At the Quiet Edge(20)

The cordless phone in her bedroom woke her at ten. Since it was the business line, she ignored it and let it go to the messaging system. When it rang again five minutes later, she silenced the ringer, but past the closed door of her bedroom and the front door of the apartment, she heard the line ring again. And again.

Every speck of sleepiness vanished as worry shone a bright, merciless light into her brain. She thought of the SUV across the street, the man at the gate, the woman in the trailer, the police detective and whatever had him so worked up.

Two minutes later, she finally snatched up the phone. “Who is this?” she growled. When there wasn’t an immediate answer, she let her anger out. “What the heck do you think you’re doing, calling over and over? If you’re outside my property, I’ll call the cops right now.”

“Lily,” a voice murmured, all hush and gravel in her ear.

Frowning, she turned on her bedside light and sat up. “Who is this?”

“It’s just me. It’s fine.” His voice cleared up on the last words, as if he hadn’t used it for days. And she knew exactly who it was.

“Jones?” she croaked, her own throat going dry as a bone.

“Yeah. Hi.”

Her hands tingled. Her breath came too fast. The light she’d turned on seemed to multiply and spin around the room. Yes, he’d called her a month ago, asking about Everett, but he hadn’t sounded like this. Like he was hiding somewhere in the dark. And before this, he’d only called twice in two years.

“What . . . what are you doing? Why are you calling again? You can’t . . .”

“Oh, you know. Just checking in.”

She shook her head. “You can’t call me. What if they’re listening? They’re going to think I’m . . . This isn’t safe. A cop was just here. Right here.”

“It’s okay. It’s an internet call. They can’t trace it.”

“Trace it?” she snapped. “I’m not worried about you, you arrogant asshole. If you get me into trouble again . . . No. I can’t do this. I haven’t even gotten out of the bottomless well of shit you threw me into six years ago, and I can’t do this.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m just . . .”

“Just stay away.”

“What if I can’t?”

“What?” She was endless anger now, the fear all burned away. “What does that even mean?”

“Nothing.”

Lily groaned, unwilling to dance in circles with him. “What the hell do you want, Jones?”

“You know what I want.”

Her anger dipped into uncertainty. She had no idea what he was talking about. “I don’t know. I have nothing, so I couldn’t give you anything even if I wanted to. And I don’t want to.”

He paused for a very long moment. So long that she wondered if he’d disconnected. “Jones?” she whispered.

“There’s Everett,” he answered softly.

Her lungs froze at that, her throat shut. It was the tremble in her jaw that broke her free, because she’d been scared for so many years, and she desperately wanted to be brave instead. “How dare you? How dare you threaten me like that?”

“It’s not a threat. I just want to speak to him. That’s all. I hoped he might answer the phone since he’s older now. Twelve.”

“I know—” She closed her mouth and took a moment to lower her voice on the off chance Everett didn’t have his earbuds in. “I know how old my son is, Jones. I don’t need you to tell me.”

“I know how old he is too, Lily. He’s still my son. When I called last time, you said I could talk to him when he’s older. I’ve been thinking about it, and I think he’s old enough to keep a secret.”

“You want your son to be in on the conspiracy? You want him to help you hide? Live with the lies? That’s disgusting. You left us. You chose that. You burned down our whole world and didn’t even look back to see if we were okay.”

“I knew you’d be okay. I never involved you in anything. Never had you sign any forms or open any accounts for me—”

“That’s your standard? I’m not in prison? Everett’s not in foster care? So we’re fine?”

“Well, you’re better off than I am.”

She actually felt an urge to laugh at that absurdity. “Jesus Christ, we didn’t do anything wrong, Jones. You’re the criminal. You’re the lying, thieving piece-of-shit fugitive who’s never been honest one day in his life. You deserve to live how you’re living. We don’t. We didn’t deserve any of this.”

He had the nerve to sigh as if she made him tired. “Can we please not do this again? I just want to talk to my boy.”

Madness. That’s what this was. Pure madness that her fugitive ex-husband thought he should be able to drop into their lives at any moment without being hassled about it.

“A boy needs his father,” he said, and she swallowed hard to keep from belting out a wordless scream of rage.

“Jones,” she growled. “You sent Everett a card on his seventh birthday, and I gave it to him. I did. And then two years passed before you wrote again. He waited. He waited for you to write again, or to come back for him, and you didn’t. A boy doesn’t need a father he can’t count on. I won’t let you slide in and out of his life like the slimy little secret you are. You already let him down in the biggest way possible. He loved you so much and you abandoned him.”