Collared(69)

Mom drops me off, but her car stays parked at the library, engine running, for five minutes after I go inside. I’ve been watching. I asked her to bring me to the library because it seems unthreatening and, other than a potential paper cut, safe. What I really want to do is go on a walk. For hours. For miles. I want to walk until my legs can’t go any farther.

I don’t just want to walk though. I want to walk alone. To think. To process. To clear my head and try to figure out some stuff. I knew there was no way she would agree to just drop me off at some corner and let me weave around the city though, so an afternoon at the library it is.

I’m wearing a ball cap, and I’ve braided my hair back so hopefully no one will recognize me. If they do and the reporters find out . . . I’m stuck. I can only escape as fast as my legs will take me.

The risk is worth the reward though.

When I realize Mom isn’t going to pull away the moment after I enter the library, I kill some time wandering around the lobby. Once Mom’s car finally leaves the parking lot, I decide to wait another minute just in case.

I take a last spin around the lobby, and an elderly man walks in, reading a paper. It catches my attention because of the big headline and photos taking up the whole front page. As the man rounds into the library, he drops the paper in the recycle bin and keeps going. I rush over and snatch it out of the bin. I shake the front page open, and I feel something pull a plug in my stomach as everything inside seems to drain away.

Father Torrin’s Torrid Love Affair

There’s one photo of us, and it’s from yesterday. How someone found us or recognized us or whatever ill fate had a hand in it, I don’t know, but somehow they managed to get just the right shot of us in the water where it looks like our lips are almost touching. We’re in the ocean up to our thighs; my legs are wound around him; his arms are tied below my backside.

My eyes are open. His are closed.

He thought I was going to kiss him. He really believed I was. But that’s not what makes me have to lean into the wall to hold myself up—it’s that he was ready to kiss me back. He would have if I’d moved just a little closer.

What am I supposed to make out of that? A moment of weakness? He’d never seemed so sure of himself as he did yesterday.

I slide the cell phone Mom picked up for me a few days ago from my pocket, find the last number in my memory, and hit Call.

He answers in the middle of the second ring. “Jade?”

I should have taken a minute to catch my breath before calling him because I can’t reply for a minute.

“What’s wrong?”

I lean my head into the wall and suck in a deep breath. “Where are you?”

“At St. Al’s Hospital.”

I don’t know where it is, but I know how to find it on my phone. “Wait there.”

“I’m about to perform a last rites in twenty minutes.”

I shove off the wall, clutching the paper in my other hand as I hurry for the door. “I’ll wait. Just stay there, okay?”

He’s quiet for a second. “Okay.”

I hit End and shove through the doors, trying to pull up the location of St. Al’s Hospital on my phone. I’m catching up on technology—slowly. It shows St. Al’s is a mile away. Driving distance is ten minutes thanks to traffic. Walking distance is fifteen.

I take the walking option since I set out to walk anyway and there isn’t a taxi or bus stop in sight. Following the directions, I clip off turn after turn, cruising along at almost but not quite a jog. My body still gets tired from exertion, but it’s adapting to everyday life again. It’s getting stronger.

When an ambulance flies by me, I know I’m getting close, and I follow its sirens to the top of the hill. The climb feels like it’s going to make my heart explode even though I’m barely walking. By the time I make it to the top and am in front of the hospital, I’ve almost been reduced to a crawl.

Taking a second to let my lungs relax, I follow the signs to the main entrance and brake to a stop when I realize I have no idea where in this megaplex of a hospital Torrin is.

“Can I help you, miss?” a woman at the reception desk asks when I stay frozen just inside the doors.

“Torrin Costigan?” I say, guessing it’s a long shot she’d know where one person is in this place.

“Patient?” she replies, typing something into her computer. Her eyes squint at the screen, and she shakes her head.

“No, he’s a visitor . . .” Then I realize I’m probably one of the few people who still calls him Torrin. “Father Costigan?” I tuck the paper tighter into my armpit.

“Oh, sure.” She pushes back from her computer and slides off her reader glasses. “He’s up on the fifth floor with Mrs. Delaney.”

When she waves toward the elevators, I start moving. “Thank you.”

I’m antsy waiting for one of them to open, and when one finally does, I jump inside before anyone has a chance to climb off. I punch the five button a dozen times, but it doesn’t make the doors close any faster.

What am I in such a hurry to find out? Why do I need to see him so badly?

Is it to let him know about the article . . . the picture? Or is to confront him about the kiss that could have been?

I’m not sure, and I guess I won’t be until I’m standing in front of him. It makes me want to get there even sooner. I run—run—off of the elevator before the doors finish opening. A nurse at a pill cart twists around when she hears my sneakers squeak across the tile.