Tension

by R. L. Griffin

  “I don’t understand this at all.” Her mother’s stare so was intense, Stella almost flinched.

  “Mom, my job is there. I’m trying to—I have to get back to work. I’ve got to figure out where I’m living. I NEED to be there. Please, just back off.”

  “I’m not happy,” her mother retorted, hurt evident in her eyes.

  “You’ve made your feelings painfully clear,” Stella retorted. “By the way, I’m real fucking excited about all this, too, so join the club,” she said sarcastically.

  “Your father’s going to be livid.” Her mother got up from her seat on the couch and began pacing the length of the room.

  “Well, I’ll apologize,” Stella said, not backing down.

  “So...when you get out of rehab you’ll come home?”

  “No, when I get out of rehab I should be working again,” Stella answered, watching her mother walk back and forth.

  “Well, where will you live? Are you moving back in with Patrick?”

  “No.” Stella didn’t know where she would live, but she knew she couldn’t live with Patrick anymore. “When I get to DC, George can take me to rentals in Old Town. I want to stay in that area.”

  “Well, you need to get in an apartment with the some sort of security with all this media stuff going on,” her mother instructed.

  “I really thought I’d rent another house in Old Town or an apartment around there. But I’m not really the apartment-living kind. You have to bring your groceries up on the elevator in several trips and with Cooper it’s just easier in a house.”

  “You’re impossible,” her mother said, exasperated. “So you and George are serious?” Her mother’s examination intensified and her determined pacing had practically turned to a stomp.

  Back and forth, back and forth. Please stay still; you’re making my head hurt. “Um, I guess so. I love him.”

  “But didn’t he break up with you?”

  Stella nodded.

  “Then he comes all the way out to Montana to stay with you while you’re in the hospital. That doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

  “We kind of made up before I left for Montana.” Stella fidgeted and looked at her hands, not wanting to have this conversation.

  “Oh. I’m just trying to be sure of the story, Stella,” her mother responded. She finally stopped pacing and stared at Stella. “Well, he seems very stable.”

  “Stable?” Stella cocked her head to the side. Stable isn’t sexy…

  “You know, stable. What other sort of guy would drop everything they’re doing to come out to the hospital for days at a time for several weeks to support you?”

  “You’re saying it like it’s a bad thing. He loves me and was worried. He owns a bar; he had someone watch it for a couple of days a week.”

  “I like him, I guess.” Her mother walked over to her purse, pulled out her phone, and started texting.

  “Well, that sounds like a real seal of approval.” Stella felt a little bad for being such a sarcastic bitch, but what the hell?

  “It’s just that… I think he may be in a place where you can’t go, Stella.” Her mother refused to meet Stella’s gaze.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s the staying kind.” Stella’s mom never took her eyes from her phone.

  “That’s good, right?” Stella stared at her mother, trying to make eye contact. What’s wrong with the staying kind?

  “The marrying kind.”

  “Oh,” Stella muttered, lowering her eyes to examine her hands again. She used to be the marrying kind; she wasn’t anymore. She couldn’t really imagine a future of any kind.

  Chapter Five

  Out to Sea

  George was on the phone with Hazel, handling an emergency at the bar. The sun was dropping into the ocean and pinks and oranges spilled in from the bay windows, filling the den at the back of the house. Stella poured them both a glass of wine and watched the water envelope the sun. She took a sip, savoring the crisp flavor of apples in the pinot gris.

  When she was at the hospital in Montana, she’d felt helpless and worthless, having to depend on the nurses, her family, and George for everything. She’d even needed their help to go to the bathroom and shower. Stella had always been very independent, so having to rely on others was extremely humbling and something she didn’t want to ever experience again. Every time she had to lean on a shoulder or be embarrassed when nurses exposed her scarred breasts to those she loved, hate tightened its grip. She felt like her entire body was wrapped in barbed wire. From the second she woke up in the morning to her nightly round of sleeping pills, the only pills she didn’t toss into the ocean, she fought the rage that threatened to choke her.

  When she finally got to the rehab hospital, she’d felt a little more independent. She began doing everything by herself, no matter how long it took. It helped her endure and taught her to rely on herself again, one breath at a time.

  After she’d been at the rehab facility in DC for a couple of days, Millie came in, still in work clothes. She had a chunky red necklace and a light yellow cardigan over her navy sheath dress. Her caramel, shoulder-length hair was pulled back in a low, tight ponytail. Millie was Stella’s best, and only, girlfriend. They’d met the first day in law school and had been tight since.

  “Damn, you look professional,” Stella said when Millie walked in. Sitting at the table in her room, Stella had been going through her email on the iPad her parents bought her. She’d loaded all her books on the iPad and was reading four to five books a week. The book she’d just finished was heartwrenching. It was about a young woman healing from being hit by a drunk driver that killed her parents, boyfriend and best friend.

  Millie struck a pose. “I’m a professional, bitch.” She smiled.

  “How’s it going?” Stella asked sincerely.

  Millie rushed over to where Stella was sitting and hugged her awkwardly. Stella got up so they could embrace properly, even though she loathed hugging these days.

  “I missed you so much. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to Montana.”

  “Mil, it’s okay. How’s your job?” Stella asked as she sat back down.

  “I’m learning so much. I’m working with lawyers, senators, lobbyists…all the people that make laws. It’s amazing. They make the law and I’m in the same room with them.”

  “I’m so happy for you, Millie,” Stella said, smiling genuinely at her friend. “The Department of Education is the perfect place for you. And you get to work on the Hill.”

  “Oh my shit. Stella, I’m sorry. How are you?” Millie sat down and put her hand on top of Stella’s and took her in. The deep circles under Stella’s eyes were disconcerting and the wrinkle on Stella’s forehead, between her eyes, made Millie downright anxious.

  “I’m making progress. Progress is good, right?” Stella shrugged.

  “Progress is fantastic,” Millie agreed.

  “Anything going on with all the media stuff? Can we do anything?” Stella and Millie had constantly talked while Stella was in the hospital, especially about social media opportunities. Stella listed Millie as her media contact and hoped that Millie would be able to help with the unwanted media attention. It seemed relentless.

  Millie shook her head. “I’m trying, El, I really am. I’ve been doing research on invasion of privacy cases. This just isn’t my area. I don’t want to give you bad advice.”

  “I just appreciate not having to handle all the inquiries myself.” Stella looked down. “I mean, I just don’t see how it’s legal for them to put everything about my life out there for everyone to see. Nothing is mine anymore. How is it all fair game to them? I don’t know what to think…”

  “I know.” Millie shook her head.

  “I just keep thinking that it’ll pass. I mean, really, who gives a shit about me?”

  “Your story is like fiction, El. People are voyeurs; they want to see the bad. You’ve got to show them the good.”

  “Is there any?” she whis
pered. Stella felt like her life was full of small steps forward, just to have someone knock her back. Damaged.

  “Of course there is,” Millie answered confidently. Millie worried that the Stella she first met would come back. Stella had been thrown back into the pit of the despair, where she’d languished after Jamie died, and Millie would give anything never to see that Stella again.

  “What’s good? Is it the job that I can’t get back to? The scars that will never go away? The media prying into every aspect of my life?” Stella looked down at her hands; she’d started biting her nails from the stress of everything.

  Millie got up and wrapped both arms around her friend. Stella tensed at the touch. “I’m so sorry, El. I don’t have the answers for you. Just know I’m here. George is here. Billy and Patrick…”

  “It’s hard for me to see, Mil. All I can see is that I have to do physical therapy every fucking day so I can walk a mile. A FUCKING MILE! All I can feel is pain; pain throughout my entire body. All the time. I’m making progress, but I don’t see the good stuff. I’m trying to be positive, but I’m so pissed off.”

  “As you should be, El. I’d be pissed off, too.” Millie sat back down. “Do they let you work out here?

  “Work out?” Stella’s face showed her disgust. “They just want me to walk and stretch.”

  “I’m sorry.” Millie’s face fell. She knew her friend. Stella was a runner and she worked out with Patrick most every day. She hated to sit around.

  “Yeah, yeah. What’s going on with you? Besides loving your job.”

  Millie tucked her hair behind her ear and look down sheepishly. “Well…Patrick asked me to move in with him.” Millie looked at her expectantly.

  “What?” Stella’s voice was full of disgust.

  “I moved in,” Millie admitted softly. She knew there was tension between Stella and Patrick. They had a fight right before Stella left for Montana, but neither Stella or Patrick would tell her any specifics.

  “I don’t understand.” Stella couldn’t believe Millie would move in with Patrick the Liar. “He’s a liar.”

  “What happened between you two?”

  “I…I hate him, Mil.” She wanted to tell Millie everything, wanted to put her head on Millie’s shoulder and have Millie make lame jokes about her life, but she couldn’t. How did everything get so fucking complicated?

  “Why? El, why do you hate him?” Millie implored.

  “I can’t tell you.” Stella shook her head and looked at her hands. She hated everything right now.

  “Why?”

  “He’s a fucking liar. Everything that comes out of his mouth is a lie. You remember that.” Stella got up and went into the bathroom and shut the door.

  Millie waited for over fifteen minutes before she sighed and walked out of Stella’s room.

  Being in the rehab facility was much better than the hospital, and Stella had gotten into a routine. George tried to make it to see her at least once a day; she did physical therapy, ate, and read. She was happy that she could wear normal clothes again and she was trying harder than ever to focus on the positives, namely regular clothes, getting closer to working out, reading tons of books and using the bathroom unassisted. After about a week of being in rehab, a flower delivery guy walked into her room pushing a cart full of gigantic vases of flowers. He was whistling. The guy put the clipboard in front of Stella to sign, a grin spread across his face. “‘FBI Beauty,’ all right.”

  “No pictures, man.” George scowled at the preppy college-aged guy giving Stella the once-over.

  While Stella was signing the clipboard, George walked over to the flowers and pulled out a card. He read out loud. “I hope these brighten your day. Jesse.” His eyes rose from the card and he looked to Stella. “Who the fuck is Jesse?”

  She looked at George. And shit hits the fan. Stella turned back to the delivery guy, who was selecting areas in the room for the ten different vases of flowers. “Thanks. George, you got a couple of bucks for a tip?” She walked over to another vase and picked up a card. Damn, he sent all of these. Stella sighed. More flowers. He’d sent her possibly the most enormous bouquet of white and light pink peonies she’d ever seen.

  Stella was quiet.

  “So? Who the fuck is Jesse?” George was flicking the card between his fingers.

  Stella headed toward the door; she was scheduled for physical therapy. “Jesse is a friend.” She tried to sound casual.

  “What friend?”

  “Jesse McIntyre.” Stella’s steps became more and more labored as they walked. Almost there; just a little further.

  “Why does that name sound familiar? Do I know her? Him?” George asked. He knew she was too stubborn to ask for help; he waited until she was about to tip over. “You need me, Love?”

  “Damn it!” She stopped and took his arm with a sigh of irritated resignation. She was trying to make it all the way to the physical therapy room without stopping. It’s not that she couldn’t walk, but sometimes she felt so weak it was hard to breathe. Every day she tried to make the goal a little farther.

  “El, it’s okay. It’s gonna take some time to get through this. Let me help when you need it.” George smoothed her raven waves back and tucked a wayward strand behind her ear. He leaned in and kissed her gently, then matched her pace the rest of the way to the physical therapy room. Before they went in he asked, “Is Jesse a female?”

  “No,” she shook her head.

  “Why don’t I know him?’

  “We became friends after you left me, George.” This was a knife she could always use.

  His face twitched and his jaw tensed. “How good of friends are you?”

  “Do you really want to get into all this right now?” Stella turned and looked in his eyes, pleading with him to let it go.

  “Fine, but don’t think I’ll forget.”

  “I’m sure you won’t,” she muttered.

  Jesse played football for the Atlanta Falcons, but had played for the Washington Redskins his rookie year. He still had friends in DC, so he was there often. They’d met after her graduation from law school a little over four months ago, when he was in town testifying before Congress about the impact of concussions on NFL players. He was smarter than she imagined any NFL football player could be and she’d felt an immediate connection to him.

  Stella and George had broken up and she wasn’t opposed to a one-night stand, especially with a handsome, intelligent athlete, but she didn’t want to be his DC booty call. They remained in touch over the summer. She wanted nothing from him, which was rare in his business, and physical attraction developed into an easy friendship; they discovered they genuinely liked each other.

  Stella didn’t have time to tell Jesse that she was assigned to a case in Montana, so he didn’t know about the attack until her photo appeared on the news. Jesse called her immediately and left voicemail after voicemail until her inbox was full. She listened to all of them one day after she woke up, they were an entire afternoon’s worth of entertainment, ranging from complete panic about an FBI agent that looked like her getting shot at the beginning to “maybe you should wear that bathing suit for me some day” at the end.

  Stella was luckier than ever to have Jesse. She was floundering in the spotlight and didn’t know how to deal with it at all, and he was a wealth of information on dealing with fame. They talked numerous times about the media attention and he offered to help and also put her in touch with his lawyer. He told her about strategies he used to deal with intrusive news stories, she wished she’d taken notes. She’d flatly refused to do any interviews at this point. Head in the sand syndrome.

  It was weird a sensation, but Stella felt she could be herself with Jesse more so than George. They texted each other and talked on the phone, but she hadn’t seen him since she did the walk of shame from his hotel room after their one night together. He made her feel at ease when she felt keyed up around everyone else. Since Stella woke up, she’d tried desperately to be someone s
he wasn’t with George and her family. Jesse was strictly her friend and had sort of taken Patrick’s place in that department. She felt like she had to put up a front for George to convince him that she was doing well and she certainly hadn’t told him that Jamie shot her. She was still toying with whether to tell the FBI, George, or anyone…other than Jesse. She knew George would go ballistic.

  George brought it up again while they were eating later that day. “So, how good of friends are you and this Jesse character?” he asked, sipping the soup he bought for both of them.

  “You sound like my dad,” she chuckled. “We messed around. He’s a good guy.” Stella couldn’t meet George’s eyes. They hadn’t really talked about the months when they weren’t together.

  “You messed around? Like you slept with him?” George’s eyes were full of jealousy.

  “Yep,” she said, taking a sip of soup.

  “And you want me to believe that you’re friends.”

  “Yes.”

  “You said we couldn’t be friends.” His voice was full of tension; he was straining to hold his emotions back, his knuckles white on the arms of the chair.

  “We didn’t just fuck though, did we?” Stella retorted, keeping her eyes on her soup.

  “Okay…But I’m not sure how comfortable I am with you being friends with this rich guy you fucked. And now he’s sending you flowers!”

  “You don’t get to tell me who I can be friends with,” she blurted.

  “I… I don’t know what to say. I don’t want you hanging around with someone you’ve fucked.” His glare was steely.

  Stella lowered her voice. “They’re just flowers!” Stella pointed to them. “Beautiful, but nothing more than that.”

  Stella walked over to where George was lounging on the couch, stewing, and straddled him cautiously. Leaning in, she kissed him. “I promise, he’s only a friend,” she whispered in his ear. She gently tugged on his lip with her teeth.