Never Doubt Me: Judge Me Not #2(23)

As if all that wasn’t horrible enough, I recently found out—through my mother—that Doug played a much bigger role in the awful tragedy. He was the one who left the back patio door unlatched. If he hadn’t forgotten to re-latch the door when he went out to dispose of a beer can, Sarah never would have snuck outside. She wouldn’t have ended up in the water.

There’s no doubt in my mind that my baby sister would be alive today if it hadn’t been for Doug Wilson and his acts of stupidity.

“Kay?” Chase cups my cheek when I sway a little. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I guess.” I look up at the man I love, the man who keeps me together, the man who steadies me at times like these. “To answer your question,” I continue, “my mom said Doug’s coming into town to help his mom. I guess he has vacation time or whatever.”

Doug’s mother was in a serious car accident recently. Doug was in Harmony Creek directly following the accident, but he had to return to where he lives now—Columbus, Ohio, same as my parents—because of work.

I was glad he left town so quickly, as it meant no chance of running into him. But if Doug remains in town longer than a day or two, the possibility of my running into him increases exponentially, especially if he’s striving to make that happen. Personally, I don’t care to come face-to-face with Doug Wilson ever again, not for the rest of my life. It might be unavoidable, though, considering the other thing my mother told me.

“There’s more,” I say to Chase.

“What?” He eyes me warily.

I breathe in deeply, then exhale slowly. “My mother said I should be on the lookout.”

“What the f*ck does that mean?” Chase narrows his blues, and I’m reminded why I once christened the color of his eyes gunmetal blue.

In times like these, when he’s upset or angry, the gray flecks in his eyes become more apparent, making his gaze cold and hard. But his reaction is not directed at me. Chase’s ire is solely focused on my ex-boyfriend.

I continue, though I know, in doing so, Chase’s irritation will increase tenfold.

“I guess Doug has it in his head that he needs to seek me out, so he can, like, apologize in person.” I roll my eyes. “He’s about four years too late, right? Besides, I have no desire to hear his lame apology anyway.”

I finish speaking and sigh, relieved to have everything off my chest. Chase remains quiet, his lips pressed together. The look on his face makes me think he may have plans for Doug Wilson. I should discourage my boyfriend from violence. But, like with the junkie situation, a part of me yearns for Chase to kick the shit out of my ex. Sure, I want to be a good person, and for the most part, I am, but I can’t deny there’s a level of darkness in me, just like there is in Chase. Our good and bad bind us. Chase almost killed a man in my defense, the junkie who attacked me not so long ago. But instead of being appalled by the level of violence Chase meted out on the guy—and it was substantial—I was pleased, not to mention turned on. So now, instead of making Chase promise to leave Doug alone, I request nothing. I keep my mouth shut and think, Let the chips fall where they may.

Chase’s eyes meet mine. I don’t know what he’s looking for, but he must find it. He nods and then heads back over to the mural.

When he starts closing up paint cans, I ask, “What are you doing? I thought you wanted to work through lunch.”

He shakes his head and continues to clean up. “No, this can wait.” He stands and turns to me, holds out his hand. “Let’s get out of here for a while.”

I place my hand in his. “You sure?” I ask.

He nods and that’s that. We go to lunch down at the diner. We eat and talk. My worries leave me and we have fun, just like we always do.

My make-everything-better guy brings out my best.

Consequently, when I return to the church grounds, I’m in a far lighter mood than before we left. Chase deposits a light kiss on my cheek, and we go our separate ways.

Unfortunately, when I reach the church office, the bright mood I’m hanging on to by a thread snaps. Or more succinctly put, it’s snipped away when I see who’s waiting for me in the chair next to my desk.

“Missy Metzger,” I mutter to myself. “Oh, yay.”

Missy can’t hear me through the glass doors, but she glances up nonetheless and gives me a little wave.

I wave back, taking in her attire. Her clothes snag my attention, since they’re so vastly different from what she’s usually wearing.

“What a change,” I whisper.

Missy is dressed in conservative clothing, a long navy skirt, a light-blue blouse buttoned up snugly over her substantial cleavage, and plain flats. Her dishwater blond hair is pinned up tightly and her makeup is minimal.

I sense something has changed in Missy’s life. I sense that’s why she’s here—to give me an update.

“Might as well get this over with,” I mumble, before I push open the double doors and step into the church office.

My approach to my desk is hesitant. This is the closest I’ve been to Missy since I found out she shared an intimate encounter with my boyfriend one night back in early June. She and Chase hooked up (not all the way, but enough) behind the Anchor Inn.

I’ve successfully avoided Missy since the night I overheard her and Chase arguing about their encounter at the church carnival. Their intimacy happened before I met Chase—like a day before—but it still feels awkward every time I see Missy. Anyway, the week after the church carnival I got lucky and only saw Missy at Mass. I’ve never been so happy that Missy sits in the front of the church as I was that Sunday. I used to sit there, too—right between skinny Missy and her far-from-skinny mom—but, nowadays, I sit with Chase where he feels most comfortable, in the back pews.