Page 78 of Love is Angry

I didn’t know her well, but she was part of the household during the workweek, handling my mother’s business while she was in her office with clients. She was always friendly to me. I had a crush on her for a long time. I wonder if dad does that on purpose—targets women he knows I’m attracted to.

Is it some kind of dominance game?

Some way of winning a competition against a younger male, like an aging lion?

I shake the thoughts away before they can affect my temper and check my mirror. I need to stay calm. I’m driving with the file open on the seat beside me, her address highlighted in yellow. The phone number recorded in the file is no longer hers; when I called it, a woman who was very sick of getting calls for Sibel answered and informed me, quite tersely, that I had the wrong number.

Ahead, Lake Ontario glimmers in the distance. It’s surprising to me that a former PA like Sibel Osman can afford a house in this area. Mom must have paid her exceptionally well—or maybe Sibel’s into crypto or something.

The back of my neck tingles and I glance at all my mirrors, then turn to check my blind spot. Everything seems normal—but the closer I get to Sibel’s neighborhood, the more exposed I feel. I should have rented a car.

I deliberately rip my attention back to the road ahead. The neighborhood is beautiful. Ridiculously quiet with incredibly crisp, clean air. The difference is immediately noticeable as I turn left onto Beach Avenue and find a nice wide spot on Sibel’s block where I can pull over. One deep breath, and I’m reminded of how wonderful this place truly is—even if assholes like my father have a shot at leadership.

Shaking my head slowly, I take a moment to look around. My phone pings, and I check the screen. It’s Madison, asking if I’m free for a phone call. Her name on my screen makes my heart flutter like a frantic, drunken butterfly. She keeps doing that to me.

I don’t bother to text back, I just hit the little phone icon and let it ring.

“I guess that’s a yes,” she answers. Her voice has the echoic quality of speakerphone.

“Figured I’d save us a step,” I tell her. “Who’s all there?”

“What? Just me. Oh—I’m driving, that’s why you’re on speaker. I’m heading back to Rochester.”

My heart leaps. “Well hey, you want to get that dinner we never got around to yesterday?”

She hesitates. I get it—my family hasn’t been great to her, and I’ve been an ass—but it still sucks to feel like she’s afraid of me. It’s my own damn fault, I remind myself. It’s up to me to make it right.

“Maybe,” she says. “But listen—the reason I called—wait. Are you alone right now?”

“Yeah,” I tell her. But the back of my neck tingles. I can’t shake this feeling that I’m being followed, but I can’t see anyone or anything out of the ordinary. It’s the weekend so the beach park is full, though mostly with picnics and barbeques. It’s too cold for swimming.

The restaurants are open, as are the bars. No one is looking my way. There’s no suspicious-looking vehicle lurking, either. I might be paranoid—but I have every reason to be. My father would rip my head off if he knew what I was doing.

“I’m just sitting here in my car,” I tell her. “Not driving, though.”

“Cool, cool,” she says absently.

“What is it, Madison? What’s wrong?”

She hisses out a tense sigh. “Your dad knows I talked,” she says. “He’s threatening my dad. I’ve only got a few hours left to agree to his terms before he does something drastic.”

My heart pounds and I sit up straighter, laser-focused. “What is he threatening?”

“He said dad’ll lose everything,” she says. “All he has is his business.”

No, that’s not all he has. Not by a long shot. “And you,” I point out.

She’s silent. After a moment, I can hear her quietly crying.

“Hey, focus on the road,” I tell her sharply. “Don’t kill yourself for him, for Christ’s sake. Okay, okay, what are his terms?”

“He wants me to sign an NDA, leave school, and never talk to you or Laura ever again. There might be something else, I don’t know, I’m so scared it’s scrambling my brain.”

“Those terms are completely unacceptable. You know that, right?”

“I mean—Rhue, my dad’s worked so hard to keep his business going and take care of us after mom left. He can’t—I can’t let all of that be for nothing. I can’t—I can’t leave him. I can’t let him lose everything. I can’t, Rhue.”

I want to argue with her. I want to tell her that she’s just as important as her dad—more important, as far as I’m concerned. But I don’t want to upset her any more than she already is—she’s still driving, and it’s a long way from Ithaca to Rochester.