you this summer," he starts. "I came here expecting to start the clinic and to just be on a schedule of work, eat and sleep with hanging with the guys in between."
"Instead you got that, plus some sexy time included." I laugh.
"Well, that’s a bonus. But you are a huge reason for my happiness. So, thank you."
"You're thanking me for dating you?" I lean back to look at him.
"No, I know you had difficulty when we first met... again." He corrects himself after I give him a pointed look for forgetting our first meeting was actually a drunken hook-up. "I know you were hesitant because you thought I wasn't sticking around."
"And little by little, you finagled your way into spending time with me to prove you were staying." I nod.
"Exactly. You remember all those notes I have given you over the past few months?" he asks.
I nod.
"Here's the last one." He hands me another folded note.
"Why on Earth are you giving this to me now, when we're not by all the other notes? The suspense has been killing me all summer. Oh, this is so unfair!" I whine. "Okay, time to pack it up, we're heading home."
"You can last a few more hours." He kisses me beneath my ear and when he pulls back, his breath hits my ear and all thoughts of the notes evaporate and are filled with getting out of sight and having my way with him.
"Hey, guys," Jackson calls from the other side of the boat.
I had forgotten he was on the boat with us.
Jackson comes into view with Bev, his “not a girlfriend” next to him.
"I was thinking maybe we would head over to the beach? You two wanna come too?" he asks.
Royce looks to me and I shrug. I know Jackson is leaving town soon to do his own thing, so he and Royce ought to spend time together before he leaves. Since I’m such a great girlfriend, I won’t hog Royce’s time and attention, even in moments like this when all I really want to do is climb on top of him.
"Sure." Royce looks to me. "Should we motor over there or are you down to do some swimming?"
As soon as we all jump in, the guys are off and racing to the shoreline, leaving Bev and me trailing after them. By the time we catch up with them, they are opening the beers handed to them by a nearby group of people and handing us one as well.
"Did you know some cities have a rule where you can't drink if you're on the beach?" Jackson tells us.
"What's the point of that?" I ask, taking a gulp.
"It's because they are heavy tourist spots and fights and disorderly conduct became a problem and likely they needed to clean up that shit."
"So the cities take the fun out of the beach?" Bev asks.
"Well, to be fair, they're making it safer. But yeah. Doesn't stop people from still drinking, they're just more covert about how they do it." He shrugs.
"Well, it's a good thing we live in a small town. I do not think they would impose such a law here. Otherwise, Sweeny would lose a lot of business."
"Cheers to public intoxication!" Jackson holds up his beer as the rest of us reciprocate and we all laugh.
I'm sitting in my bedroom with the notes Royce gave me over the course of this summer in front of me when I hear Effie come home and the clicking of Zeus's nails along the kitchen floor. The next moment, it sounds like a stampede going through our tiny house. I see the dog run by my bedroom door, then dart back the other direction. He repeats the pattern a few times, before losing interest. In the quiet, I can hear Effie on the phone in the living room.
I turn back to my task at hand. Royce stopped writing the sequence number on the notes after the second one, which adds another layer of difficulty to his love note puzzle. I rearrange the notes in several different ways; however, when I have it figured out, I cover my hand with my mouth and fight off the happy tears that threaten to break the surface.
HIM
"Sir, we spoke with the owners of the rental property and have confirmed their summer renter is one Sylvie Callaway. We did meet with Ms. Callaway and, after meeting with her, it seems she had some severe confusion regarding the events that have been occurring. We had our department medical specialist” —the sheriff motions to the woman beside him— “observe the latter half of our discussion with her and, per the specialist’s observations, it would appear Ms. Callaway is telling the truth with regard to the vandalism and the breach of privacy."
"I'm not sure I quite understand what you're saying," I reply honestly, adjusting my ass in the uncomfortable chair in the sheriff’s office. Across from me sits a professional in a white coat who introduced herself as Dr. Madden, and the sheriff himself.
She moves a file in front of her and opens it. "Are you aware you are still listed as Ms. Callaway's emergency contact and authorized to receive private medical information as stated within her records?" she asks me, her finger pointing at something on the file before her.
"No, I was not aware she had not changed it. But when we were married, of course we named one another as such. I'm not sure what the point is." I shake my head in confusion.
"That's the reason I am disclosing all these details. On all her medical records, you are still named as the individual to make life or death decisions with regard to her care, should she be designated unfit or unable."
"I'm still confused," I say.
"Ms. Callaway suffers from a mental illness that seems to have gone undiagnosed," she explains.
"How did you get her to agree to testing?" I ask, knowing she wouldn't sign up for this type of thing.
"We brought in our specialist to speak with her and Ms. Callaway admitted she does have periods of time for which she cannot account. She agreed to a psychological evaluation as well as monitoring for a period of time to determine what is happening within her psyche," the sheriff says.
"So, what I'm hearing is that there is no real answer at this time as to what is wrong with her, but there is something wrong, in the form of a mental illness?" I ask for clarification.
"Any mental illness is tricky to target down right away,” Dr. Madden responds. “There are different variables as well as different illnesses. Ms. Callaway has delusions about her reality. She speaks as if you and she are on a break, but she also is fully aware you are divorced. I don't want to state a diagnosis after meeting with her only twice, but if my initial conclusion is correct, it will explain the missing time periods of her memory and her delusions. To ensure a correct diagnosis, she must be monitored for a period of six months and then we'll re-evaluate."
"Basically, for this case to be over, we have to wait six months?"
"She's agreed to work with a healthcare professional to nail down her diagnosis and work on a treatment plan. However, if you choose to press charges against the crimes she has committed against you, then she will get care within the system if she is convicted. We will also discuss the connected cases with the other affected parties."
"Are you wishing to press charges, Mr. Colton?" the sheriff asks.
I look at the both of them. Honestly, I would love nothing more than to press charges against her, but there is also a part of me that feels like I shouldn't.
"Do I need to make this decision right now?" I ask.
"No. You may take your time. Ms. Callaway has been instructed not to leave Sweeny. If she chooses to disobey, we know where she lives and have all the tools necessary to make sure she doesn't go anywhere."
I have a couple more questions. "During her blackouts, she says she doesn't know what she is doing?"
The doctor nods. "We never know what an individual with a mental illness of any form is truly aware of, let alone capable of."
"And everything she has confided in you, you believe?" I ask.
"Why would you ask that?" Dr. Madden tilts her head in question, folding her hands together and leaning forward.
"At the end of our marriage, she created a lot of stories and told them to people. She basically lived a second life, one that included an affair –
or several, I'm not sure. When I handed her divorce papers, she seemed shocked."
"Those actions may be related to her diagnosis. However long she's experienced symptoms is unknown at this time."
"If I choose to not press charges — and I'm not saying I will — what would be my options?"
"You can file a restraining order. You have sufficient information to fear for your safety."
"If she has blackouts, how would that guarantee any safety from her?"
“We don’t have an answer to that question. There’s no saying what she would do or be aware of during a blackout.”
I run my hand through the top of my hair. I'm honestly torn about what to do. At one point in my life, I was head over heels in love with Sylvie, so much so that I married her. Could I press charges against her and potentially ruin her life? She may have a mental illness, something that could have caused so many of her actions over the years — shouldn’t I take that into consideration? There are plenty of people with mental illnesses in the system, so why should she get any preferential treatment? This is clearly not a decision I can make on the spur of the moment. However, if I fail to act now, there is a chance she could make a run for it and then I'd always be wondering.
"Do you think she deserves hard time? I mean, she vandalized your house and Em and Willa’s store. She invaded your privacy. What would someone get for that?"
"She could be charged with two felony counts of vandalism and invasion of privacy and be sentenced to up to three years in jail. As an alternative to jail time, there's felony probation. She’d still be a convicted felon, and she’d basically lose her rights, plus a few other things, but she wouldn’t get locked up."
"And if she went to jail, would she get medical help?" Cyrus asks.
"Yes. She would be diagnosed while in jail." I nod.
"If she doesn’t go to jail, like, if you guys don’t press charges, there's no guarantee she wouldn’t blackout and come after you again?"
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