“Drive me, then. I’ll find a motel.”
He grabs my hand, and this time I let him. “Stop. Please.”
“Why should I stay? You think I’m crazy.”
“I don’t think you’re crazy.” He takes my other hand and looks at me. “I’m the crazy one. I’ve fallen in love with someone I just met.”
Love? I’m about to stammer a response, but he keeps talking.
“I know you just want to be friends, but I want more than that. Please stay. I’ll move as quickly as possible with the divorce if we can be together.”
I let him pull me closer. With the narcotic of that word, I even let him kiss me, but just for a second.
After everything that’s happened, I feel exhausted—exhausted, but also angry. And now that I’m in Bradley’s arms, I definitely don’t want to stay in that dark cottage on my own.
“Even if everything you think about Grace is right, you shouldn’t run away. You’re much stronger than she is. She can be mean, but she’s very insecure and fragile underneath it all. There’s no reason you should be scared of her.”
I look out at the dark forest. Am I strong? What evidence is there of that? But maybe he’s right. For my entire life, I’ve done what other people wanted. Isn’t it time for me to be selfish? Isn’t it time to fight for what I want? Why should I risk living on the street just because Grace is an insecure bully?
Why can’t I fight back, for once in my life?
He steps closer. I recognize the look in his eyes. I want to tell him to read the room, but I’m still flattered by his attention.
“How can I make you feel better?”
I pull away. “By letting me go to the bathroom. I was trapped in there for six hours.”
“They say romance is dead,” he calls out.
Not romance, I think, glancing at the memorabilia on Grace’s shelves.
But not me, either.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Four days go by. After Bradley rescued me in the basement, I decided that I was sick of pretending to be friends, sick of not taking what I want. So we spent a Sunday together in bed—in his bed, in Grace’s bed. On Monday, he drove into the city to talk to his divorce lawyers.
I haven’t seen him since.
He said he’d visit me, but each night I wait until the early hours, and each night he doesn’t come. I rage at him, and then I rage at myself. I tell myself I’m pathetic, that I’m just a basic bitch, that I’m setting back feminism a thousand years. I make plans to leave. On the second night, I even pack my bags.
But then in the morning, I tell myself I can wait another day. Then the night comes again, and there’s no Bradley, and I lie in the dark cursing his name, cursing Grace’s name, and finally cursing myself for being such an idiot.
If only Grace weren’t here. If only she would just leave and let me take her place. She’s having an affair, and her marriage is over. Anyone who knew the truth would see that.
So the cycle goes. After four days, I still haven’t seen Bradley. I tell myself there’s probably a good reason. I tell myself that I’m not an idiot. He loves me, and I’m happy to see where it goes.
But that’s not the only reason I stay. I stay because I don’t see Grace, either. Although I know she returned to Pine Ridge on Monday afternoon, we never cross paths. As the only two humans on the property—and given that I still spend half my time working in the garden outside the house—this is only really possible if she’s avoiding me.
When I realize this, I feel a surge of confidence.
Good, I think, with false bravado.She should be avoiding me.
If it stays like this, I might even be able to last the summer.
I work quickly, hoping that will make time go faster. I weed the flower beds in front of the veranda, even though it barely needs it; I remove the blackberry vines from the side of the house; I plant fruit trees in their back lawn, just as Grace requested.
When I’m done, I’m about to pack up the gardening gear when I see a man emerge from a trail at the bottom of the garden. He doesn’t acknowledge me until I speak to him. I think if I hadn't said anything, he would have ignored me completely.
