I wish I had left my phone behind before I went to McDonald’s. If I had, we would be on our way somewhere far away right now. Graham would probably still be working in his office, oblivious to the fact that I was even gone.
After I shut the back door, Graham digs out his keys to lock it. I’m now officially trapped in the house again. Just like I was when I woke up this morning. I have accomplished nothing, except to get Harry thrown in jail.
“I don’t know if I’m in the mood to go out to dinner anymore,” he says. “What do you feel like eating?”
My stomach turns at the thought of eating any food prepared by this man. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll make myself a sandwich or something.”
“I don’t mind making it for you.”
“I said don’t worry about it.”
He hesitates by the refrigerator door. “There are some pills you’re supposed to take at night. To prevent seizures. I should…”
“Forget it.”
“A doctor prescribed these for you. I can show you the bottle…”
“I said forget it, Graham. I’m not taking anything you want to give me.”
He turns his blue eyes on me. “You still believe that asshole was trying to help you, don’t you?”
I don’t know what to say. The answer is yes, and that isn’t the answer he wants to hear.
“You caught him with another woman.” A muscle twitches under his eye. “Your best friend. He betrayed you in the worst possible way, and I was there for you when you were heartbroken. He blew it, and he despised you for refusing to take him back. And then you got in this accident, and here I am, doing everything I can to take care of you. But Harry…” He sucks in a breath. “He saw what happened to you, and he figured this was an opportunity to mess with you. To make you hate me.”
I just stand there, staring at him.
“I am so sick of this bullshit,” he growls.
With those words, he storms off. It’s a relief that he’s gone, and I take the opportunity to dig around in the refrigerator for some food. I find a loaf of bread and some cold cuts, and I make myself a quick sandwich. And I grab one of the glasses above the sink and pour myself some water.
Ziggy is barking his head off outside the door—I can’t believe our neighbors don’t complain. I wish I could let him inside. I’d rather sleep with my dog than with my husband. But I can’t open the door anymore—I don’t have the key. I just have to try to ignore him, even though every bark is a jab at my heart.
I’m about five bites into my sandwich when Graham returns to the kitchen. But this time, he’s holding a sheet of paper and a pen. He slams the paper down in front of me.
“We are going to nip this in the bud,” he says. “Once and for all.”
I look down at the piece of blank paper. “I don’t understand.”
He holds out the pen to me. “It’s time for you to write another letter to yourself. We took it too easy on Harry in the last letter. You need to let yourself know what a bad guy he is, and that you need to stay far away from him from now on.”
I remember reading that letter first thing this morning. I found it comforting because it was in my own handwriting. I didn’t know who I could trust, but I knew I could trust myself.
Now I have a bad feeling about how the letter came about.
“I’m not doing it,” I say.
“Yes,” Graham says. “You are. It’s for your own good.”
Ziggy’s barking has gotten louder. I push the piece of paper away and take another bite of my sandwich. “Forget it. Maybe you can lock me in this house but you can’t make me write a letter to myself.”
“You really don’t believe me, do you?” He adjusts his spectacles on his nose. “You saw the police take Harry away. And you still trust him over me?”
I lift my chin. “Yes. I absolutely do.”
Two spots of pink appear on Graham’s cheeks. “Well, that’s too damn bad. You’re writing the letter, anyway.”
“No. I won’t.” I take a sip of water, peering at him over the rim of my glass. “You can’t make me.”
“Can’t I?” There’s something in Graham’s voice that makes me feel uneasy. “Because I think I can.”
I stare at Graham, my heart pounding. Ziggy sounds almost hysterical outside the door. Graham turns around, walks to the back door, and slams on it with the palm of his hand, loud enough to make me jump. “Shut the fuck up, you goddamn stupid dog!”