CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Oliver left early in the morning. He woke me to say he wouldn’t need me to cook breakfast.
“Rest, sweetheart,” he murmured into my hair before he left. “I’ll try my best to come home. If I don’t make it, the alarms are down. Your wallet is on the bench with your cards.”
Then he was out the door, and I lay there, feeling completely fine.
In case he was watching the cameras, I put on a show and raced to the bathroom to “vomit.” I went about my usual duties, but I did everything slowly.
In my nook, I tried to read to pass the time, but every minute stretched, and all I could think about was last night.
Tristan hadn’t left my mind.
He was a stranger, and I couldn’t stop thinking about him. He was younger than me. Not by much, but there was something restless in him.
He carried the kind of recklessness I imagined I might have possessed in another life—taking chances, living in the moment, making the best of whatever I had while I raised my little boy.
I’d had that once.
I should never have wished for a better life or hoped for someone else to make it better.
I could have made it better on my own.
And now the alarms were down, and Oliver might not return.
The alarms were down, and Oliver might not return. The money was waiting in the laundry room, enough to take me farther than I had ever gone.
But the moment I imagined running, something cold moved through me. Every road I pictured ended the same way: Oliver standing at the other end, as though he had arrived before I had even chosen it.
He had promised he would always find me.
Some buried part of me knew he would. Not believed it. Knew it. The certainty had no beginning I could find and no reason I could explain.
The worst part was, I never imagined him searching.
An open door was not freedom.
It only let me choose where he caught me.
It was past ten when I stepped out of the house.
It was such a strange feeling to be out in the heat and beneath the sun. I stood on the porch for several minutes, giving Oliver one last chance to appear, but the street was deserted.
The wind carried the scent of the ocean, reminding me of our harborfront days in the past. Of Rowe and me taking the ferry to the neighboring island to walk the trails and catch glimpses of deer.
I smiled at the image in my head as I walked down the steps and began my journey into town.
The walk was downhill. It would be a treacherous climb back, but I didn’t care.
I wore a breezy red summer dress. My hair was down and moving around me. My purse was slung over my shoulder.
I felt overdressed as I passed people in simple shorts and T-shirts. Out of my element, I was shaky. Being alone outside had become a foreign experience.
Still, I couldn’t deny how wonderful it felt to breathe without fearing the shadow constantly hovering over me.
Even if this was all the freedom I got, I thought I could live on it for a while.
The sun on my skin. The noise of strangers around me.
The simple act of moving among them as though I belonged there, as though I were still one small part of the world turning.
It was almost nothing, and I knew I would have taken less.
I found the clinic easily and stepped inside to see how busy it was.
A lot of people were waiting.
The receptionist took my health card and asked why I needed to see a doctor.
“I think I’m pregnant,” I said.
“You’re hoping to speak with someone about a blood test?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Have you taken a home pregnancy test?”
“My husband wants the blood test.”
She gave me a strange look. “Is that what you want?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“We’re extremely busy today. The wait is going to be a while.”
I perked up. “How long?”
“At least two hours. Possibly more.”
I grinned, elated. “That’s all right. Am I able to leave and come back?”
She raised a brow at my cheerfulness.
“Usually, we advise patients not to leave. You can stay nearby, but if your name is called and you aren’t here, we’ll have to move on. It could put you at the back of the line.”
“I’ll be back before then. Thank you.”
She had begun to respond, but I was already out the door.
I walked quickly down the street, knowing exactly where I was headed.
The restaurant sat along the harborfront, its patio extending over the water on massive wooden pilings. It was the same patio where I had stepped outside to breathe the night before.
Seeing it in the daytime was different. At night, it had felt intimate and private. In the heat of the day, it was louder and more relaxed.
When I stepped inside, I was floored by how busy it was. Servers raced back and forth with plates in their hands. The air buzzed with conversation and laughter.
I hadn’t eaten, and the smell of fish and chips reminded me of it, but there was a rock in my stomach.
What I was doing was risky.
If Oliver found out, there would be no talking my way out of this one.
I glanced at the clock. It was only twenty past ten. Oliver’s class was in full swing, and I needed to stop obsessing about getting caught.
was already out of the house. Out of the clinic. Breaking all sorts of rules.
The realization was so strange I almost laughed.
I had crossed one boundary and then another, and the world had gone on turning.
No alarm shrieked. No hand reached from nowhere to drag me back.
People passed me carrying drinks and talking among themselves while I stood there feeling as though I had slipped loose from the laws that governed me.
If I was going to get caught, I might as well get something out of it.
“Hello. Do you need a table?” the hostess asked, rushing over to greet me.
Strands of wild hair framed her face. She was flustered and red-faced, but she smiled brightly.
“I was hoping to sit on the patio.”
“It’s pretty packed out there, but I think someone just left. Give me a moment to check.”
She hurried across the restaurant toward the open double doors.
There were several open tables inside, but the fact that it was busier outside in the heat should have surprised me.
It didn’t.
Not if Tristan was the entertainment.
I couldn’t hear live music from where I stood. Soft radio music played near the entrance.
When the hostess returned, her cheeks were red and she looked breathless.
“Good news. There’s a table available, but it’s tight, and there’s a lot of traffic around it. Do you still want it?”
I smiled. “I do.”
I followed her across the restaurant.
My heart went haywire with nerves. I clenched the skirt of my dress, trying to get a grip on myself.
The patio was shaded, so while it was hot, a beautiful ocean breeze cooled my flushed cheeks.
The hostess hadn’t exaggerated.
The large patio was packed with seated patrons, most of whom were angled toward the one person I had spent all night thinking about.
I saw him instantly.
He was seated in the same corner as the night before, but he wasn’t singing. His attention was on a nearby table, where a mother and her daughter were speaking to him.
The mother wasn’t much older than me, and she was beautiful. Her daughter couldn’t have been older than seven, and she appeared to be doing most of the talking.
“Here’s your table,” the hostess said, forcing my attention back to her.
It was near the patio doors, far from Tristan, but I had a direct view of him across the walkway the servers used.
The table was small, clearly intended for two people, but one chair was missing. It had probably been taken by one of the groups squeezed around the surrounding tables.
I was the only person sitting alone.
I thanked the hostess as I sat, and she handed me a menu. I declined a drink, so she filled a clean glass with water.
I tried to look around her while she told me about the day’s specials.
Then she left with the promise that a server would be with me shortly.
I barely looked at the menu.
My eyes returned to Tristan, drinking him in as though I were starved.
He leaned closer to the little girl and said something that made her eyes light up. She clapped her hands and nodded.
Tristan chuckled and reached for his guitar. He strummed it idly.
He was clearly on a break. Everyone continued talking, though they glanced his way every few moments, greedy for more music.
For more of him.
I wasn’t foolish enough to think his rugged handsomeness wasn’t part of the attraction. Many of the people watching him were drinking him in.
He lifted his glass and took a drink. It looked like water, but if what he had said the night before held true, it might have been something stronger.
Still, he didn’t appear drunk or buzzed.
I looked toward the beautiful mother. She played with one of her earrings as she watched him, though she tried not to make it obvious.
An unwelcome feeling tightened my stomach.
Beautiful women filled the patio, many of them watching him with poorly concealed interest.
I felt foolish for believing his compliments so easily.
How many women had he called beautiful?
Had he told that mother she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen?
Was this a mistake?
My gut was quiet.
There were no warning bells telling me to leave.
Maybe I was listening too carefully to what my body was trying to tell me.
Maybe my gut was a dumbass after all.
I lifted my glass and took a sip, feeling stupider the longer I sat there.
Music began.
The start of something upbeat drew my eyes toward him.
It wasn’t a song I recognized. It was lighthearted.
He licked his lips and moved closer to the microphone.
The moment he began to sing, everyone fell quiet.
He looked around the patio, focused and attentive. The misery from the night before was gone. There was no anger or melancholy.
Actually, he looked kind of bored.
My heart jumped into my throat when his gaze swept over me and moved to the table beside mine—
Then snapped back.
My entire body tightened when our eyes met.
His playing broke apart on a wrong chord.
A few people laughed softly, finding the mistake endearing. Others glanced toward me with open curiosity.
Tristan looked away and went perfectly still, his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him.