She stops in the drive. If she turns back now, it might not be so bad. But the worst that can happen already has. Her work, her way out, is ruined. There’s no way she can rebuild the portfolio in time, not one good enough for UCLA, for anywhere. And they won’t let her go.
She can’t be here, in this house, with these people. She starts moving again, walking swiftly with her arms wrapped around her and her eye throbbing in time with the beating of her heart.
As she makes her way down the road, she allows herself, at last, to cry.
19
EMMA
Now
When Emma arrived home, the neighbor across the street was mowing his lawn. He made no attempt to hide the fact that he was watching her as she got out to open the gate. She wished she were the kind of person to stare right back or flip him off. She kept her head down instead. She grabbed the bag that rested in the passenger seat—cameras from the electronics store, which she’d figured she’d pick up and spare Nathan the trip—and hurried inside without making eye contact.
Nathan was in the kitchen, taking a Brillo pad to the stove. She dropped the bag of cameras on the table, but he didn’t turn.
“I got some cameras. They’re the brand you wanted. They were pretty expensive—I only ended up getting two, but that’s front and back, at least,” she said.
“I thought we agreed you weren’t going to go into town,” he said, not turning. The bottle of white wine sat on the counter, half-empty. He must have retrieved it from the trash.
“I know. But I had a bit of cabin fever and I thought since you were so tired—” she began. He turned, eyes flashing with anger.
“If you were doing me a favor, why did you wait until I was asleep? Sneak out when I was taking a nap?” he demanded. She flinched, shying away from him. He made a disgusted sound. He hated it when she flinched. He’d never once raised a hand to her. Acting like she was afraid of him was insulting.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t want to argue about it.”
“Which means you knew it would piss me off and you did it anyway,” he said.
“I can’t be a prisoner in this house, Nathan,” Emma protested.
“A prisoner? You’re being way overdramatic,” Nathan said.
“I just mean—”
“You’re trying to turn it around and make me the bad guy. But you’re the one lying and sneaking around,” Nathan said, jabbing a finger at her.
“I’m not—”
“You didn’t just go to the store,” Nathan said. He crossed his arms. “Did you?”
“You tracked my phone,” she said evenly.
“Can you blame me? I woke up and you weren’t here.”
“I sent you a text. I left a note,” Emma said. She glanced over; the note was in the trash. He had found it, then.
“We’re being harassed. I didn’t know where you were. Whether you were safe. And apparently I was right to be worried, because you weren’t where you said you were going to be.”
“I made another stop,” Emma said.
“Whose house was that?” he asked, voice dark with suspicion. “Is it Gabriel’s house?”
She turned back to the bag, started taking things out in jerky, angry motions. She had her anxieties. Nathan had his. They’d argued about the tracking apps a lot, over the years. He claimed he wanted them in case of an emergency—what if one of them ended up crashed into a ditch? But he only ever brought them up at times like these. “I thought you were staying in today,” he’d say casually, or inquire about how Susan was doing when she hadn’t told him she was visiting Susan that day at all.
She hated it. Hated the feeling of being watched, her every movement monitored, and feeling like she couldn’t make a spontaneous trip to the new bakery in town without it being treated as suspicious.
“I take it that’s a yes,” Nathan said sardonically. Grime streaked his knuckles. There was a smudge on his cheek.
“I went to talk to Gabriel,” she confirmed. That elicited another grunt, this one curled with satisfaction.
“What is it with this guy? It’s like you’re obsessed with him,” he said.
“I don’t think I’ve mentioned him more than three times since we got here,” she said, temper beginning to simmer. What did he think, that she’d managed to fit a torrid affair into the five minutes she’d spent at the house?
“All that not-mentioning is pretty loud,” he said.