She reaches her hand across the table and takes mine. “I’m sure they will, and if it were up to me, he’d be in jail forever for what he did to you.”
“Can he say my name now that I’m over eighteen… I mean like if he’s interviewed about his release?” It’s the first question I verbalize, fearing that somehow being free from jail, Mr. Thatcher will be equally free to talk about me and our affair and those horrible recordings.
“Hell no,” she says, giving me a firm grip before loosening her hand back up and pulling it to her side of the table. “If he did that, it would land him right back in jail. Plus he’s going to have to register as a sexual offender, so the ball is so not in his court.”
It’s all so overwhelming, the jumble of thoughts and feelings continuing to roil inside of me. But somehow what comes out of my mouth next is pity for the man.
“I wouldn’t have wanted him to go to jail if he hadn’t…” I stop myself.
Jennifer knows about the recordings—everyone does because they were part of the case against him. And yet it’s still difficult to bring them up.
“If he hadn’t what?”
“The recordings,” I say.
Jennifer freezes for a moment and then nods. “Yeah. Him doing that told us all we needed to know about him. Total perv for unlawful recording of a minor. But really, he deserved to go to jail even without that part.”
“I know.” I’d once been conflicted about that because of love, an emotion it took time to shake off, even when I’d been determined to hate Mr. Thatcher. But him taking away my choice in those recordings had helped with that process. It was a shot to the heart and a consistent reminder of why he wasn’t the man I’d once believed him to be.
“It’s why he got three years,” Jennifer reminds me. “Sorry to say, but he probably would have gotten a lot less without that.”
“He won’t have access to them now… to the recordings? I mean, they were his, right?” I can’t help but to ask the question, to verbalize whatever fear is brewing up from within.
“Absolutely not! That would be like… like a serial killer who cuts off peoples’ heads getting the heads back after he’s released!”
I laugh, embarrassed and uncomfortable. “You’re right. I’m just being paranoid.”
“It’s okay. He really messed you up, and if you need any support, anything at all, I’m here for you. Mom too. She was so happy to see you again, by the way.”
“I didn’t know,” I say, my mind still stuck in our earlier conversation.
“Well, yeah, and I’m sorry I had to tell you—”
“No, not that. I didn’t know he was recording us.” I need to make sure she realizes that.
“No, I never thought you did, Emma. It’s one more way he broke your trust, broke all our trust. He was supposed to be your teacher, your protector.” Her eyes fall downward for a moment, and she bunches her lips before looking back up at me. “Is everything… well… is everything else okay?”
When I look into Jennifer’s eyes, I know exactly what she means, but my mind doesn’t want to go there, doesn’t want to face the other consequence of being with Mr. Thatcher.
“It’s fine.” My voice is pressured as I say it, but I quickly erase even the beginning of the thought that is trying to push into my head, the thought that reminds me there is still a thread connecting Mr. Thatcher and I.
Our discussion about Mr. Thatcher and everything related to him ends there. We drink our Cokes and clumsily talk about school, a little about John and a little about Langston Parsons who I still think Jennifer shouldn’t give up on. I don’t even mention Denny since he didn’t give meeting her a chance. It takes my mind off of Mr. Thatcher for a little while, if only barely.
After telling Jennifer goodbye and assuring her I’ll let her know if I need a friend to talk to, after going back to school and attempting to do some studying in the library, I can’t shake that feeling I had earlier, that reminder that Mr. Thatcher and I are still connected. And I know I’m going to have to face him again, to get answers to questions I might not have known how to ask nearly three years ago.
But now, I want to settle what remains unsettled, even if the idea of looking him in the eyes again is absolutely terrifying.
JOHN
For the first night in a very long time, I find myself sleeping alone. Emma had called me earlier and said her mom needed her at home and that she felt like she should be there for her.
“Are you all right?” I’d asked, noticing a depressed quality in the way she’d spoken.
“No, everything is fine, John,” she’d said a little too brightly.
“You sure?” I hadn’t wanted to make something out of nothing, but I wasn’t totally convinced.
“I am,” she’d replied, adding, “I love you so much, John, and I’ll see you tomorrow night, okay?”
“Okay,” I’d said, finding myself feeling empty the moment she hung up.
I’d wanted to tell her about the legal clinic I volunteered for and would be starting up at for a few hours next week. I realized it would take some time away from her and I, but I was excited at the prospect it would help me narrow the type of law I wanted to practice after law school. Civil rights, immigration, employment and trial law were only the tip of the iceberg, and they all felt so much more meaningful than the corporate law dad wanted me in.
Unlike Madison, I imagine Emma will be as supportive of my goals as I am of hers. And considering I don’t get a lot of positive reinforcement about this particular career goal from my parents, I’d been looking forward to getting it from Emma.
But I suppose this is what it’s like to have a healthy relationship, to allow ourselves to have time on our own when needed and to make sure we don’t completely disappear from the lives of our friends and loved ones.
But damn if I don’t want to just chuck that idea of a healthy relationship out the window and have Emma—her warm and beautiful body, her bright and expressive eyes, her kind, engaging smile—right next to me.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EMMA
Today doesn’t seem real. I go to morning classes, then talk to John briefly on the phone, assuring him everything is great. Having to lie to him exhausts me, and I don’t know what I’m going to do when I see him tonight. When I finish up at Patrice’s, I decide to walk back to the condo instead of catching the bus up to Wallingford.
Mom is apparently still at work, and Aiden, per usual, is nowhere to be found. In a sort of haze, I open the freezer and pull out the bottle of vodka chilling in the back. Mom got rid of all of the wine, her alcohol of choice, but Aiden didn’t seem to think it was fair to get rid of his harder stuff. I’d told her how unsupportive and annoying that was, but right now, I’m grateful.
The first shot doesn’t do much, though I’m not exactly sure what I need it to do. I’ve felt numb all day, and what I really need is something to wake me up, to allow me to deal with whatever it is I’m feeling about Mr. Thatcher and our unfinished business.
I shove the vodka back in the freezer and head into the bathroom, stripping my clothes off and taking the hottest shower I can stand. It had been a long time since I’d felt dirty thinking about Mr. Thatcher, and as I scrub at my skin with a bristle brush, trying to make that feeling go away, I burst into tears and sink down to the shower floor.
I’m practically heaving and trying to catch my breath during long, drawn out tears that sap me of my energy—I just want to stay crumpled up here for as long as it takes to regain some strength. But how will I do that now that Mr. Thatcher has reentered my brain like a rash that just won’t go away?
I don’t have to see him when he gets out. Nobody would force me. Most everyone would say there wasn’t any reason. But I know that there is. It nags at me like a mosquito buzzing in my ear, for what remains between us and can’t be ignored.
I’m in love with John, desperately in love with him. He inhabits my thoughts every single day, and yet Mr. Thatcher might ruin
it. Thoughts of him and the effects of our relationship remain lodged in my head as I drag myself up from the shower floor, turn off the water, drying myself off, my eyes puffy, not a teardrop left inside of me.
Maybe I don’t deserve John. Maybe this is my way of reminding myself of that. I’d made an awful mistake with Mr. Thatcher, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to get past it until I’m sitting across from him, face to face, asking him questions that he may never give me the benefit of answering.
When Mom gets home, she’s surprised to see me and asks if I’m staying the night again.
“I’m not sure.” I compose myself just long enough to make it seem like nothing at all is wrong, but I won’t be able to keep that up. So, can I really face John in this state without telling him everything?
“Up to you,” she says, giving me a warm hug before heading into her room to change.
When John calls a little later, I consider letting it go to voicemail, but at the last minute, I grab it.
“Hey, John.” I force a smile that I hope makes me sound untroubled.
“Hey, babe, you coming home tonight?” he asks, his voice tinged with worry.
“I just got out of the shower. I didn’t want to be all grimy.”
“Oh… okay,” he says with a very slight chuckle. “You remember we’re supposed to go out tonight, right?”
We are?
Shit.
Yes, we are.
“Of course!” I respond with fabricated excitement. “We’re meeting everyone on Queen Anne, right?”
“Yeah, but if you’re not up to it, I can pick you up, and we’ll spend a quiet night in,” he offers, his delivery making it sound like he’d prefer the latter option anyway.
“No… no… I don’t want to do that. We should be with your friends.” If anything, I’m grateful. Maybe if I’m around enough people, John won’t notice that something is amiss.
“You know, they’re your friends now too, Emma.”
“I suppose.” I don’t argue that. He’s sweet to make me feel included, even though I often think I’m living a lie around him and his friends. I wonder how many of them would wash their hands of me when, not if, the truth about my past comes out.
“I can leave now to pick you up. That okay?”
“Yes, I’ll be ready.” Ready for tonight, ready to put on a manufactured smile and make John think everything is just as it was before Jennifer’s news, news I’m just not ready to break to him.
Meg tells me tonight is all about tradition. She, John, and the rest of their core group get together for a night of pizza, beer and light debauchery a few weekends after school has started up again, even if it means they’ll have to do some major cramming to make up for the time lost due to the massive hangovers they anticipate getting. Last year might have been the end had John not been going on to law school and Denny and Court continuing on to med school. I have to admit that I was a little taken aback when I first found out Court was going to be a doctor. She doesn’t talk about it much, but when she’s not cracking jokes and trying to set girls up with Denny, she’s pretty damn serious.
“You totally fit into this now,” Meg says to me at the long table she, Court, Denny, Stephen, John and I are all sitting at. “I mean, you’re in college, so this is just as much for you as it is for us.”
“So, community college does count?” I’m doing my best to sound carefree.
“Damn right it does,” she says with a wide smile. “In fact, Stephen and I are the only two here that still aren’t in school, and it makes me feel so old.”
“Tell me about it.” Stephen is sitting across from us while John and Denny finally make their way over with two pitchers of beer. “But I’m the actual old geezer of the group. Thirty is just around the corner.”
“You totally are,” Meg teases.
“I’m so glad we know the guy at the door,” Court says, offering me a smile that reminds me of my age and the fact that we would have had to go somewhere else had the doorman not been so accommodating.
“When do you turn twenty-one exactly?” Meg asks.
“Say it a little louder why don’t you?” John is amused, setting a pitcher of beer down in front of us and taking the seat next to me.
“Shit!” Meg throws her hand in front of her mouth. “Oh, well.”
“At least we didn’t have to get Angela in too,” Denny says, elbowing Stephen softy in the ribs.
“Yeah, yeah.” Going from slightly perturbed to hopeful, Stephen turns to me. “You heard from her or anything?”
“Just a text or two. She started Seattle U.”
“You whipped, Stephen?” John asks.
Stephen tries to laugh off whatever John is implying. “No, just wondering is all.”
“I could see if she wants to come tonight?” It’s not like Angela and I have been the best of friends since she dumped Stephen, but if he’s decided he really does like her and genuinely misses her, I’d do my best to get them back together.
“Nah, I’ll see what else is available.” Stephen doesn’t sound all that enthused, and I think he must really miss my very dramatic friend.
John sort of makes a face and offers me a strained smile, like he’s apologizing for Stephen’s not so gallant remarks.
“Stop talking and start pouring.” Court eyes the pitchers of beer that are sitting closest to Denny and John.
“Yes ma’am,” John says, pouring out beer for Court and Meg while Denny pours a glass for himself and Stephen.
“You want one?” Denny asks me.
I shake my head. “No. Beer isn’t really my thing.”
“That’s right, you’re a vodka on the rocks kind of girl,” Stephen says before drinking down a good quarter of his beer.
My face burns at the mention of my drink of choice, and I take a hesitant turn to John.
He smiles at me. “What can I get you, babe?”
“I don’t need anything,” I say, thinking I saw something beyond that smile of his. I’ve done my very best to hide the fact that I’m still drinking, but John is observant, and he must know. Maybe he’s even worried. God, I hope not.
“Nothing? Not some Coke or water?” He finishes pouring a beer for himself and then starts to get up. “Just let me know, and I’ll grab it for you.”
I tug at the hem his flannel shirt, pulling him back down. “I’m fine… really. If I get thirsty, I’ll get something myself, okay?”
“You sure?” The way he’s eyeing me, it’s easy to see he’s concerned about something.
“Yes, I’m sure.” I sneak my arm around his back and link my fingers into one of his belt loops. “Stop worrying so much about me, okay?”
“You worry about the ones you love,” he whispers to me, touching my forehead with his and kissing me softly on my cheek.
“Barf!” Meg calls out. “Guys, enough with the PDA. We’re supposed to be having fun here. You can do all that lovey dovey crap once you get home.”
John rolls his eyes, and I try to laugh it off.
“Your sexual frustration is showing,” Court says to Meg. “I say let them have their moment.”
“Oh, my sexual frustration?” Meg retorts.
“Well, if either of you are sexually frustrated, just look around,” Stephen says after finishing off his first beer. “This is ground zero for guys wanting to get laid. Go out and conquer!”
“Most of these guys are losers.” Meg looks to Stephen as if he has no clue… about anything.
“Douche-bags and fuck boys,” Court practically parrots.
“Then maybe you guys need to be prowling Bellevue instead of Seattle,” Denny says, a somewhat uncharacteristic dig at his close female friends.
“Oh, those guys on the Eastside are just a different kind of douche-bag,” Court says, staring back at Denny for a few tics longer than necessary.
I turn to John and wrinkle my nose with slight confusion. I don’t get why two gorgeous girls would have any trouble finding guys to date them, tho
ugh I’ve got my suspicions Court might still have a thing for Denny. What he feels in return isn’t something I’d even hazard a guess at.
He just shakes his head and shrugs.
Eventually, I head up to the bar with John when it’s time for another pitcher, and I grab a Coke. I should be in desperate need of something much harder, but the atmosphere and being around John and his friends has taken my mind away from my current dilemma about Mr. Thatcher. It’s a coping mechanism that appears to be working.
We all eat pizza, but John and Denny definitely are in some kind of competition to see who can eat the most slices. John gives up after the seventh, telling me he’s afraid he’ll be “too stuffed for other things” and then waggles his brows at me. At the mere mention of us being together again, I get that warm fuzzy feeling that morphs into a sort of an ache between my legs, something that won’t be fulfilled until he and I are together again.
To work off the food, John teaches me to play darts, and once I’ve gotten through a dozen or so practice throws, I group in with the girls to wage war against the boys. I’m not sure if it’s just luck on my part, but I end up getting two bulls-eyes, and our team creams theirs.
“Beginner’s luck,” Denny says, looking slightly peeved about losing.
“No, she’s just a natural.” John puts his arm around my waist and tugs me close to him.
After darts, the group slowly begins to disband. Stephen has met a tall, attractive blonde that I think might just be a fill-in for Angela, and Court and Meg finally appear to be going off in search for any attractive non-douche-bags they can find. It ends up being just John, Denny and I back at our table. The two guys are still nursing beers—not even close to the wild drunken abandon I’d expected them all to display tonight—while I’m on my third Coke, which finally necessitates a trip to the ladies room.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, getting up and kissing John on the forehead.
“Hurry,” he says, eyeing me when I turn back to look at the table.
I feel such a burst of pride and fulfillment as I make my way through the noisy, crowded bar and restaurant. I’d been so worried about Mr. Thatcher and the control he still holds over my life, but here I am with John, without a drink, and I’m fine. I’ve even been having fun, which means that maybe that thread will be dealt with more easily than I’d thought.
Broken by Love (The Basin Lake Series Book 2) Page 15
