CHAPTER TWELVE

TWO MONTHS LATER

"What do you think?" I ask Will.

Were standing at the doorway of the gallery, surveying the hard work of the last few days. I was up half the night draping fabric from the ceiling and setting up tables, but the result is, in my opinion, absolutely beautiful. I knew all of those years redecorating my room would pay off somehow. And my dad said all of those boards on Pinterest with home decor ideas would be a waste.

"Its wonderful," Will says. Hes beaming, and I swear he hasnt looked this hopeful in at least a year.

Tonight is our very first event since opening up the gallery for rentals. A couple is celebrating their fiftieth anniversary, and they wanted the whole package: decor, tables and chairs, even use of the temporary dance floor we put down for our ballet and jazz classes. The check from tonight will fund our afterschool program for the rest of the month.

And its not the only event we have scheduled this month. Next weekend were hosting a Bar Mitzvah, and two weeks after that an awards ceremony for a local private high school. Assuming everything goes smoothly, I hope word of mouth will draw in even more events in the future. Ive also been working furiously on a marketing plan when I havent been bouncing between my normal duties.

Will wraps his arm around me and hugs me from the side. "Im so thankful for you, Kurt."

I smile. Its a little too soon to say for certain, but it looks like we might dig ourselves out of our hole in the near future. Im sure there will be plenty of kinks to work out over the coming months, but weve bought ourselves time, and thats the most important thing right now.

"You should go home and get some sleep," he tells me. "Youve been overworking yourself these last few days."

I hate to admit it, but hes right. Im exhausted, and Im running on adrenaline fumes right now. Last night I didnt even bother going home. I just curled up on the old sofa in Wills office.

"Go on," he urges, and I know from his expression that he wont accept any excuses.

I grab my bag from the office and head outside to my car. Party guests are already starting to trickle in, and I wave as I make my way across the parking lot. For the first time in a long time, I feel at peace. Exhausted, but at peace.

And then I see whos leaning against the side of my Honda. "Adam?" He glances up when he hears my voice. "What are you doing here?" I say.

"Some welcome," he replies, straightening. "I just came by to see how youre doing."

"Adam, I—"

"Dont do this. Youve been ignoring my calls, so I wanted to give you some space, but Im not going to let you cut me off again."

I cross my arms. "Im not having this conversation with you right now. Get out of my way."

Instead of moving, he leans back against the car, blocking my path to the drivers seat. "You mean a lot to me, Kurt, you know that. Im just trying to look out for you."

"I dont need you to look out for me. Now move or Im calling the police."

"Did Anderson tell you he had me arrested? I was just trying to make sure he wasnt taking advantage of you, and somehow I was the one who ended up in jail overnight. You dont still speak to that fucker, do you?"

Im trying to control my anger, but I cant help myself. "Whether I talk to Blaine or not is none of your business," I say. "And its your own fault for ending up in jail. You shouldnt have been there."

His eyes darken. "I cant believe youre defending him," he says, stepping toward me. "Hes no good, Kurt. You need to stay away from him."

"Again, thats none of your business." I fumble in my purse for my cell. "Get out of here, Adam, or I swear Ill—"

He leaps toward me and grabs my arms, pulling me toward him. "Please, Kurt," he begs, the anger suddenly gone from his voice. "Please. Lets just go somewhere and talk for a while. I know Ive made some mistakes. I know Ive hurt you. But things are different now. Please, just come with me."

I try to twist out of his grip. "Let me go."

"No," he says, pulling me closer. "Im not letting you go until you agree to give me another chance. After everything weve been through together, I think you owe me that."

"I dont owe you anything!" His grip on my arms tightens to the point of pain. He shakes me.

"Dont do this to me, Kurt. I love you. I always have. And you love me, too."

"No," I say, and then I slam my heel onto his foot. He loosens his hands, and I take the opportunity to escape from his grip. "Stay away from me," I say. "I dont love you, and I dont want you in my life anymore."

His eyes flash. Hes angry now. "You dont know what youre talking about," he says.

"I do. Now get out of my way."

"No." He lunges for me again, and this time I swing my bag at him, knocking him in the head. I dont carry my bag like a purse - its a bag with a purpose and in this case it has my laptop in it. It mustve hurt since Adam winces and grabs his head after impact. I dont feel a bit guilty about hitting him with my bag; no means no, you dick.

"What the fuck, Kurt?!" he cries.

"Get the hell away from me," I say. "If you come near me again, if you try to call or contact me in any way, then I swear Ill have you arrested. Were over." I push past him and dive into the drivers seat of my car, but he reaches after me and tries to drag me back outside. "Let me go!" I try to swing my bag at him again, but its too cramped. He has me halfway onto the pavement before I manage to jab my elbow up and hit him in the nose. He yowls and releases me, and I leap back into the car and slam the door behind me.

Hes still screaming at me, even as I pull out of the parking spot. "Fuck you, Kurt!" he says. "I saved you from that guy! I fucking saved you!" I turn on my radio and crank it up, drowning out his words.

I dont go home. I go straight to the courthouse and apply for a restraining order. It wont be official until were in front of a judge, but Im hoping that being served with the paperwork will be enough to scare Adam away in the meantime.

Afterward Im still too jumpy to go to my apartment, so I drive around for a while. This is when I really wish I had a couple of good friends in town. Ive been too focused on the Center these last couple of years to have much of a social life. I could call up one of the people who work at the Center with me, but I dont want this getting back to Will. I dont want to worry him or distract him from making sure everything runs smoothly at the party tonight.

Eventually I pull into a fast food restaurant. I order myself a value meal and sit eating it in the parking lot. I can tell the day has been traumatic if Im willingly eating a cheeseburger from some greaseball restaurant in Brooklyn but I cant will myself to care.

Im halfway through my cheeseburger before I lose my resolve and pull out my phone. I cant help it —I need to tell someone about what just happened. I know Im breaking every rule I set for myself, but I want to talk to Blaine. I should be stronger than this, but I crave the reassurance that I did the right thing, that Im not at fault for Adams insanity.

A call is too personal. Instead, I text.

You were right about Adam. I applied for a restraining order.

I pause for a minute. Theres so much I want to say to him, but I dont know how to say it. I dont know, after all this time, whether he wants to hear it at all. Finally, I take a deep breath and add:

Forgive me for not respecting your decision about the pledge. I hope you and your brother are doing well.

I send it off before I can change my mind.

My cheeseburger is cold by the time I pick it up again. I munch on it absentmindedly. I move to the fries next, though theyre soggy at this point. Only when I finish those and theres still no reply to my text do I accept that I probably wont be hearing back from Blaine anytime soon.

It doesnt matter, I tell myself. I said what I needed to say.

But did I? Ive been thinking more about our argument in the garden. He told me I was using the Center as an excuse, and I realize now that he was right. I told myself that I engaged in his little games for the sake of the Center, but if Im being honest, thats not the truth at all. I played along because I wanted to. Because I wanted him.

But thats too much to convey in a text message. And Im not sure hed want to hear it at this point anyway.

I take a deep breath and crumple up the food wrappers. I dont blame him, truly I dont. He has bigger things to deal with than our non-relationship. I only wish that thought made me feel better.

Its 11 PM when my phone goes off. Ive been in bed for an hour, but as usual Im having trouble falling asleep. When I hear the text message tone, I roll over and grab my cell off the nightstand.

The message is from Blaine.

I almost delete it without reading it. Texting him this afternoon was a mistake. Theres no reason to torture myself by trying to analyze his response. It wont change anything between us; it will only prolong this pathetic state Im in.

But I cave to the temptation, of course. I open the text.

Are you okay?

I stare at it for a long time, trying to decide how I should respond—or even if I should respond at all —but my text tone goes off again before Ive made my decision.

Ive been worried about you.

Im not sure if hes being genuine, or just polite, but I respond anyway.

Im fine now, I text.

His reply comes quickly. What happened? Do I need to come over there?

My heart stutters at the offer. I want to say yes. I want him to come over and make me feel safe again. I want to look him in the eyes and apologize for my insensitivity. I want to share the Centers success with him, and I want him to share his pain with me. And then I want him to take me in his arms and make me forget about everything else for a little while.

But I know its a bad idea.

Im okay, I text.

His response is immediate: Are you sure?

Yes. I reply, and leave it at that.

Its better this way. He doesnt answer, and I sigh and put the phone back on my nightstand. Im just drifting off to sleep again when his next message comes through.

Come out to the estate tomorrow.

What?

I sit up in bed and flip on the light. I read the text three more times before I accept the fact that yes – that is what hes asking. He wants me to come back to his house; back to the scene of the weekend Ive been trying my damnedest to forget.

How do I reply to his offer?

I set my phone down on the nightstand and lie back on my pillow. I want to see him. But I also know, deep down, that Im only dragging out the heartbreak. How, at the end of the day, do I really expect this to end?

I flip off my light without responding. Let him sweat for a while. Maybe in the morning Ill see things a little more clearly.

In the end, though, this new development only makes it harder to fall asleep. And when I do eventually drift off, I find that I dream only of him.

I wake to a knock at my door.