A Stranger on the Beach

by Michele Campbell

  “It’s relevant to whether you can file for an order of protection in family court. You can only do that if the perpetrator is an intimate partner or family member. So, yes, I do need to know, and it will go in the record.”

  That gave me pause. But the officer had a point—it said something that I’d even come here. I was afraid of Aidan, and with good reason. I had to be brave and protect myself.

  “Okay. Yes. We had sex.”

  “Name of perpetrator?”

  “His name is Aidan Callahan,” I said.

  “Spell it?”

  I did and watched her type it into the computer.

  “Do you have his date of birth or social security number?”

  “I know his birthday. Why?”

  “There could be twenty Aidan Callahans. I need to make sure we get the right one. Plus, with a DOB, I can run him for priors.”

  Prior arrests, she meant. Aidan must’ve been arrested before, because of the card in his wallet from the probation officer. I didn’t know when, where, or for what. Maybe this officer could tell me.

  I gave her his date of birth, which I remembered from his driver’s license because it was the same as my mother’s. She typed it into her system. Her eyebrows lifted as she stared at the screen.

  “What?” I said, my heart slamming in my chest.

  “Were you aware that he has a prior conviction for manslaughter?”

  “He killed someone? He’s a murderer?”

  “Manslaughter isn’t murder. It means someone died, but it could be a lot of different things. It could be he was provoked, like in a fight. Could be he was driving drunk and he killed someone. Or even, sometimes, it was an actual murder, but they can’t prove it, so they plead it down to manslaughter. There’s no way for me to know from what’s in the computer. It does say he’s still on probation. When you file the domestic violence complaint, I’ll inform his probation officer, and I can ask for the details then.”

  “Okay.”

  “All right, now the complaint. Please describe the act of violence Aidan Callahan committed against you. When and where it occurred, and exactly what he did,” she said, like she’d uttered those same words a thousand times before.

  “Um, there hasn’t been any actual violence yet. I’m worried there might be, but so far, it’s just stalking.”

  “Stalking? What do you mean by that?”

  “He followed me. He came to a restaurant where I was eating dinner. Then he came to my spin class.”

  “Okay, but what did he do? I can only help if there’s a crime, ma’am. And family court can only issue a protective order if there’s an express threat. Did he do something threatening, violent, disorderly, unruly?”

  “He hasn’t done anything yet. But he’s acting crazy.”

  “What do you mean, crazy? Be specific.”

  I paused, sighing. “There isn’t anything that you might typically call crazy. We had a one-night stand, and now he’s showing up everywhere I go. I told him I don’t want to see him anymore, but he’s following me. Leaving messages on my phone. It’s freaking me out.”

  I was expecting her to show me the door, but she nodded sympathetically.

  “I understand. But is it possible you’re overreacting? The messages on the phone are not a crime unless he makes a verbal threat. And if he hasn’t said or done anything threatening, how do you know his presence isn’t a coincidence, like he happened to be in those places at the same time as you?”

  “Because he doesn’t live here. He lives in Glenhampton, where we met. He came in to the city specifically to find me. He even said so.”

  She frowned, her eyes flicking back and forth at the computer screen.

  “Ma’am, I wish I could be more help. But I’m looking at my categories here, and what you’ve described so far is not criminal behavior. He hasn’t raised a hand to you?”

  “No.”

  “Hasn’t made any explicit threats of violence? I’m talking verbal threats of violence?”

  “No.”

  “Did he brandish a weapon?”

  “He has a weapon. A gun. I saw it in his apartment. But he didn’t use it.”

  “Hmm. He’s probably not supposed to have a gun while he’s on probation. We could try to get him charged with a probation violation, and they might remand him.”

  “Remand?”

  “Lock him up, for some period of time. I can’t promise how long, or even if they’d really do it. Depends on the terms of his probation. But it might be your best option, since you have no case on domestic violence.”

  “Would he find out it was me who told on him?”

  “He might. They’d have to search his house and seize the gun in order to violate him. And they’re generally not gonna search based on an anonymous complaint. So, yeah, you’d probably have to come forward and give your name.”

  I looked away, torn about what to do. If I filed a complaint about the gun, she couldn’t promise me that Aidan would go to jail. On the other hand, he might go to jail, but only for a short period of time, and he might find out it was because of me. When he got released, he’d be furious. So far, he’d followed me, but he hadn’t tried to hurt me. If I filed charges, I could end up escalating the situation. He might flip out and retaliate. Would the police be able to protect me? I doubted it.

  “I’m not sure it’s worth it. I don’t think I should do it.” I dropped my head into my hands.

  “I know it’s frustrating,” she said. “The system is built to respond after violence already happened, and it can leave women vulnerable. If you want, I’ll give you a referral downtown to family court for an order of protection. In all honestly, it’s a waste of time. You’ll get denied there for lack of a verbal threat.”

  “There’s nothing I can do, then.”

  “You can watch your back. Don’t walk alone at night. Carry a whistle or some pepper spray. If he does threaten you verbally—I’m talking a direct, specific threat—or if you believe he’s about to become violent, call nine-one-one. I’ll give you this information sheet for the domestic violence hotline, and the number for family court protective services. It explains what they do. Who knows, maybe they can help more than I think they can.”

  She jotted some notes. I took the paper she held out; then she walked me to the exit.

  “Thank you,” I said, sincerely, and shook her hand.

  “No problem. Stay safe. And maybe—”

  She hesitated.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Not to be judgmental or anything. But you should be more careful who you associate with. A one-night stand, who knows what you’re getting into. Could be a nice guy, could be a nutjob who likes to hurt women.”

  She walked away before I had a chance to protest that I’d never done anything like that before, and never would again.

  28

  Caroline had told Aidan they couldn’t be seen together in public. She freaked out when her friend with the big mouth saw him at spin class. He hadn’t even wanted to go to the stupid class. He did it to be with her. And now she was using it as an excuse to avoid going places together, at a point when their relationship should be taking off, going public, turning into something long-term.

  Sometimes he wondered if she loved him as much as he loved her.

  “You shouldn’t hang out with Stacey. I can tell she’s not your true friend,” Aidan had told Caroline afterward, out on the street.

  “True friend? What are you, in eighth grade?” she’d said, laughing.

  That lilt in her voice when she was amused was so adorable, he didn’t even mind being the object of her laughter.

  “I’m just saying, you deserve better.”

  “I agree, but what can I do? My circle is full of catty people like Stacey. She saw what she saw, and she’ll talk. She knows everybody I know. It was an unforced error. I can’t afford any more of those.”

  She was worried about her divorce case. He got that; he felt the same way. The last thin
g Aidan wanted was to screw up her divorce. He wanted her free, sooner than later, so they could be together for real. And he wanted her to get the money back, and keep the beach house, so they could live the life he dreamed of. The two of them together in that house on Gramps’s land, for all the world to see.

  “These people in your life treat you so bad,” he’d said. “Not only your friend, but your husband. I worry about him. About what he’s mixed up in. I want to protect you.”

  “How can you help me? Jason is so volatile, and you’re not around,” she said.

  “I can make sure he doesn’t hurt you.”

  “How? You heard what I said. You can’t be seen with me, without having it damage my case.”

  “What if I were to follow him, to see what I can find out? To get some leverage?”

  The city passed them by on all sides as Caroline held his gaze. Cars honking their horns, sirens blaring, people rushing. It was nothing to him. All he saw was her. He would do anything for this woman.

  “Okay,” she said, finally. “But Jason can’t see you. And it’s better if we don’t communicate for a while.”

  She glanced around to make sure nobody was watching. Then she stepped up to kiss him lightly on the lips and walked away. He would miss her terribly if they didn’t communicate, even if it was only temporary. But he had to do this—for their future, for her safety. The conversation he’d overheard in the parking lot before the husband slugged him weighed on Aidan’s mind. Half a million dollars, and the Russian chick. That jerk was up to something, and Aidan feared that Caroline could be in danger. He would find out, one way or the other, and put a stop to it.

  29

  Manhattan was an easy place to follow someone. On every block, at all hours, there were people out and about. Aidan spent days on the husband’s tail and got good at melting into crowds. He would find that perfect doorway to duck into. Or step into a bus shelter, drop behind a parked delivery van, peek out from behind a dumpster, lurk behind some scaffolding, you name it. Nobody ever noticed a thing. He would find a diner, or worst-case scenario a Starbucks (friggin’ coffee cost enough to fix his car), with a big window, and sit and wait forever, nursing the one coffee he was willing to pay for. It was easy, though granted, the hours were long. He would do that all day, then drive out to the island for the late shift. Clock in at the Red Anchor at four, clock out at midnight. Up at dawn the next morning, get in the car, drive back to the city, take up his spot outside Caroline’s apartment by eight thirty, when the husband would leave. And do it all over again the next day. It took its toll. The time, the money. Gas, parking, coffee while he sat and watched. So far, he hadn’t seen much. But he did it for Caroline.

  It was a warm, blustery day. The winds were out of the south, smelling of summer still, but picking up yellow leaves that had fallen from the trees and swirling them on the sidewalk. He pulled Caroline into an alley between two buildings. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, and his tongue found hers. The kiss was so intense that he was hard in a second.

  She pulled away, eyeing the bulge in his pants.

  “Oh, my,” she said, glancing up and down the street, giggling in a way that sent chills through Aidan. Like she wanted him. Thank God, too, because he was starting to wonder.

  “Can we go back to your place?” he said, reaching for her again.

  She dodged his hands. “No. You know that’s not smart.”

  “How about a hotel then?”

  She’d have to pay, though. That did bother him. The man should always pay, but he couldn’t.

  “We have to be careful. I told you. Have you found out anything about Jason yet?”

  “Nothing concrete. But I’m on it.”

  She nodded. “Good.”

  “He’s living with you. In your apartment. I don’t understand.”

  “It’s part of my strategy. The lawyer says not to move out because I might give up my claim to the property.”

  “But it’s the beach house you really want, right?”

  She put a finger to his lips. “Don’t you worry about those things. I have it under control. We’ll be together soon, I promise.”

  “When?”

  “Once the divorce is resolved.”

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “You need to keep doing what you’re doing.”

  “I am.”

  “Good. Now, I have to go. I’m going to walk away. Don’t leave here until I get to the end of the block.”

  “I miss you,” he said.

  She stepped out of the alley and was gone.

  That was four days ago, and it was the last time he’d touched her. He’d seen her, since. He saw her every day, from a distance. Watched her. Imagined his hands on her body, his mouth on hers. He was getting antsy.

  Now he sat in a mostly empty Starbucks, eyes trained on the entrance to the building across the street. He looked up, and the barista smiled. She’d flirted with him before when he bought his drink. A goth girl with dark eyes, blue streaks in her hair, and a tattoo of a snake crawling up her arm. Before Caroline, he would’ve been all over that. All over any attractive woman who let him know that she was interested. But not anymore. Amazing how Caroline had changed him, and in such a short time. He felt different. He felt alive. She’d given him hope, and now he couldn’t imagine being with anyone but her. What was it about her? Only everything. The way she made him feel. That crystalline beauty—the eyes and cheekbones, the body. All her ways. That plummy, rich-bitch voice, the way she moved, the classy clothes, the luxury car, her discreet perfume that he wished would linger on his clothes longer than it did, but it wasn’t some cheap drugstore pisswater. Her house, of course. So, yeah, it was her life, and all the things that came with her. Caroline’s life was the one he’d dreamed for himself, always, watching from the other side of town as the weekend people came and went as they pleased. They were untouchable, and free, like he ought to be. He was tired of sucking up to everyone in the world—his brother, the cops, his boss, the customers at the restaurant. He was the better man, but they never would see that. Well, Caroline would make them see. She would make things happen for him, once the obstacles were out of the way. He had to earn it. But it would be worth whatever it took. He wouldn’t shrink when the time came.

  The barista was coming toward him with a cup in her hand.

  “I made you a fresh one. On the house,” she said, smiling.

  The name written on the cup wasn’t Aidan, like the one he’d paid for. It was Samantha, with a phone number. He stared at it, disbelieving. She set it down on the table before him, and then she caught the expression on his face.

  “Is something wrong? Not cool to give you my number?” the girl said, shuffling her feet nervously.

  “Oh. Right, that’s your number. It’s fine.”

  “I wasn’t trying to harass you. I thought you were cute. I’m sorry. Don’t tell my manager?”

  “No, really, it’s nice of you,” he said, but he choked on the words. “See, Samantha was my girlfriend’s name, and she—we … things didn’t work out.”

  “Like I said, I apologize. Keep the drink.”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Stark emerge from a building across the street.

  “Gotta go,” he said, jumping up.

  “Okay, well, enjoy the drink. And have a great day.”

  He left the drink behind, even though it was free, and he wanted it. The name on the cup was an evil omen. Samantha had cheated with his best friend, and the aftermath of that left Matthew dead. It wasn’t Aidan’s fault what happened, but it destroyed his life as sure as it did Matthew’s. He’d lost hope that he’d ever recover—until Caroline. She was like the pot of gold, out of reach at the end of the rainbow. If this chance slipped through his fingers, it would never come around again. There’d be nothing left for him on this green earth. He might as well walk into the ocean and not come out.

  But no. He was letting the dark feelings suck him under. And why, because
some idiot blue-haired girl hit on him with her poisoned name? No. Today was a good day. The sky was brighter, the wind was warmer. Things were different now. Caroline was loyal and kind; she had class. Nothing like Samantha. And he was different than he had been. He wasn’t a dimwit pushover like he’d been as a kid. He was somebody who reached out and grabbed life and took what he wanted.

  “Thanks,” he said, and hurried out the door before he lost Jason Stark in the crowd.

  30

  Lynn and I were sitting in an Italian place near my apartment, sipping glasses of pinot grigio and waiting for our Caesar salads to arrive.

  “Jason and I are renewing our vows for our anniversary,” I said, “and I’m thinking about doing it up. Maybe the Rainbow Room, with a band and a champagne fountain. The works. What do you think?”

  It was the first time I’d seen my sister since her return from Florida a couple of days earlier. She’d come in to the city to meet with her lawyer about some real estate business, and suggested we meet for lunch, so she could catch up on my marital drama. I tried to beg off. I worried that Aidan might ambush me again, the way he had at the spin class. On the other hand, I was too keyed up to be alone, and dying for the comfort of Lynn’s company. I had half a mind to tell her about Aidan anyway, to get her advice.

  “Renewing your vows? Are you sure?” Lynn said. “When I left, you were on the verge of divorce. I come back a week later, and everything’s roses? Shouldn’t you wait for the reunion to take before you throw some big expensive party?”

  “I thought you’d be happy for me.”

  Lynn flicked her blond hair back over her shoulder. Her deep tan and coral lipstick clashed with the grim expression on her face.

  “I want to be happy for you, sis, but I’m not sure that’s justified yet. I’ve been hearing some gossip that I hope isn’t true. I didn’t want to have to repeat it to you,” she said.

  I knew what was coming.

  “You don’t have to repeat it,” I said.

  “Because you already know what it is.”