Come Break My Heart Again by C.W. Farnsworth
Chapter Twelve
It takes me over a week to muster the courage to call Lily Sampson back. She answers on the first ring.
“Lily Sampson.”
“Hi, Ms. Sampson. This is Eleanor Clarke. We spoke last week?”
“Oh. Yes.” Her tone has changed. It’s wary now. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s recalling how I hung up on her. “I remember.”
“I’m sorry for ending our call so abruptly and taking so long to call you back. I—something came up.”
“That’s quite all right.”
“You were calling about Ryder James before?” I prompt.
“Right. Yes.” She sounds flustered all of a sudden.
“You said there was something I could help with?”
“I did, but that’s no longer necessary. I’m sorry to have bothered you. Now—”
“No longer necessary? Are you sure?”
“Quite sure. We have all the information we need.”
“So… you have a strong case?” I fish, recalling how Kennedy said she hasn't heard any news in months. Probably a bad sign.
“I’m afraid I can’t discuss the details of a client’s case, Ms. Clarke.”
“I’m an attorney. I just graduated. I’d be happy to volunteer—”
“Mr. James has been released, Ms. Clarke. There’s no longer anything to be done.”
I stare at my kitchen like it’s the first time I’m seeing the marble countertops. “Released?” I echo. “He’s… out?”
“That’s what I just said.” There’s a touch of impatience in her voice, along with something else I can’t fully distinguish. “Now, I’m afraid I’m late for a meeting. Have a good day.”
She hangs up before I can say anything else, leaving me with the devastation of the bomb she just dropped.
Released. Ryder is no longer in prison.
Still dazed, I grab my keys, and head outside. I’m halfway to Fernwood before I realize I don’t even have my phone. I don’t turn around. Don’t let my foot up off the accelerator until I’m turning up the dirt road that leads to the trailer park and reach the only one I’m familiar with. I trace a path I know well up to the front door and bang on it a few times. No answer.
“No one’s home.”
I turn to see an old man leaning back in a lawn chair that’s perched below the overhang of the neighboring trailer. A thick cloud of smoke surrounds him, and I have to smother the urge to cough as I approach him.
“Are you sure?”
“Watched them all leave this morning, and no one’s been back since,” he confirms, taking another pull of his pipe.
“Them?”
“Kat and her two boys.”
My heart starts racing. “Two? You’re sure there were two boys?”
“My eyes haven’t left me yet, girl. Especially when I’ve got these.” He taps the rim of the thick glasses he’s wearing with the lit pipe. I’m a little worried he’s going to set what’s left of his hair on fire.
“Do you know where the boys went?”
“Christopher takes care of the landscaping round the wealthy parts of town. Other boy’s just back from the big house. He’s at the garage, if I had to guess. That’s where he used to spend most of his time.”
“Thank you,” I tell him fervently. I guess it would have occurred to me to check Bob’s garage eventually, but I likely would have sat around here for an hour first.
He waves away my thanks. “That’s one thing I’m still good for.”
I climb back into my car and set off for the garage. My anxiety level rises with each turn of the tires. The short drive feels twice as long as the trip to Fernwood did. Anticipation transforms each second into hours. There’s not going to be a guarded entrance separating us this time.
The garage is bustling when I arrive. With customers, employees, and cars. I park on the very periphery of the parking lot.
“Be right with you, miss,” one guy tells me as he rushes by.
He’s gone before I have a chance to tell him I don’t need any automotive assistance. I wander along the side of the building, peeking inside each bay as I do. There are mechanics in every one, but none with a familiar figure. I linger and peer at each one anyway. It’s been seven years. He could look completely different. I reach bay six and following a careful examination of each person inside I’m certain none of the men are Ryder. I turn to head back to the office. Maybe Bob is working and can tell me where he is. If he’s even here. Maybe the old man was wrong.
I spin around to retrace the path I just walked.
And there he is.
Ryder doesn’t look surprised to see me. Which surprises me. I came here to see him, and I’m still taken aback by his sudden appearance.
Instead of startled, Ryder looks withdrawn.
Resigned.
But he also stares and stares at me, not saying a word.
I’m doing the same, categorizing every visible change the same way I did the first day of senior year. Except this time, it hasn’t been two years since I last saw him. It’s been seven. And the worst part is it doesn’t feel like it. It doesn’t look like it. My fears I wouldn’t recognize him were completely unfounded.
Studying that messy brown hair and meeting those forest green eyes, I feel like no time has passed at all. Like it’s only been a matter of weeks since I came here for the first time, hoping to see him.
I feel like I should be hugging him. Kissing him. I wonder if that’s evident on my face because there’s a flash of something besides total indifference.
“Why?” I ask. Because that’s all I need to know. Because I’ve waited seven years to voice that solitary word.
Any emotion drains away like his face has become a sieve. “It doesn’t matter.” The words are dead. Empty. Detached. As though I’m not referring to an event that altered both of our lives drastically.
“Doesn’t matter?” I compensate for his lack of emotion by sounding near-hysterical. “Are you fucking kidding me, Ryder?” It’s been a long time since I swore—out loud, at least—and it feels good. “How can it not matter?”
“Because it doesn’t,” he bites out.
“Of course it does! You went to prison for seven years for something you didn’t do!”
“Yeah. I went. Not sure what that has to do with you.”
“Because you let me believe it was true!”
“I didn’t let you believe anything, Elle.”
“You pled guilty, Ryder! My parents shipped me off to boarding school the next day. What was I supposed to think? Why would you do that? Why would you choose to spend seven years someplace you didn’t belong?”
“I’ve done plenty of illegal shit, Elle.”
“So wrongful imprisonment is some sort of penance?”
“What do you care?”
I stare at him, marveling over how I can be so confused and upset, yet also feel so at ease and familiar. How bickering with Ryder feels almost as good as kissing him used to. Then his question registers, and indignation swells.
“Because it doesn’t make any fucking sense! I need to know—”
“What do you need to know, Elle? Why do you need to know it?”
“Because—it—we—”
“Go back to your fiancé.”
I bite my bottom lip—hard, completely side-tracked. “Who told you?”
Ryder scoffs. “The massive ring on your finger.” There’s no pain or anger on his face, and the lack of those two emotions elicit both in me. “When’s the wedding?”
“Next summer,” I manage.
“You graduated law school already. So you’re spending a year getting settled at Daddy’s firm first, handling some meaningless mergers? He works there too, right?”
“How did you…”
Ryder lets out an ugly laugh. “It’s how your life was always going to end up, Elle.”
“Not always,” I snap, and for the first time I break through his mask. There’s a flash of—something—but it’s gone before I can tell what.
“I’ve got to get back to work.” He turns, heading back toward the garage’s office.
“I went to see you,” I call out after him. Ryder stops and spins back around. “They wouldn’t let me in because I wasn’t an approved visitor.”
“Good. That wasn’t any place you should have been. Or seen.”
“You never thought I might want to see you?”
“Nope,” he lies, starting to leave again.
I play my trump card, calling his bluff. “Then why was I on your unapproved visitor list? The only name on that list?”
Ryder stills. “Who told you that?”
“The sweet woman behind the bulletproof glass.” He doesn’t say anything, just looks at me, managing to maintain an impressive poker face. Another thing that hasn’t changed. “Why, Ryder? Why was I the one person?”
“I wasn’t taking any chances,” he finally says, then turns to head back to the garage for the third time during this conversation.
I clearly can’t take a hint. “You owe me answers, Ryder.”
He spins back around. “I don’t owe you shit, Elle. Come back around here, and I’ll get a restraining order.”
Ryder starts walking again, and I don’t say anything to try to stop his departure.
For the first time in seven years, I’m close to tears.
