CHAPTER TWENTY
“You know,” Bradley says, after following Neil to his car. “I think that guy might have a crush on you.”
I stare at him for a second, then burst out laughing.
“This is so embarrassing,” I say, wiping my eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ve been scared this might happen.”
“Scared is an interesting word.” He watches me open my mouth, then close it again. “You don’t need to tell me anything, by the way. Just know that I’m here for you.”
“It’s not like that. Neil never hurt me. He just wouldn’t give up. Not about anything. I don’t know how to explain. I felt like I was stuck in some kind of mental finger trap, and the more I struggled, the more impossible it seemed to ever leave.”
I look down at my palms. I first met Neil just after Mom’s funeral, at her church in the city, which I’d taken to attending as a way of remembering her. He immediately started courting me. As I learned later on, I was precisely what he was looking for. Quiet, pretty, naive. Someone he could shape like wet clay.
It worked, too. Hedidchange me, though not quite into the polished lawyer’s wife he wanted. I was stubbornly attached to my own freedoms, my own opinions, my own inner life.
“What if he comes back?”
“There are cameras at the entrance to the property. How do you think I knew he was here?”
“What if that doesn’t stop him?”
“Seriously, I’m not worried. We’re safe here. Besides, what can he do to me that my own employer hasn’t done?”
He smiles at me, and I start laughing so hard that a bubble of snot forms under my nose. “Oh shit.” I wipe it and then shake my head, laughing even more. “This is so embarrassing.”
“You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about.” There it is, the disarming sincerity. “Well, he’s not going to scare me away. Besides, it’s good to have competition.” He walks closer to me, holds out his hand, then pulls me into a hug. “As friends, of course.”
“This is how you hug your friends?”
“Of course. I’m a very affectionate person, you know.”
He pulls me closer, and I feel it again, what I felt last night, what I’d blamed on the alcohol.
“Bradley,” I say in protest, and he pulls away.
“Speaking of friendly gestures, I’ve made us some dinner.”
“Dinner?” I check my watch. “Whoa. It’s already after six.”
“Time flies when you’re rekindling a romance.”
“That was not rekindling!” I slap him on the shoulder, but it’s like a butterfly swatting a concrete wall, and he doesn’t budge. “That was harassment.”
“Sorry, bad joke.”
I look up at him, this improbably handsome and educated man. He’s like a transplant from another era, when men read books and dressed for dinner.
“That’s very sweet of you.” I give him a push. “Wait outside while I get changed.”
“Are you sure? I could give you some friendly advice on what to wear. Or what not to wear. So to speak.”
“Out!”
I quickly wash my face and put on the minimal amount of makeup I have. Within a few minutes, I’ve successfully managed to transform into someone who didn’t just have a nervous breakdown. I search through my clothes, but all I have is my one blue dress. It’s not dirty, and it’s better than the trackpants or shorts I’d be wearing otherwise. I quickly change, then brush my hair. It’s hardly the most radical transformation, but when I’m finished, Bradley lets out a low wolf whistle.
“You look astonishing. I’m astonished.”
“My English teacher at school would call that hyperbole.”
