Page 8 of The Making of Marnie Jones

“Will you at least take my phone number?”

The man was crazy, and obviously hard of hearing, but when he pulled a card from his wallet, she took it. It contained his name and number in plain black script on heavy white cardstock.

Jerkily, she slipped from the booth. Pulling out her wallet, she did mental calculations.

He stood as well. “I'm paying for dinner.”

“Although it's kind of you to offer, I prefer to pay my own way.”

“That's silly.”

She shot him a venomous look. “It's not about feminism or equality. I pay my own way. It's not pride, Jake, it's my reality.” She placed the money on the table along with a generous tip.Steady.“That came out more stridently than I intended. I can't be beholden to anyone.”

“You don’t trust anyone, do you?”

“Trust is a luxury I cannot afford.”

Her words still resonated in her head as she prepared for bed. She'd made a quick escape, and part of her worried about him following her, although the more-rational part reminded her that he already knew where she lived. Only when she was in her home with the alarm set, did she take a deep breath.

Her house was an open-floor plan with only bedrooms and bathrooms having doors, and those doors remained open until the unlikely occurrence of her having guests. Never again would she be closed into a small room with no windows and no way out. This house had a basement, she’d closed it off. If something went wrong, she’d hire someone to go down there and fix it.

She loved her house, where every room was a different pastel color. The spare rooms were mint green and sunshine yellow. Her own room was a soft lilac, chosen because it soothed. The rest of her house was a light peach. Matching light-peach tiles were in the kitchen, with drapes of the same shade in the living room. She wouldn't win any awards for decorating, but the house was hers and she loved it.

She pushed aside the fact it’d been paid for with blood money.

After ensuring everything was locked down, she retrieved her cell phone and walked into her bedroom. The light-lavender scent, meant to soothe and calm, wasn’t working.

While she wanted to send a text to Seth, she didn't know how. Truth be told, when she bought the phone, it’d confounded her. So many buttons, so many apps. She’d figured out how to make a call and how to receive one. The rest, as far as she was concerned, was superfluous.

Seth answered on the first ring. “How are you?”

No preliminaries.

“I'm okay, Seth.” She relaxed a bit for the first time since she’d left the library. “We ate dinner at Fifties. He asked me to go to Toronto.” She debated for a moment. Did Seth really need to know all this shit? Was it even her story to tell? What was going to be the cost to her?

Damn it.

“He's Olivia Bater's uncle, and he’s convinced I can help. Olivia's life isn't going well right now.” An understatement if there ever was one, but she didn't want to involve Seth. He’d worry about both herandOlivia.

The police officer swore under his breath, mirroring her distress. “Are you going to Toronto?” His question was soft, gentle.

Shaking her head, even though he couldn’t see, she sought the right words. “I can’t. I mean, physically I can get on a plane and go to Toronto, but, emotionally, I’m not capable. You know…” She swallowed. “I mean…”

“We’ve never discussed your experience, Marnie, but you need to know you can talk to me. I know the generalities, but not specifics.”

The gentle tone was nearly her undoing. She almost—almost—dropped her guard and told him everything. What would he say? If she unloaded everything?

Not fair to ask that of him, so at the last minute, she pulled herself back. “I’ve tried to put it behind me. I believed I had.” But had she really? If so, why had Jake’s request sent her into such paroxysms of panic?

“Have you ever talked to someone about it? Have you gone for counseling?”

“For the first year after, for all the good it did.” Sharp and cynical. “It didn’t take.”

“That when you moved out here?”

She faltered, touched by his insight. She might as well be honest with him. “Yes, the timing fits. I gave up on counseling and decided it was time to run. I assumed if I ran far enough, I could outrun my past. Today, my past caught up to me.”

“Did you send him on his way?”

---