They throw money on the table, and it’s not until they’ve begun to slink away that I turn toward Elle.
“I asked you not to intervene,” she snaps.
She’s right, and yeah, feminism, blah blah blah, but I wouldn’t change a thing. “They left you a tip.”
“Yeah,” she says stonily, counting the money. “It’s about a 40-percent tip, which I now feel like I extorted from them.”
“You earned it, dealing with those assholes.”
She blows out an exasperated breath. “They didn’t do anything, James. I deal with shit like that all the time.”
“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t have to.”
She laughs, but it’s not a happy sound. It’s weary and maybe even a little bitter. “Well, a lot of things shouldn’t be the way they are, but me wishing they were otherwise doesn’t make them so, does it?”
She meets my eye, and for the smallest moment I see it, this thing she’s been hiding from me all summer. Pain. It hurts her that I want to hide this. It hurts her that I don’t care enough to continue this next fall.
The truth is, I do care enough. But there’s no way I’m spending the next three years overseas, dating a 19 year old who’s still in college back home. It would never work, even if the situation with our parents didn’t exist. Letting an obsession with someone dictate your behavior always ends poorly. No matter how badly I want to, I won’t let Elle dictate mine.
She is silent all the way home. I apologize, and she says nothing. We pull into the driveway, and she’s still silent.
“Elle,” I plead. “Come on. I told you I’m sorry. I meant it.”
“Does that mean next time you’ll listen when I ask you not to intervene?”
“Sure, as long as no one’s touching you.”
She’s about to get out of the car, and she’s still aggravated, but before she can reach the door, I grab her and pull her into my lap. “So it’s not okay for customers to grab me and drag me into their laps, but it’s okay for you?” she asks.
“You’re goddamn right it is,” I tell her, running a finger over her mouth, which has begun to curl up at the corners despite herself.
“You really overreacted. You know that, right?” she asks.
My shoulders sag. “Yeah, I know.”
I think it wasn’t about those guys at all. It was rage at everyone who will come after me. And I saw her with Ryan that morning in the kitchen, with his mouth on her neck. So I already know who it will be.
Chapter 44
ELLE
I chose not to tell James about the incident with Martin. Martin’s father is apparently some big-shot attorney, and it was not a stretch to imagine James freaking out and landing in jail for assault.
But the next time Max throws a party, I ask him and James not to let Martin come over. The small surge of tension in James’ voice when he asks why lets me know I’ve made the right choice.
“He’s kind of creepy,” I tell him. “He just makes me uncomfortable.”
Max disappears for most of the night, and Ginny is twitchy and unhappy in his absence. She spends most of the night carping at James about law school, which gets so old that I have to dig my nails into my hands to keep from telling her to shut up.
It’s late when Max finally reappears. “Nice of you to join us,” Ginny snipes.
“Aww, babycakes, did you miss me?” he asks, rubbing her shoulders.
It’s funny to me that James doesn’t object to this at all. It’s as if the idea of Max and Ginny together is so impossible he can’t even imagine it.
“Wow, you’re tense. You need to start coming to yoga with me, especially since the germaphobe there never goes anymore.”
“I’m not a germaphobe,” I tell him.
“The hell you’re not,” Max replies. “You should see the lengths she goes to not to step off the mat with her bare feet. And she carries a liner for her yoga mat so when she rolls it up, the underside never touches the top.”
“She’s always been like that. She wouldn’t even touch door handles when she was little,” James says, smiling at me in a way that is far too affectionate for a public setting.
“Maybe she just had a good idea where your hands had been,” smirks Max, which leads James to kick over his chair. Boys.
“Remember that time you couldn’t get out of the women’s locker room at the pool?” Ginny laughs.
“Shut up, Ginny.”
“She used to open doors with a shirt or a paper towel because she didn’t want to touch the doorknob,” Ginny tells the guys. “But they only had those air dryers, and she was wearing a swimsuit. So she stood in there until someone came in and she could slide out.”
“I was seven!”
“You’re still a germaphobe,” Ginny says. “You had a heart attack over spring break when I put your clothes on the bed.”
“On the filthy hotel bedspread!” I cry. “Do you know what you’d find if you took a blacklight to that room? There’d be you-know-what everywhere.”
“I don’t know what the hell you and Ryan were doing in hotel rooms, but most people aren’t getting it everywhere.”
I don’t need to look at James to know he didn’t appreciate the mention of Ryan in that context. I can feel him beside me, coiled like a spring.
“I wasn’t basing it on personal experience,” I reply. “Haven’t you ever watched Dateline? They’re always going into hotel rooms with a blacklight.”
“From what your suitemates said about you and Ryan, I wouldn’t want to take a blacklight to your dorm either.” Ginny cackles.
James’ eyes look black in the moonlight. I watch that muscle tick in his jaw and can’t think of a single thing I can say to fix this.
He stands. “I’m going for a run.”
“A run?” asks Ginny. “It’s the middle of the night.”
He says nothing and won’t even glance at me as he goes, but I feel a small knot of dread in my stomach, and I resent its presence. I haven’t done anything wrong, and he wouldn’t have to hear about my ex-boyfriend if he wasn’t so ashamed to be with me in the first place.
He runs for over an hour. I feel the upper windows shake when he closes the front door, and I slip from the room, grateful that our guests are gone and Ginny falls asleep so quickly.
He’s doesn’t look surprised to find me sitting on the edge of his bed when he emerges from the shower. But he doesn’t necessarily look happy to find me there either.
“You can’t blame me for that,” I say quietly.
His jaw grinds. “I know. But I just don’t need to hear that shit.”
“You know, you wouldn’t have to hear that shit if we told them what’s going on.”
He walks to the foot of the bed in nothing but a towel. “I don’t want to talk about this right now.”
“Do you want me to leave?”
“No,” he says, dropping the towel. “I just don’t want to talk.”
He pushes me on my back, his movements rougher than normal. He moves over my skin, claiming me again and again with fingers and tongue and teeth, something urgent and desperate driving him.
He cries my name out when he comes, something pained and regretful in that single syllable. His mouth is buried in the crook of my neck. “God, Elle,” he says, the words muffled by my skin. “I fucking love...” He stops himself, for a mere second that feels much longer than that while I wait. “This,” he concludes.
He wasn’t going to say he loved me. I know he wasn’t. But I can’t seem to stop wanting things from him that he’s already sworn he can’t give.
Chapter 45
JAMES
I wake to discover that my father called three times during last night’s shift. I call him back, feeling mostly dread.
“Your mom isn’t doing well,” he tells me.
I sigh. Nothing about this news surprises me, but I guess I was hoping for a miracle. “In what way?”
“She’s barely eaten since you announced you’re quitt
ing law school. All the progress she’s made just disappeared overnight.”
I feel that familiar wash of guilt, but I’m angry too. Elle was right. I know my mother is sick, but there’s also something manipulative about all of this. How many of our decisions over the past five years have been made to keep her well? It’s the reason my dad stayed. It’s the reason I went to undergrad nearby. It’s the reason I stayed at the internship last summer, and why I stayed in law school as long as I did. Is there anything she hasn’t gotten her way about since my dad came home?
“I can’t base every major life decision on whether or not it’s going to upset her, Dad. And it’s bullshit for you to suggest it.”
“No, what’s bullshit is that you can be so cavalier about the woman who raised you,” he explodes. “If she winds up back in the hospital, one year of school will seem like a small price to pay.”
“I’m cavalier?! You’re the one who started all this shit! You and Kelly Evans. So stop trying to make what you did my burden and Ginny’s.”
“Look, I don’t know what Elle told you but—”
“Elle hasn’t told me a fucking thing. But you just did.”
“Your mother and I were in a bad place, James,” he begins. “Yes, I made mistakes, but—”
“You left Mom for her, didn’t you?”
He’s silent for far too long. “Yes,” he finally sighs. “I did.”
Elle walks with me to the post office later. In my hand is the FBI’s offer letter, signed and sealed. She doesn’t question the fact that I’m returning the letter because she has not a clue how torn I’ve been for weeks. I never told her that every time I’ve pulled it out, I’ve imagined being away from her and hesitated. I’m excited about this job. But there were other things I wanted too, ideas I was entertaining, and what my father told me earlier was the last nail in their coffin.
As we return home, the need to touch her feels overwhelming. I twine our fingers together, and she glances at me with a question in her eyes.
“No one we work with is out this early,” I tell her. “I think it’s safe.”
I can see the questions she doesn’t ask—Safe from what? Why is this such a big deal? God, I wish I could tell her.
Chapter 46
ELLE
Something is wrong.
I can’t put my finger on it, but James has been odd, a little unhappy and distant, for days. It brings every ounce of insecurity to the fore, and I have lots and lots of insecurity.
We are lying in bed together, talking. He’s playing with my hair, and I don’t think he even knows he’s doing it.
“I’m going to miss this when I get back to school,” I tell him.
I’m not sure why I say it. I suppose because it’s mid-August and our time is running out. And also because I want to hear him agree, say it back to me. But instead he climbs out of bed and goes to the bathroom, as if I haven’t spoken. I feel ill, and I deserve to feel ill. I know where things stand. I shouldn’t be trying to extract words and emotions from him that he doesn’t feel.
“Brian said you asked to be cut early tonight,” he says when he emerges.
“Yeah. Ryan’s band is playing, and someone messed up my schedule last time so I couldn’t go.”
He stiffens. “You’re still going to that?”
“Ryan is a good friend,” I reply. “And his band is great. You should come. It’ll be fun.”
“Right. So I can stand around watching you lust after your ex-boyfriend? No thanks.”
I laugh and lean on my forearms to look at him. “You sound jealous, James.”
“You told me flat-out you couldn’t resist him on stage.”
“That was before I was with you,” I reply, wondering even as I say it if I’m actually with James.
“Why don’t we just go out of town for the weekend instead? People are always looking to take on extra shifts. We could go to DC.”
“You can’t possibly be that worried about Ryan,” I say. “I had ample opportunity to hook up with him the last time he was here, and I didn’t, so why would I now?”
“It’s not entirely that,” he says. “I just want a single weekend where I get you to myself. I’m tired of sneaking around all the time.”
“We could just tell everyone, and we wouldn’t have to sneak around at all.”
“I’m leaving soon anyway, so what’s the point?” he asks.
Though I already know it, his assumption that this will end continues to surprise me every time I hear him reiterate it. But his side of the story has never changed; it’s me with my ridiculous optimism causing the problem.
I go to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I splash water over my face and force myself to at least look blank rather than hurt.
“You missed a call,” he says, handing me my phone when I walk back out. “Why is Edward Ferris still bothering you?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I stopped listening to the voicemails. I was pretty clear the last time we spoke. There’s nothing he can say now that I want to hear.”
“Did you save the voicemails?” he asks.
“I have the last several, just because I haven’t deleted them,” I say. “Honestly, just seeing his name on my phone makes me feel sick. I guess you’re going to tell me it’s immature to avoid it.”
“No,” he says, pulling me to sit beside him. “But it pisses me off that he’s doing this to you. And I think you should be monitoring what he’s saying.”
“You can listen if you want,” I tell him. “But delete them when you’re done. I don’t want to hear them. And I don’t want to know.”
He nods and gets dressed, carrying my phone outside.
If it’s a fling, why is he this bothered by Edward? I go into the kitchen, watching him on the deck as he listens. It was stupid of me to think he’d want more. Why would he? He was stuck with Allison all year, and now he’s about to get a real job. Why would he want to saddle himself with some long-distance girlfriend who’s only 19? I’ve done exactly what he warned me not to. I’ve allowed this to become something real in my head, something that could be permanent, and I’m blaming him for the fact that it’s not.
He walks back inside. His body is rigid, his hand holding the phone in such a tight grip I’m surprised it doesn’t snap.
“You need to call the police, Elle,” he says, his voice oddly quiet.
“The police?” I gasp. “That can’t be nec—”
“It is,” he cuts me off. “It is necessary. He’s out of his fucking mind. He makes it sound like you’re a couple. He even suggested coming down here.”
It’s sad that my first thought isn’t about my own safety. It’s about whether James now thinks I actually did mess around with Edward. I wanted to believe he and Ginny would have faith in me, would know I’m different than my mother...but Ginny has her doubts, so why wouldn’t he? And God, if two people who’ve known me since I was small think I’m capable of it, is there anyone alive who won’t?
“I don’t know what he said, but he’s never laid a finger on me.”
“I know. But the shit he said…” James flinches. “Just let the police handle it.”
“It’ll be all over the news if I go to the police. Someone always talks.”
“It’s time for you to step up, Elle.” He is frustrated now, on the verge of shouting. “You need a restraining order, at least. Listen to the messages.”
I make no move to take the phone back from him, so he puts it on speaker. Edward’s voice flows out. “Eleanor,” he says. “You ungrateful bitch. I can’t believe you’re treating me like this after everything I’ve tried to do for you. You’d better call me, or I’m going to make you sorry you ever heard my name.”
I’m already sorry I ever heard his name.
“You’re going to think I’m naive,” I say. “But I don’t think he was physically threatening me. He probably just meant career-wise.”
“You didn’t hear the rest of the messages,” he says.
“He’s saying some really messed up stuff, Elle. I don’t know whether he’d hurt you or not, but I’m not going to risk finding out.”
An hour later I’m facing a weary police officer who would clearly rather be doing anything but conducting this interview with me. He keeps casting longing glances at the copy of Sports Illustrated on the corner of his desk.
James does most of the talking, which is for the best since I’m unable to draw up a lot of outrage over the whole thing.
“This is a clear stalking violation,” James says. “And since he’s suggested an intent to come find her here, her most immediate need is a restraining order—one that’s enforceable in New York since she’ll be back there at the end of August.”
“So,” the police officer says. “Are you her lawyer? Her boyfriend?”
My breath stills while I wait for him to answer. It’s pathetic, as usual, that with everything going on, what I care about most is how he chooses to qualify our relationship.
“Friend,” he says, and the breath whooshes out of me.
Wrong answer, asshole.
“Okay,” the officer says doubtfully. “Well, we’d need to hear these messages in order to determine if there’s something to pursue.”
“That’s fine,” I agree, handing him my phone.
“Before we proceed,” he says, turning to me, “I need to know the nature of your relationship with Mr. Ferris.”
“He was my boss,” I say. “I interned for him at the start of the summer.”
“And was your relationship ever romantic in nature?” he asks.
“No,” I reply. “Never.”
The officer looks dubious. He casts a glance at James. “It strikes me that perhaps this is something we should be discussing in private.”
“There’s nothing I would say to you that I wouldn’t say in front of James, if that’s what you’re implying. I have never been with Edward Ferris in any way.”
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