Chapter Ten
TEN
Faye was distracted that afternoon. Despite having two new orders waiting in her Etsy account, she couldn’t seem to focus enough to leave the computer downstairs where she was working, and begin packing up orders. Instead, she found her thoughts lingering on Greg.
“Hey,” Greg said, appearing from the studio. She had given him the task this morning of unboxing items, new clay and a restock of paints for her upcoming classes this week. Now, he was standing in the hallway, holding one rectangle of stoneware clay wrapped in plastic. “Where should I...put this?”
“You know the drawers where all the tools are?”
“Yes.”
“It goes in the cabinet with them,” she explained. “Just open it up, and you’ll see all the rest of the clay waiting.”
“Got...it.”
Greg turned to leave, and inadvertently, her eyes caught on his backside. A flicker of desire coursed through her body before Faye shook it away. She and Greg were just friends. She was helping him get better, heal...nothing more. There couldn’t be anything more with a man who didn’t have a memory. And yet, every day they spent together, their intimacies grew. She shared secrets with Greg. Lowered her walls. Sometimes, they even read together.
It wasn’t good. She was especially concerned about the way her heart had begun to leap when he walked into a room. How just the sight of him offering her that cheeky and adorable grin caused her entire body to vibrate with wild swings of joy. She recognized the ache for something more with him, which she had to stop, eradicate, push down and away inside of her...because love was dangerous for Faye.
It turned her into someone else.
And then it betrayed her.
Her wrist and fingers began to ache. She attempted to rub it out, stretch the tendons and nerves so they would click back into place, but it was no use. Rising from her spot at the computer, she went to find some ibuprofen before loading up on ice.
Her mother might have broken her wrist when she was seventeen years old, but the pain lingered. A reminder. A warning. Faye would be wise to listen to the stories her own bones were telling her. There was no happy ending with Greg. Or any man, for that matter. Unless, of course, Greg wasn’t a man at all...but a golem.
Returning to her computer—ice on her hand—she had to admit it was strange. Greg had been with her nearly a week, and no one had come to claim him. When she had first brought him home, she was certain that there would have been some inkling of his past. Missing posters hung up around town. A story in the local news. But despite checking every morning, there was nothing.
Like the man had just appeared out of thin air.
It wasn’t possible. And yet...the man did seem to have golem-like qualities. She began to lay them out like evidence inside her mind. He had red hair. He was a reader. He was aiding her in magic rituals and helping her around the house doing chores and labor. And today, he had proven that he was good with children.
She thought back to the AI chat. The one that warned her that golems eventually went berserk and became dangerous.
Berserk.
It was such an extreme word. It would have been nice if the AI chat could have come up with something a little tamer.
An email notification chime rang out on her computer, causing her to jump. The ice she had been using to decrease her pain fell to the floor. Faye bent down to pick it up. Either Greg, the man, would leave her...or Greg, the golem, would go rogue, begin disobeying orders, and eventually cast destruction over her and all of Woodstock.
If the past was a fair indication of one’s future, it sounded about right.
She needed to get back to work on her Etsy orders. One was from a new client in Tennessee, ordering a ring dish for an upcoming engagement gift. She was to paint the words “Mazal Tov,” along with the image of two grooms under a chuppah, across the top. Simple enough. Plus, she always appreciated an order that allowed her to pull out her paintbrushes.
The other order was for her most recent piece. The one that Nelly had said looked like a shvantz . It was also from a name she recognized. Sam Jones.
Faye had never met Sam Jones. She sent all the pieces he ordered to a PO box about an hour away. But they had corresponded a few times by email, and she had even once personally invited him to visit her store. Surprisingly, her biggest fan declined. And after that, she buried her curiosity, not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth as Sam had become a very good client over the years.
Faye had built a nice life for herself in Woodstock. Granted, she wasn’t rich. But she was smart with her money. She lived beneath her means. She invested wisely. She had savings from selling her legal practice back in Manhattan. Still, as it went with small businesses, things were not always easy. She wished her Etsy store would do better. She wished that people, outside of folks buying ring dishes as wedding presents, would take note of her work. That people would understand she was a ceramicist, an artist...
But not every story had a happy ending.
The sound of Greg groaning loudly in her studio brought her back to reality. “Greg?” Faye called out. “Everything okay?”
“Okay,” he responded from the main room. “Just...stepped in poop.”
Faye grimaced. “Sorry! Do you want me to come clean it up?”
“No,” Greg called. “Got it.”
Greg was so sweet, so helpful... so red . Faye shook away the thoughts. Leaving her computer, she went to begin packing up her vase. She was halfway finished with bubble wrapping when the bells above her front door chimed out. Faye glanced up to see Chief Eric Myers, her friend from the police department.
The sight of him standing there in his uniform, gun holstered at his side, this symbol of safety and justice, relieved all the worry she had been feeling regarding those flyers.
“Faye,” he said, moving to embrace her.
She hugged him back. “Eric.”
Eric was a good man. Easy on the eyes, too—even though, with blond hair, he wasn’t really her type. She had even tried to set him up with one of the single mothers from her pottery class, but the shidduch never happened. And though she knew she had disappointed Eric with her rejection, they were able to remain friends.
“I would have come sooner,” he said, apologetically, “but I’ve been so busy with the investigation.”
“Oh, Eric.” Faye waved away his concern. “Of course. I can’t even imagine. The fact you even texted me...it was well above the call of duty.”
“You were my first thought,” he said, shaking his head, distraught. “Honestly, Faye. It just kills me what happened. It makes me so damn angry. These bastards, coming to our town.”
“I know. It’s horrible.”
“And I just—” he placed both hands on her arms “—I’ve just been so damn worried about you.”
“Can you stay for a while?” She twisted back towards the counter where the teakettle lived. “Or can I get you something? A snack...or maybe a cup of magical tea for protection?”
“Actually,” Eric said, pulling out something from his pants pocket, “I came to bring you a gift.”
“Me?” Faye glanced down to see him holding a tiny velvet bag.
“Well, go on,” he said, nudging her. “Open it.”
Inside was a stunning piece of black tourmaline.
“Oh, Eric...” Faye touched her heart.
“For safety, right?” Eric had done his research. “And protection.”
“This is amazing!”
“So, you like it?”
“It’s perfect,” she said, moving to kiss him on the cheek. “Just like you.”
They were standing awkwardly close to each other, teetering on the balls of their feet, all nervous energy, when Greg appeared from the back studio, holding a bag full of Hillel’s poop. “Oh,” Faye said, stepping back from Eric, feeling weirdly caught. “Greg! You’re here.”
Eric squinted, confused. “You...have a visitor?”
“A friend,” Faye defended herself.
She wasn’t sure why she was suddenly so nervous. Greg was a friend. Not a boyfriend. Not a golem. There was no reason for anyone to act strange.
“Greg,” Faye said, waving him over. “This is my friend Eric. Remember I told you about him? He’s the chief of police here in Woodstock.”
Greg jumped in to help with the explanation. “She hit me with her—”
Faye cut him off. “He’ll be staying with me for a while.”
For once, she wished Greg’s language skills weren’t developing so rapidly.
“Well,” Eric said finally, moving over to Greg, “it’s nice to meet you. Any friend of Faye is a friend of mine.”
Eric went to shake his hand, but Greg—likely because he hadn’t read a book yet on social cues and etiquette, but also because he was holding a bag of Hillel’s freshly expelled excrement—stared down at it, awkward and unmoving.
“Okay,” Faye said, stepping between them—taking the bag of poop away from Greg in the process. Quickly she tossed the poop in the trash, then washed her hands before returning to the two men and whispering in Eric’s direction, “I’ll explain later.”
Eric’s chin dipped back, clearly confused. Faye tried to steer the conversation back to the investigation. “Eric was just stopping by to check on me,” she explained to Greg. She was talking so quickly, unsure why her words were going full-speed. “He’s been very busy trying to find the people behind the flyers.” She spun back to Eric, attempting to catch her breath. “Please tell me there are leads.”
Eric frowned. “It’s still an active investigation,” he said, placing his hands on his waist, “so unfortunately, I can’t go into too many details. But I can tell you what we just sent out in a press release this morning. We believe the flyers are tied to a group called The Paper Boys.”
“The Paper Boys?” That name sounded familiar.
“They’re an anti-Semitic group that has various cells across the country,” Eric explained. “It seems that they’ve started a cell here in Woodstock and the environs. The FBI has been brought in, and we’re doing everything in our power to figure out who these people are...and bring them to justice. But that’s really all I can tell either of you for now.”
She had no idea what Greg might be thinking, but she knew what she was thinking—this was so much scarier than just flyers. The idea that there was a group, radicals , that necessitated an entire federal investigation, wasn’t just dreadful. It felt unbelievably unfair. Surreal, even.
She had spent her whole life feeling unsafe. And now, despite all her best efforts to reclaim her power, keep some semblance of control in her life...someone had come along and stolen her sense of security all the same.
“I appreciate you sharing that Eric,” she said. “Truly. And I appreciate you taking time out of your busy schedule to come check on me.”
“Of course—” Eric said, glancing back towards Greg. “Well, if there’s nothing else I can help you with around here—”
“Actually,” Faye said, an idea forming, “why don’t I walk you out to your car?”
Leaving Greg behind in the shop, Faye grabbed a cardigan and followed Eric outside. Pulling her sweater taut against the impending chill, she felt for the black tourmaline she was now carrying in her pocket, and settled on getting to the heart of the matter.
“So,” Faye said gently, “I should probably explain about that.”
Eric played coy. “About?”
“Greg,” she said simply. “The red elephant in the room.”
She was concerned that Eric would think she and Greg were dating. They weren’t dating. Obviously. But having moved a stranger into her home, and business, she didn’t want her friend, but especially her ally the chief of police, to get the wrong idea. Especially since Faye had told Eric two years earlier that she preferred to remain single, thus ending any chance of romance between them.
Beyond the personal reasons for following him outside, there were also practical matters to contend with. Eric was a police officer. He might have insight, and information, that could offer some clues to Greg’s mysterious past.
She began to explain the situation, telling him about hitting Greg, learning he had amnesia, bringing him home, nursing him back to health.
Eric listened intently, patiently, his face surprisingly devoid of any trace of shock or disbelief. She imagined it was a skill that came with years of police work—the ability to remain cool and collected, no matter what meshugana story he was hearing.
“I was just wondering,” Faye asked, hopeful for good news, “if you’ve heard anything. If anyone has reported a missing redheaded giant in Woodstock? Or, if something has come over your police channels? If he looks familiar...”
Eric considered the question. “Unfortunately, no,” he said, thumbing his lower lip. “And I definitely would have noticed a missing person’s report come in, especially with everything that’s been going on in Woodstock lately regarding The Paper Boys. But we’ve also had a lot of strangers coming to town recently—federal agents, folks from the Anti-Defamation League, journalists. I suppose it’s possible he could be one of them.”
“And would there be any way to check if maybe he was one of these people?”
“Not really.” Eric frowned. “Feds don’t exactly share information with local police departments, especially during active investigations. Same thing with journalists. They usually keep a pretty low profile. ADL, though... I can put a few calls in. But I imagine someone working in a nonprofit would have noticed if one of their people had gone missing.”
“Right.” She pressed her lips together. “It is strange, though, right? That no one has come to claim him yet. That he just randomly appeared here without explanation. I mean, it’s been almost a week, and not one person in the world is looking for him? Not some friend, family member, or even an employer? It seems unbelievable.”
Eric crossed his arms against his chest. “There is another option, of course.”
Hope filled up her chest. “Yes?”
Eric spoke pointedly. “It’s a con, Faye.”
“What?” She blinked, surprised. “No...”
“You were a lawyer, right?” he asked. Clearly, the question was rhetorical. “So, let’s lay out the facts of the case. He jumps in front of your bike.”
Faye corrected him. “I hit him with my bike.”
“And then,” Eric continued, counting off the evidence with his fingers, “he has no ID on him, nobody knows who he is, you get to the hospital, and this man, this total stranger...conveniently happens to have amnesia. And then, with you feeling all types of guilty, he begs you to bring him home. He basically gives you no option but to bring him home.”
“His doctors didn’t seem to think he was faking his condition.”
“And now he’s living with you,” Eric said. “Freeloading off you, I might add...and surprise, surprise, no one has come to claim him. Has he even expressed an interest in figuring out who he is?”
“Well, no...but he only started being able to put cohesive sentences together recently.”
Eric shook his head. “You’re too nice, Faye.”
“I just... I find it hard to believe that this is all an act.”
“Look,” Eric said gently. “Let’s say that everything this Greg guy told you turns out to be true. Is this really the right time in your life to be inviting strange men into your home? There’s so much happening right now in Woodstock. There’s so much going on with The Paper Boys. The flyers are likely just the beginning. Don’t you think you should reserve space in your life, in your apartment, especially...for a man that you actually know and trust?”
Her eyes fell to the cement sidewalk. That was the thing. She trusted Greg. Since their first meeting in the hospital, he had given her no reason not to trust him. And yet, she couldn’t deny that Eric had made some good points. Perhaps she had been naive, given into magical thinking— allowed herself to believe Greg was some sort of golem —when there was a far more logical option.
“So, what do I do?” Faye asked, throwing her hands up. “Other than hiding all my checkbooks and credit cards, obviously.”
“I have an idea,” Eric said suddenly. “Why don’t you bring him by the police station?”
Faye balked. “The police station?”
“Sure,” he said, breezy and casual. “We can run some prints. See if this guy has a record. Once we get them back, and providing he’s in our system, it should be easy to figure out where he came from...and what his true intentions are.”
“How long does that normally take?”
“Usually, twenty-four to forty-eight hours. But I’ve heard if you know someone in the department—” he nudged her playfully “—maybe like the chief of police, we could probably get it done in a few hours.”
“Right. I should have known.”
A dreary wind worked its way through her body. It was a good idea, bringing him down to the police station, letting them use their channels to figure out who he actually was. Still, something about it wasn’t sitting entirely right with Faye. Greg was her friend. In their limited time together, he had given her no reason to distrust him. It seemed wrong to drag your friend down to a police station and run their prints.
Unless he wasn’t her friend at all. Maybe his sweet nature— like reading all her books —was part of the con. Perhaps Greg wanted her to fall for him, drop her guard, so he could empty her bank accounts, and take off for the next mark.
She couldn’t believe she had been so naive.
“I’ll talk to him,” Faye said finally.
“Good,” Eric said. “In the meantime, you have my cell phone number. You call me...first sign of trouble, okay? Better yet, call me before there’s any trouble. I’ll be right over.”
She nodded and hugged him again.
Faye waited for Eric to depart fully, taking off in his police cruiser, before turning back to her store. Entering inside, she resigned herself to laying down the law. She was not going to be the target for some criminal.
“Greg?” Faye called out. “Can I speak with you for a—”
His head appeared from behind the counter. “Hey.”
“Oh.” She blinked, surprised to see him at the refrigerator. “What are you doing?”
“Getting you more ice,” he said, holding up the bag she had been using for her wrist. “It was...melting.”
Her willpower faltered. Her heart twisted. He was so thoughtful. Or he was a con man, trying to win her over. Truth be told, she wasn’t entirely certain.
“Why?” she asked, her voice unsteady.
“Because,” Greg said simply, “you took...care of me.”
She felt her heart being squeezed between two impulses. The fear that he would hurt her sitting beside the desire to keep him close.
But Eric was right. She needed to get back to her life. The life she had built. The life she had designed, free from vulnerability, with high walls and clear boundaries—a sanctuary for the terra-cotta soldier that lived inside of her—but when she tried to have the conversation with Greg, it was Faye who couldn’t find the words.