I watch him from behind the curtains of the window.
Is this even real? Did he just offer me a million dollars to sleep with him? To be his for one month?
No. This makes no sense. Not after last night.
I wonder if this is some sort of personal challenge. Maybe his ego can’t take a woman not panting for him in his bed.
The sedan disappears and I flip the single lock that still works on the front door. I go upstairs and look at my room, at the half-packed duffel, the clothes strewn here and there.
He’s right. I am messy. The opposite of him.
I pick up the clothes and hang them up or put them away in the dresser drawers, all the while my mind working.
Can I do it? Would I?
I want to tell myself I wouldn’t say yes just for the money. Although that’s a lot of money.
But there’s something about Giovanni Adams. A thing that makes me want to be near him.
Which is ridiculous because he is who he is.
Everything set aside, though, there is one thing that will take this decision out of my hands.
I go back downstairs and pickup my cell phone. I look up the Brewster Clinic and, taking a deep breath in, hit ‘call’.
A woman answers on the second ring. “Brewster Clinic, how can I help you?”
“Hello, I’m calling for patient Ciara Williams.”
“Who’s calling?”
I assumed they’d just transfer me to her room, but this is a private clinic, I have to remember. “This is her sister,” I lie, “Josie.” I make up the name on the fly. “Can you transfer me to her room?”
“I’m afraid patients don’t have telephones in their rooms, ma’am. Visiting hours are in the afternoon between two and four and then again in the evening between six and eight. You’re welcome to come visit her then.”
“How is she doing?”
“That’s private information, ma’am.”
“Do you know if she’ll have other visitors tomorrow? So I can plan mine, I mean.” I add on.
“Well, I know your brother said he’d be back tomorrow evening but I’m not sure of the exact time.”
My throat tightens.
My brother.
No, not my brother.
Sean.
“Okay, thank you very much.”
“Have a good evening.”
We hang up and I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. I go upstairs to have a shower, knowing it will be a long night.
I go to work the next morning and close up shop in the afternoon when I leave for the clinic. I arrive a little before visiting hours commence. At two o’clock on the dot, I walk to the entrance where the glass doors slide quietly open and I enter what looks more like the lobby of an expensive hotel than a clinic.
Two women sit at the front desk taking calls. I walk up to them.
“I’m here to visit Ciara Williams,” I say, trying to sound confident.
“If you’ll sign that log there, she’s in room 218.”
That’s easier than I think it should be, but I nod and enter the name Josie Williams in illegible handwriting in the guest log. I also scan for Sean’s name. I don’t see it, but maybe he didn’t have to register since he’s the one who brought her in.
“Is Sean here?” I ask, taking a chance.
“No ma’am, not yet. We’re not expecting him until later.”
Relief. “Thank you.” I take the stairs up rather than waiting for the elevator.
I’m anxious. What if they’re wrong and Sean shows up early? I don’t know what I’ll do if I run into him. But we’ll be in public. He can’t hurt me if we’re in public.
And if he does see me, I will go directly to the casino after leaving here and accept Giovanni’s offer. Sean will not be able to touch me there.
Ciara’s room is half-way down the hall on the second floor. When I get to it, I don’t knock. Instead, I listen first, then push it open a little, as quietly as I can.
She’s turned away looking out the window at the sunny day.
I push the door wider and step inside, clearing my throat.
She turns, and even with her face like it is, one of her eyes swollen and sealed shut, I see the surprise on her face.
“Enna!”
It’s strange to hear her call me that. First time anyone has since I left the Williams house. The name and the tone of her voice remind me she’s a few years younger than me. Remind me that once upon a time, I took care of her.
I close the door behind me and go to her, take in the damage. One arm is cast, her face brutalized, and I’m sure there’s more I can’t see.
“Are you okay?” I ask her.
She smiles and I can see it’s painful, but she tries to reach her arms out to me anyway. I lean down to hug her and feel her tears on the side of my face.
“You came.”
“I didn’t know you were in town,” I say, pulling back. “Giovanni-”
“I knew he’d find you if I told him.”
“Why did you tell him about me? What are you doing with men like that anyway? And how did you find me?”
She stares up at me like she can’t believe I’m standing there. “Do you remember Julia?”
I shake my head.
“From school. She was in my grade so maybe you didn’t know her. She asked if you were out here. Said she thought she saw you.”
I don’t remember any Julia and am surprised someone remembered me at all.
“Who did this to you, Ciara?” I ask, changing the subject.
Her smile vanishes. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Was it Giovanni?” I hate asking it, but I have to. I hope she answers no and when she shakes her head, I’m relieved.
“I missed you, Enna. You just left.”
I think back to the last time I saw Ciara all those years ago.
“You know I can’t take a chance on Sean finding me.”
Ciara’s face hardens. “He found me.”
“It’s not you he’ll hurt.”
“He did hurt me. When you left me there.”
Shame leaves me mute.
“But that’s past,” she says, although the tone of her voice tells me something else.
“Does he know why you’re in town?” I ask.
“You mean does he know about you being here?” she asks, answering my question with her own.
I nod.
“I didn’t tell him.”
I listen to how she says it, how she doesn’t quite look at me when she does.
“But does he know?”
She meets my eyes. “If I can just get a little money, I can get out of this place.”
She wants money. That’s all.
I feel the sudden shift, the coolness of her gaze, and wonder if she read the change in my expression.
“The sooner I’m away from Sean, the better. Now that you’re here, I can stay with you,” she says.
“No. I’m sorry. I’m leaving town for a while.” I reach into my tote, take out the envelope with half of the money I had saved to donate to the shelter this month. I hold it out to her. “It’s not much, but it’ll help you when you’re out.” She reaches for it, but I pull it away. “You can’t tell him about me, understand? He can’t know I was here. He’ll hurt me, Ciara. Really hurt me. And you know it.”
“He already hurt me, Sienna,” she spits, using my full name. “When you left.”
“I had no choice. He would have killed me after what I did.”
“We were supposed to go together.”
I lower my gaze. We had a plan, yes. We would go to the police. Tell them everything. But then she lied. Changed her story.
Stabbed me so brutally, I’m still picking up the pieces after all these long years.