Chapter Nineteen. Riley, Present Day
CHAPTER NINETEEN
RILEY, PRESENT DAY
“Hi there, Riley.” I jolt at the sound of the man’s gravelly, familiar voice. I used my maiden name to get a new phone number. But somehow he found me.
I speak the eleven-word phrase I’ve committed to memory: “Please cease and desist all calls and contact with me immediately.”
The man laughs. “Are you trying to disappear, Riley?” His words carry an invisible menace.
He isn’t a collector for the credit card or utility companies; those places usually adhere to debt collection laws that prohibit harassment, calls late at night, or threats.
This guy is associated with the casino Danny used to frequent when I worked overnight shifts at the hospital.
I don’t even know his name, but he knows everything about me.
“Seen Danny lately?” he asks.
“We’re divorced,” I remind the collector. “I don’t talk to him anymore.”
“That’s interesting, since he’s the one who gave me your new number.”
My breath catches in my throat. What did they do to him to get it?
It isn’t hard to imagine. Shortly before everything fell apart, I was sipping a glass of chardonnay on our couch and thinking about painting our living room walls maroon when I heard a noise outside the front door. I thought it was a cat.
When I looked out the peephole, I saw Danny crouched over, holding his ribs with one hand and trying to fit his key into the lock with the other. I opened the door and he fell inside, collapsing on the hall rug.
At first I thought he was drunk. Then I saw his bruised and swollen face.
“I got jumped,” he said, trying to smile through his split lip. “They took my wallet.”
Seeing him so hurt broke my heart. I wanted to call the police—I was desperate to punish whoever was responsible for the attack—but Danny convinced me it would be better if he went to the station in person in the morning.
I brought him Advil and ice packs and gently rubbed his back while he slept, thinking that it could have been worse—I could have lost him forever.
By now I’ve put the pieces together. Danny wasn’t the victim of a random attack. He was beaten up as punishment, and he had claimed his wallet was stolen so I wouldn’t question the arrival of new credit cards.
“You understand how this works, right?” the collector asks now. “We’ve gotta get the money from somewhere.”
I close my eyes and think about Danny on our wedding night, tears in his eyes as he told me how much he loved me. I have to believe it was true. More than that, I still love him.
“I can start paying you at the end of the month,” I say.
“I’m counting on it.” He hangs up.
I pull into the lot and turn off my car. It’s only a dozen yards to the motel entrance, but every shadow feels like a threat. The debt collector excels at finding people; he may already know where I am.
I half run toward the entrance and when I burst inside, the short, bearded man behind the desk looks startled.
“Whoa, everything okay?” he asks.
I try to smile. “I just pushed the door too hard.”
He gives me a room on the fourth floor. It smells like artificial floral cleaner and the carpet is stained, but there’s a chair I can prop beneath the door handle and the lone window locks.
So much for putting my life back together, I think as I sit down heavily on the bed. I’m still trying to save Danny’s.