Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 60342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
“Look, I appreciate your concern and understand the challenge of returning without me,” I say. “But I need a minute to myself, and I really need no one to know where I am for a while.”
He watches me warily.
“Trust me. I don’t want to get whacked by a crazed stalker more than you don’t want me to be, okay?”
“I will have to tell my boss, Ms. Kelley.”
Great.
My response is delayed as the SUV slows at the end of a small bridge crossing a creek. The driveway is next to a mailbox that’s seen better days. We slip between the mailbox and guardrail and follow the bend around a hedge of trees.
And there it is.
My heart hammers against my rib cage as the yellow house with brown trim comes into view, its attached garage and large barn behind it. The lake below reflects the clear blue sky, and if I weren’t running on adrenaline and eagerness to extract myself from this situation, I would appreciate the beauty and stillness of the moment.
The vehicle pulls to the top of the driveway and stops.
I stare at the door, wondering if he’s home. What will he say? What will he do? Despite the chance that Luke Marshall won’t be pleased to see me, my anxiety is the lowest it’s been all day.
My shoulders slump against the seat.
“This is it?” Troy’s sunglasses are gone, and he’s surveying the landscape for threats. “Want me to walk the perimeter or, better yet, clear the inside?”
I sit up. “Promise me you won’t tell Tom or my parents,” I say, holding on to the back of the seat. “If you have to tell Ford Landry, then fine. But let him know that if he shares my location with anyone … I’ll fire you all.”
His eyes blaze with frustration, but he heeds my request.
“Yes, Ms. Kelley.”
I open the door handle, but nothing happens. Troy triggers the unlock feature and hops out of the driver’s seat. When he’s around to my side of the SUV, I’m gathering the tulle.
“I can stay out of sight,” he says, clearly struggling with leaving me on a random doorstep. “I assure you that you won’t know I’m here.”
My bare feet hit the sharp rocks on the ground, and I wince. “Nope. I got this.”
“I’ll wait until you’re inside.”
“Nope.” I square my shoulders to his. “I got this.”
He hesitates. “Call me if you need me. Do you have my number?”
“Yes. And, Troy? Thank you.”
He mumbles something I can’t hear, closes my door, and then goes to the other side. I quickly crack it open, turn my phone off, toss it onto the floorboard, and close the door again. My management’s insistence that I memorize my most important phone numbers is finally coming in handy.
As he drives off, rounding the turn and effectively going out of sight, I blow out the deepest, heaviest breath of my life.
I face the house that holds so many memories. The walkout basement that Luke and I used when we didn’t want his grandfather, Poppy Marshall, to know we were there. The birdbath next to the house has a permanent crack down the side because Luke hit it with his truck one winter while sliding on the ice. I glance at the front porch. And the old pair of boots behind the porch swing—the one with the house key.
“Ouch,” I hiss, stepping lightly on the gravel toward the stairs.
My mind drifts away, carrying me back to the situation at the church. How is Stephanie handling the drama? I envision the statement Tom is composing for the press. He’s undoubtedly feeding me to the wolves. It takes little imagination to picture my parents’ displeasure. Did they outright take Tom’s side, or do they wonder, if even for a moment, what my side of the story might be?
Tears flood my eyes, fogging my sight.
If I had stayed, I’d be a married woman right now.
My hands shake as if I’ve just avoided being mugged.
The thought of cutting it so close—almost being Mrs. Tom Waverly—makes me nauseous. Even though I’ll undoubtedly be on the receiving end of nasty vitriol in the coming days, it’s a small price to pay for avoiding a marriage that would’ve ended in divorce. Tom may not understand it, but I did us both a favor.
I grab the rail and pull the tulle behind me up the stairs. Poppy’s standing ashtray from decades ago is still next to the swing. The sight of it surrounded by the ridiculous white fabric makes me grin.
I press the doorbell and wait. There’s no movement inside the house. I press it again.
My heart pounds as I dip my hand into the right boot.
“So predictable, Luke,” I say, pulling out the spare key. I stick it in the lock, and the door swings open as if waiting for me. The thought makes me smile.