Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Lola
Hey Scott, do you ever miss your home?
I guess I moved around so much as I kid no one place ever felt like home, you know?
Sometimes I miss Pine Rock. Then I remember what happened there.
Stick with me Lo, I’ll be your home.
- Conversation between Lola, age 20 and Scott age 22
Scott runs a hand through his hair, his eyes worried as he stares out at me from my laptop. I’m sitting on my bed and I’ve just told him about the pickup truck and the fire.
“You need to tell the police about the texts,” he says.
I give him a pointed look. “You know I can’t.”
“Lola, this is serious. He’s threatening you.”
“I don’t even know for sure that it’s Carson.”
“Oh yeah, who else is it going to be?”
I don’t know how to answer that, because Carson is the only logical explanation, but he wasn’t in the pickup truck, and he wasn’t one of the guys I chased off. Plus, the last time I told the police what Carson did to me, they didn’t believe me. If I go to them now, they’ll think I’m being paranoid.
“It’s okay. I’m being careful and I’ve asked a friend to look into the number the messages are coming from.
” I finally got a response from Max this morning saying he’ll see what he can find, and I’ve also ordered security cameras for the back of the shop, so everything is totally, one hundred percent, under control.
Scott shakes his head, a rueful smile appearing on his lips. “You have the preservation instincts of a toddler. I’m so damn tempted to just fly out there and drag you back on the road with me.”
“That’s just because you can’t read a map to save your life.” I poke my tongue out at him, but he doesn’t take the bait.
“It’s because I want you safe.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re starting to sound like Roman.”
Scott’s ears prick up. “Does that mean you and he are finally…”
“No. Definitely not. We are keeping things professional.” A few months after Scott and I first met we hooked up and tried dating for a while, but it was clear I was still hung up on Roman and Scott was looking for something serious.
After that we went off on our own for a while, but we always met up again after a month or so in some other place in the world.
It was only the last year that we fully started traveling together.
I think we both got kind of lonely, and I feel a little bad for leaving Scott but apparently, I needn’t have worried.
“Talking about not keeping things professional,” he says. “I met someone.”
My mouth drops open. “And you let me talk at you for fifteen minutes before telling me this?!”
Scott laughs. “Hey, you were on a roll.”
I had basically just info dumped all my frustrations on him, but he should have realized new girlfriend news trumps all. “Tell me everything.”
“She’s called Michelle. She’s French. We met here in Paris.”
I smirk. “Two days into a new country and he’s already got the women swooning.”
“What can I say? It’s a talent.”
“Send me a pic?”
“Will do.”
I hear a knock from downstairs then and leave Scott on the bed to look out the window.
It’s nine in the evening and my jaw tightens as I peer down, my brain half convinced I’m going to see that same pickup.
I don’t though. Instead, my gaze settles on a man in a sunhat, pacing in front of the shop. He stops by the door and knocks again.
“Uh, Scott. I have to go. My dad’s here.”
I shut my laptop and slip on my flip-flops before heading downstairs. I’m only wearing my PJ’s but the night’s still warm as I open the door and my dad turns to face me.
“Hi,” I say. “What are you doing here?” My dad is a tall man and whereas my mom has her soft curves, I’m not sure my dad could put on weight if he tried. Somehow though, he still feels like a force of nature. A stubborn immovable post that I am forever trying to bend.
“Why am I here?” his graying brows climb high on his forehead, his anger carrying him forward. “You had a fire, Lola, and you didn’t even call.”
My eyes flutter shut, the air slipping from my chest. “It was nothing, Dad. The fire wasn’t even inside the building.”
He throws his arms wide. “Oh, well that makes it okay then.”
“Dad—”
“Your mother was worried sick when we heard. Did you even notice she’s called you half a dozen times?”
I screw up my face, I’d turned my phone off after the message from Max, so I didn’t spend every second checking it. “I’ll call her back. I promise.”
He studies me for a moment then nods. “Good.”
The space between us is taut, an elastic band stretched to breaking point.
“You should go home, before it gets fully dark,” I say, and I don’t know whether it’s because I want him to be safe or because I don’t know how to talk to my own father right now.
Not when I’m still mad at him. Not when he makes me feel like a brazen teenager.
Not when part of me wishes he would ask to come in, to see my shop.
My dad has the best smile when he’s proud and I feel like I haven’t seen it in years.
“Lola…” He steps towards me, his fingers clutching the brim of his hat. The dark eyes we share sweep over me. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
My heart twinges and suddenly I want to tell him everything. I want to tell him about the messages and about almost getting run over. I want to tell him I think Carson’s behind it all. But I can’t tell him that without telling him why I think Carson wants to hurt me and I just can’t do that.
“I’m good. Honestly, it was nothing.”
A breath hissed out between teeth. “It wasn’t nothing. Next time there’s a fire, you call. I don’t care if we’re in the middle of the worst fight we’ve ever had. Hell, I don’t care if we haven’t spoken in ten years. If there’s a fire, you call me, okay?”
My eyes sting like there’s still leftover smoke in them. “Okay. I’m sorry, Dad.”
His face twists and he drops his hat, bridging the space between us and tugging me outside as he wraps me in his arms. It’s a short but firm hug and I breathe him in like I used to when I was a kid.
He presses his lips to the top of my head and whispers, “I’m sorry too, kid.” Then he lets me go and picks up his hat. “Call your mother,” he orders as he tugs the straw hat onto his head.
I nod and watch him walk down the street. The sun is already half set, casting the street in a dim shadow, and I suddenly get that feeling like someone is watching me.
I scan the street, looking for the pickup truck that keeps haunting me but the only car still around is a black SUV parked up across the road. Maybe I am being paranoid.
I go back inside, making sure to lock the door.
It stinks of burnt wood down here, and I try not to let it bother me. Try not to let the shadow of my ruined sign out back make me think that maybe my parents were right. That maybe I’m not ready for this.
My gaze drops to the counter and the purple folder Roman brought back this morning. I should be happy he agreed to sell me his apples but honestly, it feels pretty on brand for my life that the only person who seems to believe in me is the one person I can’t have.