“I have. I have also threatened to call the police, and do you know what he did? He laughed.” Jane’s voice quivers in outrage.
“I can’t deal with this right now.” Holly doesn’t have the strength to tell Jane about her meeting with Eden, about Jack’s fate.
Jane pokes her. “Well, I certainly am not going to be responsible for him. I have dinner plans.”
“Leave him there then.” Holly pulls a pillow over her face and hopes Jane will get the hint.
“Absolutely not. What would the neighbors think?”
Holly wants to sleep, wants to cocoon herself in dreams for a thousand years, wants to wake and sleep, then wake again so she can have those precious few seconds of not remembering. But she knows how relentless Jane can be.
“Fine.” She rolls to the edge of the bed, stands up. She doesn’t bother to change, to wash her face or comb her hair. Jane follows her out of the room.
“You’re going out like that?” her mother asks. “What is your plan? To frighten him away?”
Holly ignores the gibe. “Where’s Jack?” she asks. She wants him as far away from this potential dumpster fire as he can get.
“Nan took the boys out for dinner,” Jane says. “They left about an hour ago.”
Holly stumbles down the stairs, unlocks and opens the front door. Christopher Cooke is sitting on the top step, dressed in his bike kit, leaning against the railing.
“Evening,” he says. He looks her up and down. “Or is that ‘Good morning’ for you?”
“Go away,” she says blearily. Her message delivered, she starts to shut the door. But before she can, he sticks his hand in it. She stops, then realizes he’s actually put his prosthetic out. She draws back, ready to slam the door shut.
“I wouldn’t,” he says. “It won’t hurt me, but it will leave a nasty dent in the wood.”
“Move.”
“It looks like you’ve had a rough evening already,” he continues, as if she hasn’t spoken. He glances at his watch. “And it’s only seven.”
“You need to leave.”
A Mercedes barrels out of the driveway. They both turn to watch it go. Jane has apparently decided to go out the back way. She comes within mere centimeters of knocking down Christopher’s bike, and the thought of that, as well as the way Christopher swears when he thinks that’s what’s going to happen, is the only thing in this miserable evening that has the power to make Holly smile. At the last second, Jane swerves and the bike remains standing.
Christopher shakes his head, returns his attention to Holly.
“I have some news,” he says. “And you’re not going to like it.”
“I don’t care.”
He studies her. She has no idea what he sees, but he looks so long, so deeply at her that it is as if he’s looking inside her. No, not exactly inside, but through, as if there’s something on the other side of her he’s seeking, as if she’s transparent.
“What?” she asks, more to stop him from staring than anything else.
“I need to talk with you.”
“You’re not coming in,” she informs him. “You’ve done enough damage.”
“All right.” He thinks for a moment. “Then come out with me.”
She gestures at the doorway, the steps on which she’s now standing.
“No, I mean really come out. With me. I promise it won’t take much time.”
Holly has the sense that if she refuses, he’s not going to go away anytime soon. She could try to wait him out. Or she could call the police, but that threat—at least from what Jane said—doesn’t seem to bother him. The path of least resistance is to do what he wants.
“Fine,” she says. She steps all the way outside, closes the door behind her. “Satisfied?”
“Not yet.” He walks down the steps to his bike, takes something off the back. Brings it up to her. It’s a helmet. “Put this on.”
“What? You’re crazy.” There’s no way she’s getting on the back of that bike. Not with him.
“Come on. You know you want to.” He smiles at her. It’s an entirely charming smile, the first real one she’s seen from him. She bets that smile gets him a lot. “And you know I’m not going away unless you do.”
“God, has anyone ever told you that you’re impossible?”
His smile gets wider. “I’m Irish. It has been mentioned.”