The Watcher Girl(35)
“You shouldn’t be here.” It’s been eight years since the last time we spoke, and those are the first words out of his mouth. “Bad idea.”
I lean against his driver door, arms folded. “Really, Sutton? Pretending you didn’t know me? Did you think that’s what it was going to take?”
“What are you doing here? At my office?” His gaze narrows, and the incredulous tone in his words is an insult, as if I’m the crazy one between the two of us.
“We need to talk.”
He keeps a generous distance between us. “What could we possibly need to talk about now, Grace? After all these years?”
After all these years—clearly he’s harboring resentment.
I don’t have time to mince words. “I need to know where Campbell is.”
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” He takes a step toward his car and waves for me to move, a dismissive karate chop with a flattened palm.
But I don’t move. Not an inch.
“Why won’t she return my calls?”
He releases an unbelieving smirk. “Are we going to completely sidestep the fact that you’re talking to my wife at all? Do you have any idea how inappropriate that is? Maybe we do need to talk—about boundaries.”
His hand lifts to the side of his head and makes a circling motion, insinuating that I’m crazy. The old Sutton never would’ve done such a thing. It stings, but not for long.
I’m two seconds from flinging a snarky response his way when I stop myself. This is getting out of hand, escalating faster than it should.
“Is there some place we can go to talk?” I ask, softening my attitude in an attempt to de-escalate this exchange (if that’s possible).
He pauses, eyes gliding over me as if he’s considering this. “About what?”
“Everything.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Why? Because his wife is missing, and he doesn’t want to risk being seen with an ex-girlfriend?
“Move, Grace.” The way he says my name, like he’s grinding it between his molars, sends a tightness to my chest. “And I’m only going to tell you this once—stay the hell away from my family.”
He reaches for the door handle, which unlocks at his touch, and I have no other choice but to move out of the way.
“I don’t know what you were thinking showing up after all this time,” he says before jerking the door open. Climbing in, he adds, “Hope you know you’ve made things difficult for me, for my family. You should’ve stayed gone.”
He slams the door, and I rap on his window. This isn’t over.
To my surprise, he rolls it down. “I mean it, Grace. Just . . . go back to wherever the hell you’ve been. Stay away from me. Stay away from my wife and my daughter. Just . . . leave.”
He’s gone before I can offer a rebuttal, and I realize now that closure doesn’t seem to be anything he’s interested in.
But I’ll be damned if I’m skipping town before I find Campbell.
CHAPTER 17
“Mind if I tag along on your walk this evening?” Bliss corners me by the front door as I tie my sneakers. “It’s cooled off a little. I could use some fresh air if you don’t mind the company?”
As long as I control the route, I don’t see the harm in letting her tag along.
“Not at all.”
She calls out to my father, letting him know she’s joining me, and then she slips into a pair of cloth sandals with yoga mat bottoms and follows me outside.
Dusk has settled and streetlamps glow, swarmed with summer bugs.
“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve tried to get your dad to take walks with me,” she says as we hit the end of the driveway. I veer left, and she follows suit; I’m relieved that she’s letting me lead. “He says he gets enough walking in at the golf course, but we all know walking to and from the cart doesn’t count.”
She laughs and waves her hand at no one.
A neighbor rolls past us in her silent electric car, and the two exchange smiles.
“That’s Regina Allred,” she says. “She’s lived here longer than your dad. At least that’s what he tells me. You remember her at all?”
I shake my head.
“Probably better off. She’s one of those people who’ll bake you a casserole when your aunt dies and then turn you in to the association the next day for not putting your trash can out on time.” She strides at a leisurely pace. “Not that I speak from experience. You just hear stories about people and they stick, you know?”
“Can’t imagine you’d forget something like that.”
“I don’t know if you know this, but I used to live in this neighborhood before.” She checks me from her periphery. “Years and years ago. Back when your parents were still married. I lived over on Lakemont. But it was before they had the fancy new houses. I had an old Victorian. The poor thing was falling apart at the seams. My boyfriend—at the time—he had big plans to restore it to its former glory. Never mind the fact that he couldn’t tell a hacksaw from a jigsaw. You give the man a hammer, and suddenly everything becomes a nail. I think some people are like that . . . they just like to destroy things.”