By a Thread (27 page)

Stella grabbed her bag and filed off the plane once they landed in Montana. Stan had arranged for her to pick up a rental car for the drive one hour south of the airport to her hotel. She headed to pick up her suitcase and make her way to the rental car pick-up. Jamie was nowhere to be found.
Good,
she thought.

She texted Stan and her dad to let them know that she’d made it safely. She had several messages from Patrick and one from Billy. She skipped Patrick’s, she was not in the mood. She wondered what Patrick told Billy, if anything. She opened it:

Where’s coop? i need my drinking partner.

She replied:

not to worry, he is not drinking without you. had to leave quick, didn’t know your schedule for dog sitting.

She hit send. Immediately her phone buzzed again, it was Stan.

Have fun babysitting.

She smiled, grabbed her bag and stood at the rental car counter. When she walked out into the parking lot, she smiled at the Escalade that agency had gotten her. Sweet, she thought, and plugged her hotel address in the navigation system. Her phone buzzed, George. She quickly opened the message, hoping he had already gotten her email.

It was a picture of Coop, lying on her sweatshirt looking pitiful. It was captioned: “He is not the only one who misses you.”

She replied.

Good.

She threw her phone on the passenger seat and made her way to her hotel.

Once she checked into the hotel she set about settling in, this room would be her home for awhile. She took her time hanging up clothes and putting out her makeup, blow dryer, and hair straightener in the bathroom. A knock sounded at the door. She looked at her phone, it was 9:30 p.m. She walked to the door, peering through the peephole. Jamie was standing in the hall in a black hooded sweatshirt pulled down to his eyebrows.
No, she would not even entertain this.

She pulled the door open with the latch closed and looked through at Jamie. “No,” was all she said.

“Stella, wait.” She shut the door on him. “I need to talk to you,” he begged.

She opened the door again, “I don’t give a fuck what you need,” rage evident in her voice. She looked at him one more time through the door. Any love she felt for him was replaced by pure unadulterated hate and it was written all over her face.
Good, he thought
.

“I’m sorry,” he yelled at the closed door. She never responded or even acknowledged she heard him.

She rested her forehead on the door as he turned to leave. His eyes. Those eyes that had been her heaven for so long now made her want to vomit. It was the only thing even remotely similar to the Jamie she knew.

She was just not going to look him in the eye again she decided, which shouldn’t be a problem since they were not even supposed to be in the vicinity of one another. He’d come to DC only to brief the office on the operation since he had been on it since the beginning. He was going back undercover and she would be nowhere near any real action. She flung herself on the bed and felt all the tension of the day start to leave her body. She stared at the ceiling for several hours before she finally fell into a restless sleep.

Stella spread a blanket on the ground and opened the bottle of wine she bought from Mountain Mission Winery. She passed it on the way to Polson the first night and swung by after her first day at the field office. Although it was August, there was no humidity here. The lake was surrounded by looming mountains like she had never seen on the East Coast. The rich greens of the trees were in stark contrast to the crystal-clear blue sky. The sky looked different here.

She reflected on the turn her life had taken in the span of twenty-four hours. Everything was so surreal.
His parents had a funeral for a son that was still alive. Why? Why did Jamie propose in Savannah when he knew it wouldn’t be for long? He was a liar. She wondered if she really knew him at all. He obviously had not given a shit about her. Why drag out this long lie?
She wondered what had been in the casket they lowered in the ground, the one she had cried next to until Patrick carried her away. She regretted the year of her life she wasted mourning him. She regretted how she had treated everyone in her life because of her grief, especially George.

Stella and Jamie’s relationship had been so easy. She fell for his blond hair, blue-eyed, long, lean body immediately and she never looked back. He was fun, loving, and easy to be around. She was blown away by the absurdity of it all, the ridiculousness that was her reality. Now she couldn’t share this shit with anyone or his life would be in danger. He was dead to her.
The Jamie she knew was dead. She had mourned him already and decided not to waste anymore of her life on that piece of shit.

Stella drained her second class of Cab and shoved the cork back in the bottle when her phone dinged. She smiled; it was from George.

Two days out. Cooper is now pissed
.

She replied:

Me too. First day report... Bored outta my mind.

Stella wondered if George had gotten her email yet, he hadn’t mentioned it. She walked over to her rental and put the half-empty bottle in between her laptop and purse so it wouldn’t move and made her way back to her hotel. After she got to her room she finished the rest of the bottle and scrolled through her unopened emails from Patrick. She felt more betrayed by him than Jamie, for some reason. They both lied to her, but Patrick lied everyday for a year when she couldn’t even put herself together. He let her get a tattoo for some fucker who didn’t have the common courtesy to break up with her. Then he continued to lie to her for the three more years. She wondered if she could ever forgive him. She doubted it.

Before she went to sleep she texted George:

I miss you
.

George was putting up clean Pilsner glasses when Kara, one of George’s younger sisters, came out of his office.

“Um, I think this email is for you, George?” She handed him a printout of an email she had found going through the inbox for the bar. She blushed and looked away.

“What?” He took it and looked at his sister’s blushing face. “Why is your face doing that?”

“First of all, who calls you George? Second, what’s going on...is all this true?” she asked, motioning to the paper.

“Fuck if I know, someone sent an email to the bar. My fucking name is George.”

“Um… your middle name is George, and read it.” She sat down on the closest bar stool, watching her brother read with a furrow in his brow until he got to a couple of lines in, then a grin broke out on his face.

“Can you explain this?” Kara asked.

“Not to you.” He continued to read as he spoke to his sister. When he was done he folded the paper and put it in his pocket, turned around, and started straightening the liquor bottles.

“Who was that from?”

“Her. It was from her,” he turned and looked at Kara.

“Stella?” Kara was shocked, the last she’d heard Stella was out of the picture and had run from them at the dog park.

“Yes, a lot has happened in two days.”

George looked up as Patrick walked through the front door, he was looking at his phone. Setting down the glasses he was drying, he walked to the end of the bar near the door. “Patrick,” he asked and Patrick looked up with panic on his usually cool features. A tingle of panic ran down George’s back. “What’s going on?” He asked.

“Okay, don’t freak out...”

“Not a good start,” George interrupted.

“There was an incident in Montana field office.” Patrick examined his hands, not looking at George.

“What do you mean, an incident?” George asked.

“Well, there was an explosion,” Patrick started.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” George’s voice was almost a yell.

“Is there somewhere we can go and you can sit down?” Patrick looked around at the few people in the bar.

George shook his head a few times, like he was trying to shake the cobwebs out of his brain. “Okay.” He walked around the bar and motioned for Patrick to follow him. “Hazel, I’ll be right back.”

George sat down behind the small desk and Patrick sat across from him. “The field office where El was working was bombed. There have been reports of casualties and injuries, but no names yet.”

“I honestly can’t even understand what you’re trying to tell me right now.” George rubbed his shaved head. “So you are telling me that El is either hurt or dead?”

“She may be okay, but I haven’t heard from her and I’ve texted her seven times. Have you heard from her today?”

Relief washed over George, “Yes. She texted me this morning at...” He pulled out his phone and looked at the time, “at 9:00 a.m.”

Patrick shook his head, “That’s 7:00 am in Montana. The attack happened at 8:15. Text her and see if she responds.”

George just stared at his phone.

Patrick blew out a breath, “Look George, I wouldn’t have come here, but I know if anyone had heard from her it would be you. I’m trying not to jump to conclusions, but ...”

George texted Stella:

Tell me ur ok

George and Patrick stared at the phone for what seemed like an hour, but was really only five minutes.

“Shit,” Patrick muttered and got up. “George, please let me know if you hear from her and I’ll keep you updated from my end.”

They exchanged cell numbers and looked at each other, the two men who loved Stella, trying not to think the worst.

She walked hesitantly down the stairs, holding on to the railing for support. When she got to the sand, she felt the warm grains surround each toe. She looked up and saw Cooper, his expansive back to her as he sat watching the waves crashing on the shore, his tail wagging back and forth making a fan shape on the sand. Next to Cooper was a tan lean back with a tattoo of a half of a heart that covered his shoulder blade. Stella walked cautiously toward the water and eased down next to George. She laid her head on his shoulder. They stayed like that for a few minutes, in silence, until Cooper got up and sat back down in between them, forcing Stella to sit upright.

She put her hand on Cooper’s back, sighed, and pushed her sunglasses up her nose. “I love you, you know.”

George turned and looked at her, a tear threatened to fall from his eye. “I swear El, you are going to be the death of me.”

Stella had been in the hospital in Montana for over a month, then transferred to George Washington University Hospital for several weeks until she was out of the woods. The bullet had clipped her heart and then shot through her shoulder blade and through her back, wreaking havoc on internal organs and bones. She had a heinous scar on her chest where they had to go in to repair the damage. She had staples and stitches holding her together. She still had bandages covering the middle of her chest. The doctors said she had been lucky, an inch this way or that way and she would have been dead. Also, if the bullet wouldn’t have gone through her shoulder blade, but her spine, she would have been paralyzed.
Lucky,
she thought
.

“Maybe...” Stella smiled faintly, “It wouldn’t be that bad of a way to go, would it?”

He grabbed her hand. “You know George, I don’t know if I’m digging the new tattoo. It’s kind of lame.”

He looked at her wide-eyed. “You don’t like it.”

“I love the thought behind it, but it looks like someone started something and it’s not finished.”

George used his thumb to stroke her hand. “First of all, I could never have a tattoo as badass as yours.” They both laughed. “You have an actual bullet hole through where your heart is supposed to be. How can I match that?”

Stella ran her hand down Cooper’s back and stared at the waves.

George took her hand and kissed it. “It’s not finished. You and I aren’t finished.”

This part is hard for me. This book happened because a number of things and people came together at the same time. First, I have insomnia. Therefore, I was able to finish a story about characters I grew to know and love. Second, people that I trust said it was good and I should finish it. Third, I threw caution to the wind and gave into the characters that were in my head. My husband bought me an iPad for Christmas a couple of years ago and Good God, the writing I’ve done on that thing. I have a three-year-old and a full-time job, I write when I can; that device makes it possible. I wrote this book after my son went to sleep, when I should be talking to my husband. I wrote during family functions (I know, inappropriate). I wrote on airplanes and in cars.

Getting back to thanking people… I will start with those that without, in all honesty, this book wouldn’t even been written. My husband (whom I’ve been friends with since I was eighteen) is truly my knight in shining armor and made me believe in love. He always believes in me, whatever I do. I really appreciate that support and without it, this book would still be in my mind. He also gets woken up in the middle of the night when I dream of these characters and have to write it down, lest I forget. He
sometimes
is a good sport about that.

Also, when this story was in its first stage (I call it the bones of the story) my parents sat down and read it in two days over Thanksgiving. They gave it the go-ahead, like I might actually have something. They also helped with me trying to bounce ideas off them for titles and other things. My mom made me and my dad laugh many times with all her questions. This is not her type of book: too much cursing, drinking, and other things. Notice I didn’t mentioned sex... that’s an inside joke for you, Dad. I should probably thank my mom for taking me to the library or the bookstore every weekend when I was little and buying me every single Babysitter’s Club book. I can still spend an entire afternoon in a bookstore or a library, if I had that sort of time. I guess I should also thank them for raising me to believe that I can do whatever I set my mind to. Appreciate it.

Next, I sent the draft to one of my best friends, my roommate in law school, John. Your thoughts and opinions about this story were invaluable. As usual our conversations regarding this book always spiraled back to our law school days and how ridiculous we were. I’m very sad the Brickskellar is no longer open, because that would have been a pretty funny chapter.

One of my friends who made this book better is my girl Lizzie. She is amazing and I appreciate all the work she did for me, for wine and food. Thanks, I’ll pay you back one day. Also, Gabriella West edited the shit out of the book at the end. Thanks.

Last but not least, my sister, Kelei, who bought into Stella and her circle of friends totally. After she read it she asked me all sorts of questions that helped get the perspective from the reader, not my all-knowing self. She put up with numerous emails, texts, and calls from me on a daily basis at one point about different aspects of the book and trying to get it out. I don’t know why she helped me so much through the process, but she did. I’m sure I could not possibly pay her back for all of her help, which included her being a nanny, PR representative, website designer, bouncer of ideas off, and all around help-me-make-decisioner (I just made up that last one, but it fits). Maybe I should take her shopping…

Also, I want to make sure everyone knows who designed the cover art. The cover was designed by
www.georginagibson.com
.

To anyone else whom I talked to about this book, thanks so much for listening.