When We Let Go, Delancey Stewart [early reader books .txt] 📗
- Author: Delancey Stewart
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Connor gestured toward the camera still dangling from my hand. “You’re a photographer.”
I nodded, and then snapped a candid of him. I hadn’t thought about it, had just brought the camera up and clicked.
He stepped back, his lips tightening into a hard line. His posture had gone rigid and he didn’t look happy, but he didn’t say anything. I sheepishly smiled an apology and set the camera down on the table. “Sorry. Instinct.”
He stared at the camera for a second, as if it might leap off the table and bite him, and I remembered what Miranda had told me about all the nasty press coverage he’d received.
“I’m sorry. I’ll ask next time. I’m totally out of practice.”
His face relaxed a little, but he still looked wary.
I sipped my coffee and looked back up at him. “Look, Mr. Charles. I don’t think I’m going to change my mind about selling the property.”
“Call me Connor, please.”
“Okay. Connor. I might not ever be able to build this stupid house.” I stared into the soaring frame, hating the ridiculous arrogance of the structure suddenly. “But I’m not selling the land. It’s part of my family. It’s been ours for a long time, and I don’t plan to change that.”
His head turned, his face changing as he processed my words. His expression morphed, as if I’d just forced him into some kind of realization. “I didn’t know that.” His eyes skimmed me again, tracing from my eyes down the length of me and then quickly back up, lingering on my mouth before he spoke again. When he did, his blue eyes had shaded again, and his voice was quiet, strained. “So your family used to come here? When you were little?”
I nodded. His expression made it clear that this information was significant to him, though I had no idea why it would be. “We camped. My mom came here when she was little, too. With her dad.”
He seemed to think about that, and then his face cleared. “Well that makes sense then. Of course you don’t want to sell. I won’t bother you about it again.”
“Okay,” I said, trying to figure out his sudden change of heart. He wasn’t giving me a chance, though; his long strides were already taking him back to his car.
“Thanks,” he called as he opened the door.
I watched him back up and drive away, something sinking inside me as his taillights disappeared down the hill. Why did I feel disappointed? I’d won, hadn’t I? But if I was honest with myself, I was disappointed to know that whatever strange interlude I’d had with the mysterious Connor Charles had come to an end. Given everything that Miranda had told me about him, it was definitely for the best. And I had things I needed to focus on. Piercing blue eyes and auburn waves were not among them.
I opened the bag of muffins and ate the second one, sitting at the old table and staring into the woods, pausing to take shots of the sky as it went from an inky blue with streaks of pink and yellow to the light crystalline color that looked almost white.
If I never got out of this place, I’d have four million photographs of trees and sky, and a memory of ill-advised yearning for a man who was probably no better than Jack. And potentially much worse.
Considering I was on deadline, I wasn’t doing a lot of writing. I was doing a lot of sitting on the deck, staring at a blank computer screen and wishing for things that would never be.
That’s what I was busy doing when two police cruisers pulled into the open space in front of the deck and two officers marched to the front door to knock. Though I would’ve liked to hide inside, I knew that wasn’t a mature reaction, nor would it get me out of the situation I found myself in now.
I’d already been notified that Amanda Terry had filed a restraining order, and I’d gotten a few strange messages and letters to suggest there was something else going on, though I hadn’t figured out exactly what it was quite yet. I’d turned that evidence over to the police, and they had looked at me as though I were a child, offering up a handful of rocks I’d collected, calling them diamonds. Evidently the local law enforcement already had an opinion about me, and in their minds, I was not the victim.
I hadn’t been terribly worried about any of it. Until now.
“Hello officers,” I said, greeting the two men who stood in the doorway.
“Hello sir, Detectives Rawley and Jensen.” The taller man introduced them. “Do you have a few minutes?”
“What is this about?” I asked.
“Maybe we could come in?”
“Do you have a warrant?” I wasn’t a cop or a lawyer, but I’d watched a lot of television and done an awful lot of research for my books.
“No sir,” Rawley shifted his weight, looked uncomfortable. “Just some questions. About Amanda Terry?”
I sighed, turning and waving the detectives in. They climbed the stairs just inside the entrance, stepping into the open living area above. The whole house was built around a giant boulder overlooking a meadow in the back. The boulder had been carved out to make the fireplace. It was startling to those who hadn’t seen it before, and both detectives stopped for a moment and stared.
“Nice place,” Detective Jensen said, in the same tone of voice you might use to say, “I hate this place.”
“Thanks.” I gestured toward the couch, and the two men sat. I sighed and sat in the armchair next to the couch. “So.” I hoped we could do this quickly. I had a novel I was procrastinating.
“How do you know Ms. Terry?”
“She asked me to meet with her a few times to talk about writing. It was set up through the high school.” I’d already explained this to the first policemen who’d dropped by, but I doubted it would help me to point that out.
“And you are aware that Ms. Terry is a minor?” Jensen asked.
I nodded.
“So any sexual relationship would be inappropriate and a crime in the eyes of the law,” he pressed.
“There’s nothing going on here like that,” I assured them, leaning forward with my forearms on my knees. “Nothing.”
“Ms. Terry’s father has stated something different. He says there was a romantic element to the relationship, that she ended it and you have had a hard time accepting that.” Jensen spoke slowly, as if he was reminding me of something I’d simply forgotten.
“That’s not true,” I said. “Ms. Terry alluded once to her desire for the relationship to become romantic, but I told her exactly what you just told me. That it would be inappropriate, not to mention illegal.”
“Were that not the case, would you pursue Ms. Terry?” Rawlings asked, suddenly leaning forward and inserting himself into the conversation.
“No.”
The detectives exchanged a look.
“Mr. Charles, you already know that Ms. Terry has filed a restraining order. But her family has also asked us to look into criminal charges of stalking. They’ve asserted that you’ve made repeated attempts to reach Ms. Terry, have followed her and sent her handwritten notes, that you drive by the house regularly. She feels unsafe.” Jensen concluded his statement and watched me for a reaction.
It would be worthless to point out that half of Kings Grove drove by the Terry place regularly since it sat on the corner of the road into town. I’d been going out of my way not to drive by lately. “Am I under arrest?” I asked.
“Not at this time.”
“Do you have the evidence I submitted?” I asked. “The first officers who came by gave it to you?”
The officers exchanged a look and the taller one actually rolled his eyes. “We have it, but there’s not a lot we can do with it.”
“Do I need an attorney?”
“Probably.” Jensen and Rawlings stood then, and I saw them to the door. They departed after suggesting I shouldn’t be planning to leave the area.
I returned to the deck once they had gone, and called my agent to put me in touch with a lawyer.
“You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to come back to Los Angeles, do some of the PR for
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