Repeat(25)

“It’s still your place too, that’s the fact of the matter.” He swallows, turns away. “We’ll just be roommates for a while. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

“Great. Do I get to spend time with your new girlfriend too?”

He just gives me a dry look. “Want to turn the sarcasm down a little? I’m trying to do the right thing here.”

“Making decisions behind my back is not the answer.”

He lifts one shoulder. “Look, I know it’s not going to be easy. But it just feels like the best choice to me. I don’t want anything happening to you, okay?”

“Ed, nothing’s going to happen to me. Probably. Frances shouldn’t have agreed to this.” I pull my cell out of my back pocket and bring up her number. It rings approximately twice before the call is cut off. I growl in frustration. “She’s not answering. Why am I not surprised?”

A moment later, a text arrives.



Frances: Consider yourself evicted.

Clem: What the hell is going on?

Frances: I hate to say it but the man made sense. You’re on your own too much. It’s not safe. Not if there is some cop-hater out there who knows my address. This is for your own good.

Frances: Besides, you’re already moved in. You’re welcome.



“I’m already moved in?” I ask, bewildered.

“She dropped off your stuff earlier,” he says. “I had a break, stopped by home to let her in. Your things are all waiting. We’ve just got to get the second bedroom sorted.”

“Fuck.” I slump back in the chair, cell lying forgotten in my lap. “You two are treating me like a child.”

He sighs. “We care about you. And think about it. If there is something going on, it dates at least back to the first attack when you lost your memory. And maybe it dates further back, when we were together and . . .”

“And when my safety would have been your business.”

“My responsibility, yes.”

“So this is some misguided macho thing.”

His lips press together hard. When he speaks, it’s clear he’s making an effort to be calm and reasonable. “You would feel the same way if something happened to me when we were together. Exactly the same. We both looked out for each other; it’s what couples do. So I owe you some help in making this right.”

“Ed, this is not a good idea.”

“Look,” he says, shifting tactics, “you’re working in town now and don’t need to be commuting when you should be taking it easy, recuperating and everything. Plus, there’s no need to be spending that money on rides. This will be better. You’ll also be close to where you have your self-defense classes too, right? There’re a lot of reasons why this is a good idea.”

I am not convinced. “Not for you, there isn’t.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he says. “And on the bright side, you’ll get to spend more time with Gordon.”

“He’s a good dog.”

“It won’t be so bad.” Ed frowns. “It’s only until things calm down and we know you’re safe.”

My head falls against the back of the couch and I stare at the ceiling. “But I really don’t like the idea of putting you out like this.”

“Eh. No big deal.”

“Yes, it is.”

He doesn’t bother to respond.

While some of his arguments may have substance, it still isn’t right, this dumping of me upon his fine self in a domestic setting. Same goes for the bizarre collusion between him and my sister. Guess the attack on my car scared her worse than she let on. It seems so random, though, bashing in a windshield and dinging up some doors. So petty and stupid. Surely it doesn’t mean anything?

“Maybe just for a few days while things calm down,” I say, thinking it all through. “But I don’t need you accompanying me everywhere and playing bodyguard. That’s unnecessary.”

“Okay,” he says, all easygoing like.

“And you’ll tell me if it gets to be too much. If I’m doing something wrong or that you don’t like.”

A nod.

“Or if I’m just generally irritating you and you need your space or whatever.”

Another nod.

“I promise not to yell at you again.”

“That would be nice.”

“All right.” I take a breath. “Don’t you have some ground rules for me?”

“Why don’t we just work it out as we go along?”

And I’m back to staring at him again. Maybe I’m just irritated by how much, deep down in the mire of my subconscious and soul, I actually want to be close to this man. To be in his house and part of his everyday life. When it all goes wrong and is taken away from me—an inevitability, given our history and how easily I tend to piss him off . . . well, it’s going to suck.

“She’s finished for the day,” calls out Iris, looking much too pleased by this turn of events. “You can take her home.”

Home. I’m not sure where the hell that is anymore, if I ever even had a clue to begin with.



*



Ed moves his easel and art supplies into a corner of the now somewhat crowded den. A surprisingly comfortable futon mattress thingy lies unrolled on the floor of the spare bedroom. My suitcase sits nearby, along with the stack of books Iris sent me home with. I didn’t let Ed carry them, either. Scattering my few things around is about as much commitment as I dare make to this new living situation.