New Point (25 page)

“I’m sorry. I should have come to check on you, but I didn’t. I was selfish, and I’m sorry,” I say weakly.

“You’re sorry?” he scoffs, and then pushes me backward. I stumble back a few steps until the back of my legs hit a picnic bench and I fall into a seat.

“For what it’s worth, I want you to get better, Clinton,” I tell him earnestly. The words are true, but I am desperate to get him to calm down again.

“I don’t believe you. You are nothing but a spoiled princess. Have you ever wanted for anything in your life?”

“Yes!” I cry emphatically, jumping to my feet. I stand toe to toe with him, gazing at him imploringly. “My whole life I’ve been a vagabond with no real place to call home. Finally,
finally,
I feel like I fit in here. You can have that too, but you have to get better.”

“There’s no hope left for me. My life is completely
over
.” In his voice I
hear
it— Clinton stopped fighting for himself. The recognition sends an icy chill running down from the top of my neck to the tips of my toes.

“How did you get here?” Distracting Clinton with questions worked last time. It’s a last ditch effort.

“There’s a train,” he answers stoically.

“But… The hospital let you out just like that?” I ask in astonishment.

“I left.” His words are short and clipped.

“And the gun?” I don’t think I want to know this answer, but I ask anyway.

“It was always my gun, they had no right to take it from me.”

“When did you cut your hair?” I fire the questions, praying one will break him down.

“Collateral damage when I escaped from the hell hole. Someone might know it’s me with the hair. No one looked at me twice on the train or when I got here and went into the general store to ask where the library was.”

“Please don’t hurt the children, Clinton. Whatever you do, don’t hurt them. They’re innocent.” I’ve never heard my voice plead so desperately.

“For someone so educated, you’re pretty stupid. I’m not here for them.” There’s nothing left in his tone; it’s dead.

My hand flies to my face, covering my mouth as I stagger a step backward. In the deep recesses of my mind I knew that Clinton only wanted me, but now it’s finally sinking in.

Please,
I mouth the word as thoughts of Miles bombard me.

“Miles,” I whimper to myself. Was the last time I’ll ever see him the end of our relationship? Will I ever get the chance to apologize for being stubborn? The dumbest thing I’ve ever done was unyielding to the inevitable gravity of our relationship.

There’s too much left for me to do in this world to go now. I’m not ready to leave. I want to eat my brother’s chocolate chip pancakes again and hear him teasingly call me Cupcake. There are career goals to achieve, adventures to pursue, children to have…

“Who is Miles?” Clinton snaps.

“He was mine for a minute, and I lost him.” I confess, not caring how I look to this madman. If my life’s almost over, what does it matter what I say?

For some reason, this pisses him off more than anything else that I’ve said. He whips the gun from his waistband, drawing it up to point at me.

“Neither of us deserves happiness.”

“Clinton, that’s not true.” My voice wobbles, and my lips tremble.

“It is true!” he screams. “You said you wanted to kill yourself; I don’t care if it was a lie. I’ll do it for you. Now.”

“Please,” the plea comes about before a sob rips through me. My knees give out and I collapse onto them, not noticing the concrete scraping against my skin.

“We started this together, and we’re going to end this together.”

Sobs wrack my body, my quivering hands cover my face, shoulders hunch over.

Then I hear them.

Sirens.

My hands fall to my sides. Through my cloudy, tear-filled eyes I stare at Clinton.

“How did you manage to call the cops?” he accuses.

“I-I-I,” I stammer. How can I protect myself? What do I do? There’s no answer, nothing, no help to be found. There’s no mistaking him. He wants to end this now. Forever.

I don’t want to go.

Finally, I try one more time. “You don’t have to do this,” I try again but my voice has lost its fight. His eyes are narrow on me, contemplating his move. Maybe our last breaths.

I clench my eyes shut and cover my ears with my hands.

A bullet explodes from the gun.

“
M
iss? Miss?
Miss!”
Hands as strong as construction grips close around my upper arms, jerking me out of my trance. “Are you hurt?” the police officer asks. He’s broad, with wide shoulders, and fills my entire field of view.

I can’t speak, terror stealing my voice, so I shake my head.

“We need to ask you some questions.”

“Are the kids okay?” I find my voice.

“They’re fine, parents are being called now to come get them. There’s an officer with them downstairs.”

“Do they know…”

“No. Duke Wilson called from your cell phone saying he was worried a man had taken you but that was it. Can you stand up?” His voice is tight but not unkind.

My eyes fall to the cracked concrete beneath my knees. I know if he moves a few steps over I’ll have a front row view of the carnage, and I can’t stomach the thought. “Please don’t make me. I can’t see him.”

Him refers to Clinton– who took his own life a few feet from me. There’s a pounding in my temples that wasn’t there this morning. I press the heel of my palm into my forehead to dull the pain. The pressure doesn’t help. Go figure.

“Close your eyes, I’ll take you inside.”

With a much lighter touch, he cups my elbow in one calloused hand and helps me to my feet. With eyes still shut, I allow him to lead me.

“I need to see the kids.” My voice is much stronger than I feel. “They need to know I’m all right.” Though my eyes are open, the cop doesn’t release his hold on my elbow, steering me toward the foyer. It’s then I realize my entire body is shivering with tremors.

“Hold it together for two minutes,” he encourages softly.

“Miss Zoe!” Duke hurls himself against me, his thin arms clinging to my waist. “I was so worried.”

A crackly but decent smile spreads across my cheeks as I take in my concerned charges. I smooth a hand over Duke’s messy hair. Touching him eases the vise wrapped around my stomach a bit, knowing he’s all right.

Why won’t I stop shaking?

“I’m okay,” I tell them through a thick throat. “I’m okay.” The second time it’s more for me than them.

I survived.

Again.

The police officer’s hand tightens on my skin when the first concerned parent bursts through the front doors. I’m thankful for his steadiness because I’m worried my legs will give out.

“We need to talk to Miss Zoe now,” he says calmly to the kids who have lost their raucous energy from when they were dropped off less than an hour earlier. The cop steers me away toward the circulation desk where he helps me into a seat and begins a line of questioning. None are accusatory, but are straightforward enough for me to answer automatically. My mind wanders while I robotically recap Clinton’s first assault, and then his confession of escaping from the hospital.

New Point’s such a small town, did the shot ring out for all the townspeople to hear? Will Meryl and Annie Connor show up at my house demanding answers? Will Sharon be forced to let me go?

When can I get to Miles? I
need
Miles.

I have no concept of time while he questions me. Finally, we’re finished and the cop gently tells me I am free to go.

Free.
The word choice doesn’t escape me. Am I finally free of Clinton Smith?

Once the children are ushered out of the library it becomes a locked down crime scene. The authorities allow no one else to enter, but I’d bet my paycheck a crowd of gapers linger outside.

Activity buzzes around the library – detectives, forensics, uniformed and plainclothes cops mill around. Once they’ve gotten my statement, none of them pay me another moment of attention. Without a second glance, I hustle past the stacks directly through the employees only door and then burst out the back of the library. I don’t look around to see if anyone’s there, I just take off. My wedges get in way of my haste, so I bend down and quickly slip them off.

Then I run.

If anyone calls out to me, watches me flying past, I don’t notice. I just go. First my feet hit hot asphalt, but soon enough I’m on the beach. The sand doesn’t hinder my progress. In this moment, the only place I want to be is in the safety of my house. I’ll call Miles, I’ll call Blake, I’ll…

I run like an angry Rottweiler is nipping at my heels, like the devil’s chasing me down, like I won’t live to see another day unless I pump my legs as hard as they can go. I move through the sand like it’s nothing more than air. At this pace, I’m home in less than ten minutes. I take the back steps two at a time to reach my back door. My shoes land on the wood with a thump when I cast them aside.

“No,” I moan out loud.

Keys, keys, you idiot.
In my haste to get far away from the crime scene, I didn’t think about the essentials.

I left everything at the library – phone, purse, keys, wallet. It’s all there and now I’ll have go back with my tail between my legs to pick it up. But I had to get out of there, had to distance myself from the ugliness.

With a jolt I remember my first encounter with Miles. Did I put the spare keys back on the doorframe after he retrieved them for me? My mind’s a mess, a jumble of thoughts, and I can’t recall. Turning around, I haul the same Adirondack chair toward the door.

I’m carefully hoisting myself onto the arm when I hear him.

“Zoe!”

I wobble on the arm of the chair, my hand shooting out to the glass door to balance.

His feet thud on the deck stairs and then he’s beside me, taking my hand in his large, warm one and helping me stand before him. In the other hand he’s holding my purse.

We stare at each other silently. I swear he’s unaffected by the sight of me until I realize the pinched expression he wears is one of complete fear. His eyes shut, and he shudders a breath. “You’re all right.” His voice is weak, nearly a whisper.

The sight of him is almost too much to bear. It sends me soaring to elation.
He’s here.
At the same time I’m nearly weeping with relief.

He’s here.

This time when I crumble, Miles catches me against his chest. He’s steadfast against my unsteadiness. That alone soothes the ache building inside of me.

I don’t care that we’re not together, that he left me, and that I hurt him. None of it matters. In this moment, Miles is the only thing keeping me from falling into a million little pieces.

He’s here.
I can’t stop thinking, can’t stop being thankful to be in his arms again.

This time I say it out loud. “You’re here.”

“No,” he says through a rough voice, “
you’re
here.”

At this, I can’t help but let out a muffled sob. Fraught with tumbling emotions, I cry. In relief, in acceptance, in gratitude.

Yes, I’m here.

The tears tracking down my cheeks soak the soft cotton of his shirt. My hands curl into fists against his chest and my knees buckle. He stoops slightly, swinging me into his arms. I press my face to the crook of his neck, inhaling his familiar sandalwood scent.

Without me realizing it, Miles has us in my living room. He cradles me gently to him as he lowers us to the sofa.

“Oh, God,” I whimper. “It’s over, it’s over, it’s over.”

He rocks me back and forth, murmuring sweet words I barely register.

Finally my tears subside, and I’m left a shuddering mess in his arms. My breathing alternates between hiccups and painful inhalations. My chest hurts.

I mean to apologize to Miles, to explain everything, but I can’t think of where to start.

It’s Miles who breaks the silence. “You’re the toughest person I’ve ever met, and I called you weak. Zoe.” He loosens his hold on me so we can make eye contact, and the deep brown depths are full of remorse. “I am in awe of your strength.”

I shake my head sadly, eyes flickering shut. “Miles, I was weak when it came to you. Too afraid to open myself up completely. I don’t want it to be that way between us anymore, I want to give you all of me.”

His hands cup my cheeks, and he tugs me closer, pressing our lips together. I taste his sorrow, his fear, in the careful way he strokes my tongue with his. Tears trickle down my cheeks again, mingling with our kiss. I tug back, pressing my forehead to his.

“I thought I’d never see you again. I thought I’d lost my chance with you for good.” My voice breaks between the words.

“My heart must have stopped when I heard the gunshot punch through the air,” Miles says urgently. “I was going to find you after work, beg for your forgiveness and admit to being the biggest ass in the history of asses. When I heard that god awful noise I knew exactly what happened. I didn’t need anyone to tell me, and it sent me into a panic I’ve never known before. I thought…I can’t stomach to repeat what I thought out loud. But know this, I won’t mess up again, Zoe. I won’t let you go again.”