Never Let You Go(70)

I’m quiet, looking up at his face in the shadows. “I don’t know,” I finally say.

“Yes, you do,” he says. “I can tell when a woman is crazy about me and when she isn’t.”

“I like you a lot, but—”

“It’s okay, Lindsey. I’ve been around the block a few times. You don’t have to give me the speech.” He doesn’t sound angry, more resigned.

“Do you really want this either?” I say. “Are you ready to be a stepfather to a teen girl? She’ll always be part of our lives. She’ll come home on weekends, vacations.”

“I like Sophie.”

“I know.”

“But I was also hoping we could start our own family in time.”

“I’m almost forty years old.”

“Lots of women have babies in their forties.”

“I have a daughter who’s turning eighteen in weeks. I just don’t think I can start back at the beginning again.” Why didn’t I tell him that when I first started dating? Probably because I knew it would be the end of things. “We should have had this conversation before. I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t want to ask because then I’d have to hear it out loud. I guess maybe I was hoping in time…” So I wasn’t the only one who’d been avoiding reality.

We lapse into silence. I feel like I should say something, but any words of comfort or attempts to explain further would just be patronizing.

“I’ll call Jenny in the morning,” I say. “We can stay with her.”

“What about your brother?”

“It’s the first place Andrew might look. He doesn’t know where Jenny lives.”

“Do you want me to sleep on the couch?”

“Of course not. It’s your bed.” I pause. “Should I sleep on the couch?”

“Stay here,” he says. “We might as well be comfortable.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“Me too.” He rolls closer. “We can still cuddle, right? Gets cold in here.…”

I laugh. “Sure.”



When I wake, Greg is already showered and sitting in the kitchen. He’s friendly over coffee, though maybe a little overly polite as he offers me cream and sugar twice and asks if I want anything to eat. I glance at my phone, check my e-mails. When I look up, he’s watching me.

“I’m waiting to hear back from Jenny,” I say.

“If you can’t get hold of her. I’m sure we can work something out for a few days.”

“Thanks. I really appreciate that.”

“Hey, just because it’s not Lindsey and Greg forever doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.” But his smile isn’t meeting his eyes and he keeps taking sips of his coffee, like his mouth is dry, or he’s trying to keep his hands busy. I’m definitely leaving his house, even if Sophie and I have to get a hotel. His cell rings and his face tenses when he sees the number. “I better take this.”

“Problem?”

He shakes his head. “Just work stuff.” But he answers his phone abruptly, then walks downstairs as though he doesn’t want me to hear the conversation.

Sophie’s still in her room and I decide to wake her while Greg is busy so I can tell her the change of plans in private. I knock on her door. “Sophie, honey, can I speak with you?”

“Yeah.”

She’s still in bed, her sketchpad braced against her legs as she works on a drawing.

“Everything okay? Why aren’t you getting ready for school?”

“I wanted to finish this.”

I look at her drawing, the dark strokes of leaves and gossamer butterfly wings taking flight into an upward spiral, reaching for something out of sight. I remember what she’d said weeks ago, about the butterfly effect, and the coffee burns in my stomach.

“So there’s been a change of plans,” I say. “We’re going to stay with Jenny for a few days. We’ll pick up Angus and take the ferry down to Vancouver after your last class.”

She stops drawing, looks at me. “Why are we leaving Greg’s already?”

“We talked last night and realized things aren’t going to work out between us.”

“You broke up? But why?”

“We’re just very different people. We should’ve figured that out sooner, but I guess we were both hoping … I’m sorry to drag you through this, honey.”

Now she looks annoyed. “Yeah. You’re making me leave again.”

I’m not sure if she means when she was a kid or when we left our house yesterday, but either way, she’s right. For years I never even brought a date home until Greg. After living all over the place when we were hiding from Andrew, I hadn’t wanted to put her through more upheaval. Now I can’t seem to stop shaking up her world. Each day is a new earthquake.

“I know,” I say. “I’m sorry. We’ll talk about it later, okay? I’ll help you pack.”

“I have school this week. I can’t go to Jenny’s.”

“It’s just until the police can talk to your father and hopefully arrest him. I’m sure your teachers will understand and we might be able to get your lessons e-mailed.”