Follow Me Darkly (Follow Me 1)

“Somehow, I never took you for an entomophile.”

I’m impressed that he knows the word. Heck, I’m impressed that I know the word. “I was seven, Braden, with the attention span of a praying mantis myself. They’re green, as you know, and it was a challenge to see it as it hopped from one stalk to another. I followed it with my camera I’d gotten for my birthday. I wanted to take its picture.”

“You were having fun.”

“I was. There wasn’t much else to do.”

“Except outrun tornadoes.”

I give him a good-natured smack on his upper arm. “I won’t deny taking shelter from a few in my day, but you can’t outrun a tornado. You shouldn’t try.”

“Dorothy did.”

“You watch too much TV.”

“I don’t watch any TV.”

“That was a clear Wizard of Oz reference.”

“I read books, Skye.”

Of course he does. Why should that surprise me? He’s not college educated but he’s still brilliant. “Anyway, it hopped away from me again and again, and it was great fun to follow it, until I realized I had no idea where I was. I was shorter than the corn, and all around me was more corn. I freaked out. I can still feel my little heart pounding against my chest. It was like my whole body became my heartbeat. I started running in no particular direction and kept tripping over roots and stalks.”

Even telling the simple story, the feeling of sheer terror and panic washes over me.

I inhale slowly to calm myself and then exhale. “I started screaming bloody murder, and eventually I ran into a scarecrow and knocked myself out. The next thing I remember is waking up in my bed with my mother next to me, holding a clammy washcloth on my forehead.”

“So they found you.”

“They did. I wasn’t very far from the yard. It just seemed far to a frightened little girl.”

I expect him to burst into laughter at my silly story, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he says simply, “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

…

Back at the office, Addie still hasn’t come in. I’d texted her to let her know I’d taken a longer than usual lunch, but it looks like she hasn’t even read the text. I check email and her posts quickly, making necessary adjustments. Then I regard my own Instagram account.

You should make your account public.

Should I?

I had several requests to follow after Braden’s first post at Union Oyster House, but I ignored them. What would happen this time? And did I want it to happen?

I have to put off my decision because Addie walks in. “Hey,” she says. “Sorry. Overslept.”

Until two? I just nod. “Nothing much going on. The posts all look good.”

“Any new offers?”

“Not today.”

She shrugs. “Okay. I’ll be in my office.”

She seems a little off. Is she still upset that I was with Braden at the gala? Should I ask? Should I at least ask about Braden and why he’s bad news?

I sigh. No. I’m here to do my work, not get gossip from my employer.

A few moments pass, and then—

Addie storms out and thrusts her phone in my face. “What the hell is this?”

Braden’s post.

“We had lunch,” I say.

She flips through several other posts and then thrusts the phone at me again. “And this?”

The post from Union Oyster House. “That was a week ago. You haven’t seen it?”

“I don’t follow him, or at least I didn’t. I just followed him now, sitting in my office.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because I’m curious. I care about you, Skye. I don’t want you getting into something you can’t handle. You’re so young.”

I’m twenty-four to Addie’s twenty-nine, but I can’t believe she mentioned my age. She usually hates thinking about how old she is. The big three-oh is just around the corner, and her current offers are reflecting that. A few weeks ago, she got an offer for a new brand of support leggings. She pouted for hours after that one.

“What’s your problem with Braden?” I ask. After all, she brought it up.

“He’s bad news. I told you.”

“You’re going to have to give me more to go on than that. Exactly why is he bad news? You said you had a thing with him a while ago. What happened?”

“I don’t talk about that.”

“Then how do I know he’s bad news? None of his other girlfriends have said anything about him.” That I know of, anyway. I don’t read gossip rags.

“You should just trust me,” she says.

What can I say to that? I have no reason to distrust Addison, but I also have no reason to trust her, especially if she sees herself as a woman scorned. I think back to our first conversation about Braden. Addie said they’d had a thing the summer after she graduated from high school. She was eighteen then, and Braden would have been twenty-four. The same age I am now.