There’s a sharp intensity in the way he’s looking at me that sends a chill up my arms. “What are you doing here?” he asks.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “Nothing.” Fuck. My eyes flicker across the street. Then I look behind Ledger, at what I’m assuming is his house. I remember Scotty saying Ledger grew up across the street from him. What are the odds that he would still live here?
I have no idea what to do. I stand up. My feet feel like weights. I look at Ledger, but he’s no longer looking at me. He’s looking across the street at Scotty’s old house.
He runs a hand across his jaw, and there’s a fresh disturbing look on his face. He says, “Why were you staring at that house?” He’s looking at the ground, then across the street, then toward the sun, but then his eyes land on me after I’ve failed to answer his question, and he’s a completely different person than the man I saw at the grocery store today.
He’s no longer the fluid guy who moves around the bar like he’s on Rollerblades.
“Your name isn’t Nicole.” He says it like it’s a depressing realization.
I wince.
He’s put it all together.
Now he looks like he wants to rip it all apart.
He points at his house. “Go.” The word is sharp and demanding. I take a step into the street, away from him. I feel myself begin to tremble, just as he steps into the street and closes the gap between us. His eyes are on the house across the street again as he reaches his arm around me, pressing a firm hand into my lower back. He begins pushing me along with him as he points toward the house opposite where my daughter lives. “Get inside before they see you.”
I expected he’d eventually put the pieces together. I just wish he would have made the connection last night. Not right now, when I’m only fifteen feet away from her.
I look at his house, then look at Patrick and Grace’s house. I have no method of escaping him. The last thing I want to do right now is cause a scene. My goal was to arrive peacefully and make this go as smoothly as possible. Ledger seems to want the opposite.
“Please leave me alone,” I say through clenched teeth. “This is none of your business.”
“The fuck it isn’t,” he hisses.
“Ledger, please.” My voice shakes from both fear and tears. I’m scared of him, scared of this moment, scared of the idea that this is going to be so much more difficult than I feared. Why else would he be pushing me away from their property?
I look back at Patrick and Grace’s house, but my feet keep moving toward Ledger’s house. I would put up a fight, but at this point, I’m no longer sure I’m ready to face the Landrys. I thought I was ready when I got into the cab earlier, but now that I’m here and Ledger is mad, I’m absolutely not ready to face them. It’s obvious from the last few minutes that my arrival might have been somewhat anticipated and is not at all welcomed.
They were likely notified when I was released into transitional housing. They had to be expecting this to happen eventually.
My feet are no longer weights. I feel like I’m floating again, high in the air like a balloon, and I’m following Ledger as if he’s pulling me along by a string.
I feel embarrassed to be here. Embarrassed enough to follow behind Ledger like I have no voice or thoughts of my own. I certainly don’t have any confidence in this second. And my shirt is too stupid for a moment of this magnitude. I’m stupid for thinking this was the way to go about it.
Ledger closes his door once we’re inside his living room. He looks disgusted. I don’t know if it’s at the sight of me, or if he’s thinking about last night. He’s pacing the living room, one palm pressed against his forehead.
“Is that why you showed up at my bar? You were trying to trick me into leading you to her?”
“No.” My voice is pathetic.
He slides his hands down his face in frustration. He pauses and then just mutters, “God dammit.”
He is so mad at me. Why do I always make the worst decisions?
“You’ve been in town for one day.” He swipes keys off a table. “You really thought this was a good idea? Showing up this soon?”
This soon? She’s four years old.
I clench an arm over my churning stomach. I don’t know what to do. What do I do? What can I do? There has to be something. Some kind of compromise. They can’t just collectively decide what’s best for Diem without consulting me.
Can they?
They can.
I’m the unreasonable one in this scenario. I’ve just been too scared to admit it. I want to ask him if there’s anything I can do to get them to hear me out, but the way he’s glaring at me makes me feel completely in the wrong. I begin to wonder if I’m even in a position to ask questions.