“So you went outside again?”
The tension I felt at his worry breaks and dissolves as I grin. “I did.”
“I’m proud of you, Lindsay.”
His words are a punch to the gut when I realize his approval was what I had been seeking when I decided to call him.
“I have to go.”
I disconnect the call before I hear his response. I’ve done the worst thing I could have possibly done. I’ve done exactly what I promised I would never do again. Somehow, I’ve given Luke, even if it was only a tiny bit, power over me.
My phone buzzes as he tries to call me back, and then with an incoming text when I don’t answer.
Why did you hang up? Did I do something?
Something about Luke has allowed me to let him in. People are only safe when they stay virtual; once they become real, they have the power to hurt me. Luke is becoming very real in my life and I have to stop it. In a couple of short months, he has gone from email to text to the phone and a face-to-face web chat.
Tonight, I called him. I felt comfortable enough to speak to him on the phone. This is bad. My phone buzzes with another incoming text from him.
Please, talk to me.
Dropping my phone, I pace across the room as my fingers clench and unclench into fists by my sides. I strip, pulling off layer after layer until I’m bare in my bathroom, cranking the shower on and setting the water as hot as it will go. Once steam fills the room, I jump under the spray, crying out as it burns me.
The pain is too much and I hurriedly set the temperature to as low as I can handle. I don’t need people. I don’t need any of them. I’m better off all by myself. When I’ve stopped freaking out, I turn off the water and slowly dry off. My hair is still wet when I climb into bed.
I’m exhausted emotionally and don’t even bother with the lights in the rest of the house. My last conscious thought before I drift is one of contentment as I feel Coco curl up behind my knees.
It’s Coco the next morning that wakes me, her paws gently and not so gently kneading my hip.
“Hey, girl,” I rasp, reaching out to drag my hand down her back.
She contentedly purrs in response.
Out of habit, I reach for my phone to check any notifications I may have received overnight. Not finding it on my bedside table, I remember I left it on the floor of my living room last night. Then I remember my conversation with Luke. Groaning, I drag myself from my bed and out to my living room.
My phone is right where I left it, only now its battery is dead. Plugging it in, I sit on my bed and wait for it to power up enough to turn back on. There are more texts from Luke.
Please, call me.
Do I have to threaten to drive out there again?
I will drive out there tomorrow if I don’t hear from you.
Oh, no!
It’s tomorrow. Could he be on his way, or even worse, already here? I hurriedly text him back.
Please, don’t drive out here.
He almost immediately replies.
Too late.
My eyes widen and mouth drops as I read his text. I don’t have time to freak out adequately before there’s a loud knock on my front door.
I’m not home.
I quickly text back.
There’s another knock, and then I hear his voice. “I know you’re in there.”
Go away.
I text before pulling my knees to my chest.
I’m not leaving until I see you and we talk.
I’m not going to talk to you.
Text counts as talking.
I glare at my phone and set it down next to me. He knocks again.
“Please, let me in.”
No way is that happening. No one comes in my house. It doesn’t seem like he’s going to leave either. All I need to do is let him see me so he knows I’m fine, and then he’ll go.
If you stop knocking, I’ll come to the door. Just give me a minute.
“I’ll wait,” he calls out through the door.
Damn.
I jump out of bed and rush to the bathroom. My hair is a disaster from falling asleep with it wet. I brush it out and pull it into a messy bun before brushing my teeth. I change into a pair of faded jeans that I can’t help but notice are looser than the last time I put them on. Having no time to celebrate, I file it away for later as I grab a belt.
It was cold out last night and I can only assume there hasn’t been an overnight heat wave so I tug on short brown boots and a beige turtleneck. Before I reach the door, I grab my belted caramel wool jacket. My hand hesitates before turning the knob. The last two times I left my house, I did so knowing no one would be on the other side of the door.
This time Luke will be there and I’m not sure anything has scared me more. Just let him see you’re okay and send him on his way, I tell myself before pulling open the door. I don’t see him right away. He isn’t standing, but now sitting on my front stoop. His neck twists as he looks back and up at me.
“Luke.”
Seeing him in the flesh makes it clear that every previous picture I’ve seen and the way he looked during our web chat did not do him justice. Keys in hand, I close my door behind me, hopefully, making it clear he would not be invited in. He stands, slowly, unfolding his body in front of me. He’s tall; we’re eye to eye even though he’s a step lower than I am.
He lifts his hand, offering it to shake mine. I push my hands into the pockets of my jacket and shake my head. There is absolutely no way I’m letting him touch me. This has already gone too far. Here we are breathing the same air.
“Why did you come here?” I croak, unable to keep my voice from shaking.
He takes a step away from me, lifting his hands in a sign of peace. “I was worried about you. I’m not trying to upset you.”
“I’m fine. There, you’ve seen me; now you can go.”
He nods slowly, turning as to go before he stops and turns back to me. “Before I go, can you show me the field you found? If you are going to go back there, I want to make sure it’s safe.”
My mouth drops.
He uses the opportunity of my silence to continue. “As soon as I’ve had a chance to see it, I’ll go.”
“Promise?” I hazard.
His eyes soften and he nods.
Pinching my eyes shut I ask the question I’m most afraid of. “But am I safe with you?”
When he doesn’t say anything in response, I slowly open my eyes. His green ones are locked on my face as he nods. He starts to reach for me but catches himself and pulls back.
“You will always be safe with me,” he rasps, his eyes never leaving mine.
He seems trustworthy. That’s my only indication to know he might not be. I decide to take him to the field anyway. I just won’t let my guard down for one second until he is gone.
“The field is that way.” I motion to the right and wait for him to start moving that way before I follow him.
“Are you going to walk behind me the whole time?” he asks looking back at me.
I nod my head in response and he closes his eyes briefly before looking forward again. Walking behind him the whole way, I quietly direct him until we reach the field. Now in the morning light, I can see it’s a soccer field, with nets at each end and a dirt and gravel track circling it.
As we walk, Luke points out potential dangers. He isn’t thrilled with how few street lamps there are and cautions me against walking this way at night again. He leaves me standing at the edge of the field as he slowly makes his way around it, stopping twice to inspect paths leading off and into the woods.
I see a bench I had not noticed the night before, not far from where I stand. I make my way over to it and sit while Luke finishes his lap around the field. He comes and sits next to me; not close, sitting at the very opposite end from where I’m sitting. He’s doing it for me, I could tell, to make me comfortable.
We sit in silence until I notice a jogger enter the track from one of the paths leadi
ng in from the woods. I stand, my nerves kicking into overdrive and start to head back toward my house. Luke follows, but leaves space between us. He must know the jogger spooked me and doesn’t argue my need to go.
When we reach my house, he stands on the sidewalk while I stand facing my front door, my keys ready to aid my escape.
“Will you go away now?” I ask, not looking at him.
“If I drive up here every Saturday, will you jog with me around that track?”
“No.” I shake my head.
“Will you at least think about it before you flat out reject the idea?” he asks, annoyance dripping from his words.
Spinning, I lift my hands. “Why would you even offer to do that?”
“Doesn’t matter why, just that I am,” he argues.
I wrap my arms around myself. “It doesn’t make any sense, driving an hour and a half each way to jog with me. What’s in it for you?”
“It’s not about me. It’s about helping you.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Think about it, Lindsay. How long have I known you? What, about two months? You have gone from not talking to people on the phone to talking to me twice, one time you were the one who called, and we’ve web chatted. Then two nights ago, you went outside. You liked it so much you went out again and not with me on the phone this time. Do you understand how cool this is for me to experience this with you?”
All I want to do is prove to her that she can trust me. Watching Lindsay stand there, indecision written all over her face, is one of the hardest things I have ever done. When I woke up this morning, I knew this had the potential of blowing up in my face. Sure, she’s been skittish, but somehow I’ve gotten her out of her house, with me.
Whatever battle she’s struggling with, it’s clear she doesn’t know what to do. Part of me wants to reach out to her, hold her, convince her in some way everything will be okay. I don’t know what made her this way and I know I have to bury the impulse to touch her.
She’s studying my face as she processes what I said. It’s clear to me in that moment how guileless she is. Every emotion she’s feeling is broadcast almost in stereo across her face. She’s scared. She has to be miles outside of her comfort zone, standing here talking to me. The fact she hasn’t broken down or run away makes her one of the bravest people I have ever met.
“Why?” she murmurs.
“This is who I am,” I reply.
“Can I think about it?”
I can’t know if she’s only using that as a way to get me to leave or not. If my gut is right and I can read her, I believe she means it. This morning has to be a lot for her to process; so instead of pushing her even further out of her comfort zone, I decide to let it go.
“If you say no, I’m prepared to convince you to change your mind.”
“I figured as much,” she grumbles.
She’s so cute I want to laugh but instinctively know she’d take it the wrong way. I step back, increasing the distance between us, my gut twisting as I watch tension ease from her stance. Guilt unfurls within my gut knowing my very nearness is the cause of her stress.
Taking another step closer to Sally to bring her more relief I ask, “When will you let me know?”
She lifts her key from her pocket and opens her door.
“Soon.” Then she’s gone, the door closed firmly behind her, the flip of her deadbolt loud enough for me to hear it from where I’m standing.
“Bye,” I mutter sarcastically to myself as I make my way to my car door.
Fifteen minutes into my journey home, my frustration has subsided and I can recognize how positive the meeting was in the grand scheme of things. She came outside and hung out with me. She could have called the cops instead. Getting her to open up isn’t going to be easy, but I know it will be worth it. There was a moment, as she sat on the bench by the soccer field, when I watched her let go.
Her eyes were shut, her face tilted toward the direction of the morning sun. She looked so peacefully serene on the outside. It was as if for a moment her mind forgot to tell her what she was doing was wrong. I want her to be able to feel that way all the time, comfortable in her own skin.
I’m not sure why I’ve made it my business what she does. The why at this point doesn’t even matter; it’s something I have to do. I know better than to wait for her to get back to me. The ‘soon’ she gave me was too open ended. When I get home, I’ll email her. If she doesn’t reply today, I’ll text her.
If she doesn’t reply to that, I’ll call; and if she doesn’t answer, I’ll be right back there knocking on her front door. Since it’s Saturday, and I’m not ready to go home yet, I drive to Clay’s.
Maggie opens the door without even a hello. “Guess what Courtney is doing today?”
I follow her toward the kitchen, closing the door behind me. “What?”
“She’s getting a tattoo,” Maggie yells, jumping with excitement.
Courtney is in the kitchen, leaning against the island and smiling at Maggie’s news. “Hey, Luke.”
I lean over the island and kiss her cheek. “A tattoo?”
She nods. “Yes, sir. As soon as Clay is ready, we’re heading to see the guy who did the tattoo on his back.”
“What are you getting?” I ask, picking up an apple from their fruit bowl.
“A lily, for my dad.” Her tone is melancholy.
This is one thing Courtney and I have in common, not having dads anymore. At least it wasn’t her dad’s choice to go. We talked about it once, how the loss affected us. I was younger than she was. In a way, I envied her being able to lean on her mom in her grief. For me, I was the new man of the house, without a male role model to look up to.
“It’s cool that you’re doing that.”
She blushes. When I first met Clay’s girlfriend, now wife, I would never have pictured her getting a tattoo.
“So where’re you going to get it?” I ask, and then take a bite from the apple.
She wrings her hands and looks up at the ceiling. “I haven’t one hundred percent decided. I’m thinking either my ankle or the back of my shoulder.”
“My vote is for shoulder,” Clay says, walking into the room.
He glances over at me. “Hey, man. Want to come with us?”
I shake my head, since my mouth is full.
Once I finish my bite, I reply, “Nah, seems like a family thing; and I need to get home and take Loki out. I only stopped by to give you an update on the girl I was telling you about before, the one who doesn’t leave her house.”
“The one you’re training?” he asks, stepping around the island to drape his arm over Courtney’s shoulders.
“Yep. Guess who I went on a walk with today?”
“No way.” Courtney gasps. “That’s great.”
“I’m thinking her deal is less about staying inside and more about being freaked out around people.”
“You do realize you’re people, right?” Clay laughs.
I laugh and cough around the bite of apple I’ve just taken and throw the rest away. “Exactly, and she went for a walk, with me.”
“I knew you liked her,” Clay boasts.
“I like her but not the way you’re thinking. Sure, she’s pretty.”
When Clay snorts, I pause to glare at him. “I like her as a friend.”
“How many women friends do you have?” Clay argues.
Avoiding his eyes as I think, I struggle with his question before finally replying, “Courtney.” I point at her and give her a thumbs up. “Maggie.” Point and a wink as she giggles. “And Sasha,” I add.
“You only hang out with Courtney and Maggie because of me, and Sasha doesn’t count because she’s your sister.”
“I have some cool clients who are women and I consider them friends.”
“Yeah, have you hung out with them outside of the gym?”
It’s been awhile. My silence is his answer. I guess I don’t have many women friends.
“Whe
ther you want to admit it or not, you like this girl. What I want to know is do you like her or the idea of fixing her?”
I’m still pondering Clay’s question when I get back to my house. Is Lindsay only a human puzzle I want to put back together or do I care about her apart from her issues. She isn’t the first woman I’ve met with problems. Sure, hers are more extreme than most. It makes me wonder if she was always this way, and if she wasn’t what made her?
As I drove from her house to Clay’s my plan was to email her. I discard that plan and decide to call her instead, my curiosity getting the better of me.
I’m stunned when she answers. “Hello, Luke.”
“Lindsay. I didn’t think you would actually answer.”
“Does that mean I can hang up and it’d be cool?”
I chuckle. “No, I’ve got you now.”
“Awesome,” she replies, her tone reflecting the opposite.
“Have you thought about my idea?” I ask.
“I have. I’m not sure I can do it.”
“You did today.”
“That was under complete duress.”
“Were you homeschooled?”
“Wait. What?”
“Were you homeschooled?” I repeat.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“I want to know if you left your house and went to school every day.”
“Oh.”
I wait for her to elaborate but she doesn’t. “Well?”
“I don’t want to talk about this.”
“I think I can help you.”
“Listen, Luke,” she snaps. “You’re my trainer, not my therapist.”
“How are you going to go to the reunion and be around people, Lindsay?”
She disconnects the call and I try to call her right back. I’m not surprised when it goes straight to voicemail. I don’t bother leaving a message when I already can tell she won’t return it. Instead, I send her a text.
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