“Promise you’ll call next time,” he says in a firm voice.
“It might be hard if I’m running for my life.” I smile.
“That’s not funny.”
I sigh. “I know. I’m just trying to deal with all this.”
“Do you have a gun?”
“No. I’ve signed up to take my gun safety course, but then I have to apply for a firearms license. They probably won’t approve it once they find out about Andrew.” Canadian gun laws are strict, especially when it comes to domestic violence, which I used to appreciate. I’d never liked guns, even though my father had them when I was growing up, and I hated that Andrew had them when Sophie was little, but now I wished I had one stashed in every room of our house.
“Maybe I should try to get a gun, like from the black market,” I say.
“Whoa. That’s risky.”
“What’s risky is sitting around waiting for him to make a move.”
“I’ll put out some feelers, okay? I know people through my self-defense classes.”
“Really? You’d do that for me?”
“I’d rather help than have you accidentally buy one from a cop.”
“That would be just my luck.” I flick a glance out the window, searching the shadows. “I hope they find him soon.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SOPHIE
He’s called three times but I haven’t answered or listened to the voice mails. I have a twisty feeling in my stomach, like hunger and the flu mixed together. I rub at the knot, but it doesn’t go away. We were supposed to meet today, but I texted him first thing and said I had too much homework, which is a lie because it’s the last week before winter break and we’re all coasting right now, except for Delaney, who failed a test and has to do a makeup project.
I’m sitting outside after school, waiting for her. I glance up, check the street. I keep getting this feeling that Andrew’s going to look for me. This is what it must feel like for Mom. I was so stupid to let him back in our lives. I couldn’t stop thinking about it all weekend, how he’d been in our house. This morning I woke up with a giant headache. Like Mondays aren’t crappy enough with chemistry first period. Now I have to deal with trying to avoid my stalker dad. My cell chirps. This time it’s a text from Delaney: B a while. Have to finish this stupid project!
I text back: K, I’ll catch the bus. I walk down the street toward the public bus stop, wishing I had my bike. It’s starting to snow and the road is covered with slush and my feet are getting wet. I wrap my scarf around my neck and face and hunch my shoulders in my coat. I feel a vehicle slow beside me, glance over, and catch a flash of white. I’m too scared to look all the way, but I’m pretty sure it’s Andrew’s truck. I walk faster. Shit. Shit. Shit. I should have stayed at the school. I fumble for my phone in my pocket. Who do I call? What do I say?
“Hey,” he calls out. “I need to talk to you.”
I shake my head. I’m not going to look at him. He pulls over in front of me, blocking part of the sidewalk. I can see him through his open passenger window. The back end of the truck is sticking out. Cars drive around him, one honks and the driver makes a gesture out the window.
“You shouldn’t stop on the shoulder like that,” I say. Is he going to grab me and force me to go somewhere with him? I take a couple of steps back.
“Why don’t you get in the truck? You’re getting soaking wet.”
“I have to go home.”
“Why are you avoiding me?” He’s leaning across the front seat so he can see me through the window. More cars are driving past, but no one is stopping. No one is asking if I’m okay. I could be getting abducted right now and no one would give a crap.
“I have to go,” I say again. “I’ll miss the bus.”
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
“You came into our house!” I yell over the noise of all the cars. I’m shocked at the anger coming out of my body. “I told you to stay away from her.”
His face is blank, and then it’s like all his features rearrange slowly like he’s understanding something. “So that’s why the cops are looking for me.”
“You were supposed to go to court today. Mom’s getting a restraining order.”
“I haven’t been near your place.”
How would he know what was near or not? He must know where we live.
“You went through Mom’s things. You read her e-mails.”
He’s not saying anything, but he doesn’t look surprised anymore. It’s like he’s pulled inside himself and is just thinking. The traffic is whipping past. I wonder if someone will recognize me. I want to turn around and walk away, but I also want to hear what he says next.
“Sophie, I’ve been in Victoria all week—packing my stuff. I wouldn’t scare you or your mom like that. What the hell would be the point? I’m trying to start over.”
“I know you were in our house.”