Over and over, she pulled up Natasha’s number on her phone. Each time, she hesitated before activating the call. She needed more time to consider her concerns and determine whether or not she was crazy before calling Natasha.
She sat at her desk and tried to work on her Bible study. Failed. Tried to post to social media. Couldn’t. Tried to do the busywork at the bottom of her to-do list. No luck.
She opened her Bible. However, her mind kept starting sentences with the printed words and finishing them withWhat did my father do?
Around four in the afternoon, she realized that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. She wasn’t hungry but made herself a salad because Dr. Quinley had repeatedly emphasized the importance of prioritizing her physical health. Especially when one of her triggers had been pulled.
After eating, she stood on her porch, relishing the chill bite of the November wind against her face. She was in dire need of a distraction. Ideally, a calming distraction. She peered toward Sam’s farmhouse.
She’d stopped by The Kitchen on her way to Nanny’s earlier. They’d hung out in his office for thirty minutes, laughing, talking, kissing. He was scheduled to attend a half-day mini-conference and dinner for local business owners this evening. Thus, he wouldn’t be at home. That fact didn’t stop her from climbing into her car and driving by his house.
The absence of his truck and the lifeless windows rendered her more bereft than they should have. Technically, he wasn’t her boyfriend. Even if he had been, he wasn’t available to help her at present. His world did not revolve around her. And she could not become co-dependent on him.
Which was fine! She didn’t need his help because she was perfectly capable of handling this herself. Her family issue wasn’t his problem. He didn’t need to know that her sky was falling.
Temptation whispered to her, reminding her how calm and in control Oxy would make her feel. She steered toward town, her desire for Oxy clawing at her like hunger pangs.
A prescription for Oxy still awaited her at the Riverside Pharmacy. She had only to notify them that she wanted it filled. No one else had to know. In less than an hour, she could pop a few pills and let peacefulness lap over her. With Oxy’s help, she wouldn’t have to feel so panicky.
She drove to Buttercup Boutique and tried on clothes. It helped slightly to surround herself with outgoing people. She left with a bulging bag of new clothes she wasn’t at all convinced that she either wanted or needed.
When she drove past the pharmacy, she didn’t even allow herself to peek at its storefront. “Not today, Satan.”
Sam’s truck passed her cottage at 12:02 a.m. She marked the time because, though she was lying in bed with the lights out, she could not have been more awake. The night didn’t surround her with soft sweetness. It surrounded her with sinister peril.
Perhaps she should go to his place now, to see him. He’d invited her, quite seriously, to confide in him.
Only, he’d be tired.
And she didn’t need his help!
Not tonight, anyway. This could wait until tomorrow.
12:27. She prayed, lungs tight because she didn’t want her parents to be mixed up in anything dishonorable and because she couldn’t trust themnotto have been mixed up in something dishonorable.
12:50. Sam would be asleep at this point, so she’d missed her window to visit him.
12:55. Which was for the best because she didn’t need his help.
12:58. She’d feelsomuch better inside his house. Just that. She wouldn’t wake him, she’d simply relocate and attempt a secret sleepover on his laundry room floor.
She changed out of her pajamas and into yoga pants and a sweatshirt. Too scared to walk all the way to his farmhouse alone at this hour, she drove most of the distance before parking far enough away so he wouldn’t hear her engine. A single exterior light provided dim illumination as she tiptoed into the laundry room.
She checked the door that led to the rest of the house. Open. God bless him. Ever since the grocery store kiss, in a display of trust, he’d only been locking his back door, not the door from the laundry room to his hallway.
She folded the comforter she’d brought over on itself a few times, laid her pillow on top, then slipped her robe on backward and rested into the nest she’d made.
Just as she’d suspected it would, the fact that she was no longer so alone began to hush her anxiety. Sam was strong and principled and more than a little unattainable, and he was sleeping just one floor above.
Hopefully, their relationship would progress, and she wouldn’t always be relegated to the metaphorical laundry room of it, with him one floor above. But for tonight, this setup was more than satisfactory—
The door to the hallway opened. Sam filled the portal, silhouetted by gentle light from behind him. His hair was askew, his feet bare. He’d donned a rumpled T-shirt over pajama pants.
“Did I wake you?” she asked. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not.” He reached down with both hands. She grabbed on. He pulled her to her feet, then wrapped her against him in a hug. “I missed you,” he whispered against her hair.
She loved him.
