New Point (22 page)

Etta’s hand covers mine, and she squeezes lightly. “You’re facing a steep battle. There is no shame in the struggle to put these demons to bed.”

“I can’t stop doubting myself. Lacey’s right, why should the people of this town trust their kids with me?”

Etta scoffs. “Be real, Zoe. I’d let Duke spend any amount of time under your care without worry. There’s
no one
better to take care of New Point’s children. Don’t you see? For you it always comes down to protecting the kids at the expense of anything else. Even yourself.”

I flatten my palms on my thighs, attempting a calming breath as her words turn in my head.
She’s right.
“I never thought about that way.”

“I mean every word,” she returns instantly.

“Miles said I was weak,” I blurt out. “And I agree with him. Why don’t I have the courage to tell him why I moved here?”

“It doesn’t sound like you feel like you have a safe environment to tell him the truth.”

“I don’t want him to judge me,” I admit quietly.

“Do you trust Miles?”

“Of course,” I answer automatically.

“You’re quick to say that, but you were afraid he was reconciling with Lacey when he didn’t call you from the hospital. You think he’ll judge you if he knows the truth,” Etta points out kindly. “Would it be so difficult to lower your walls if you trusted him?”

I push a hand through my hair, contemplating her question. “I don’t know.”

“You do know.”

“Miles is so sure of himself, strong. He knows what he wants out of life, and I’m still trying to put myself back together. Why would he want to be with me?”

“That’s his choice to make, not yours. You’ve already decided you want to be with him, but you can’t be
completely
together unless you communicate with him.”

Everything Etta says makes sense logically. But I never claimed to be logical, especially in the last nine months. “It’s all my fault.”

“Hold on, I didn’t say that. Relationships go two ways, and I don’t think my brother provided a safe space for you to talk. Knowing his stubborn ass, he probably yelled and backed you into a corner without any hope of escaping.” She sends her eyes heavenward.

At that, I smile slightly. “Most therapists don’t roll their eyes during a session.”

“Don’t you get it, Zoe?”

My brows draw together. “No?”

“You’re more than a patient I see every week. There’s no one outside of my family I trust more with my son. And even aside from that, I consider you to be a friend,”–her eyes meet mine that are pricking with tears–“a dear friend that I want to be with my brother. When he opened his bar, yeah, he was happy, but there wasn’t the spark in his eye like I’ve seen since you came to New Point. All those feelings are pretty scary to a tough guy like Miles. Give him some time. He’ll find his way back to you.”

“I don’t know about that. You should have seen the determination in him.”

“Sure, he wants to know everything about you. That’s reasonable for a man in love. You’ll need to be prepared, though.”

My heart pauses, skipping a beat or two in my chest.
A man in love?
I repeat back to myself silently.
No, he’s not there yet. Am I?

I stop dwelling on all things love and focus on Etta again. “I’ll need to be prepared for what?”

“Telling him the whole truth.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I admit.

“I’m going back into therapist mode for one minute. Remember what I suggested the first time we met?”

I nod slowly. “Journaling after an episode. I forgot about it until now because I was doing so well.”

“You don’t ever have to show it to me, or anyone, but please consider writing down your feelings, Zoe. It will only be you and paper.”

“I can do that.”

B
ack at home after work, I pull a scratch pad out of the kitchen junk drawer. I wander in the office and sit myself behind the monstrosity of a desk Blake had custom built. Pulling out pen from a holder on the desk, I begin to write.

For months I’ve wished and wished and wished upon all wishes that it didn’t happen to me. I begged and pleaded with the universe, wanting that awful day erased from my memory. That’s not an option though. It happened, and I can’t hide from it anymore. I have to face that I am a different person than I was last year because I survived a near school shooting.

Today when I was with Etta she uncovered a part of this tragedy I never recognized before. What I did at Clarkes Elementary School was
brave.
He could have done a lot worse than threatening me. I. Stopped. Him. How am I just realizing this now?

Etta was right. My parents
would
be proud of the person I am, the person who talked a man away from harming others. The realization shakes me, but I see it now. Finally, I’ve taken my blinders off.

Every day since Clinton Smith came into my school I have wanted to be normal again. I didn’t want to be afraid of thunderstorms and large crowds. Guess what? The reaction I had to a man pointing a gun in my face is normal. Bouncing back and being perfectly fine after a trauma would be
abnormal.
The definition of normal changes from person to person. All I can be is
me
. There’s no mold, no standard to follow.

There’s still a winding road of recovery to travel, but I’m going to make a promise to myself right now. At the end of this I will be better for surviving Clinton Smith’s attack on Clarkes. I’ll be proud to be me.

I
t doesn’t surprise me that Etta’s the one who brings Duke to camp on Thursday. When Lacey drops off Alexa, she studies me with the usual snarl but says nothing about Monday’s episode. Neither does Sharon when I see her at the library, making me wonder if Lacey told my boss what she witnessed after all.

Thankfully, both Thursday and Friday pass by in a blur of busy work and camp, leaving little time to think about Miles. On Thursday, I collapsed into bed the moment I finished eating dinner, exhausted – the emotional toll of my fight with Miles draining my remaining energy. At that time I didn’t have the brain power to think about my heartache.

But now that I’m walking along beach toward home on Friday night, I’m bombarded with thoughts of the demise of my summer relationship.

His house catches my attention before my own. In that moment, with the large stone home looming ahead of me, I make a snap decision to extend the first peace offering. I collect a wayward stick along the beach. Then when I’m on the sand in front of his deck, I draw out a message like he’s done for me in the past.

I’M SO SORRY

There’s no response to my message.

While I make dinner and then after the meal, I not so casually check his house for activity. No lights illuminate the rooms. He had already told the staff at Blue in Green he’d be out of town for the weekend celebrating my birthday, but I wonder if he went to the bar anyway.

My phone buzzes with a text. I unlock the screen to find a reminder from Blake about his interview on SportsHour with Chip Conway tonight. With one more longing look toward Miles’ dark house, I force myself to settle on the couch to watch my brother’s interview.

The familiar theme music of the show relaxes me when it appears on the television screen a little while later. I need this distraction.

Chip Conway and his smarmy smirk appear. From there he delivers his opening monologue, looking more pleased with himself than usual. The slick-haired host is notorious for his self-assured, cocky attitude, but it’s a little over-the-top tonight.

“We’ve got a very special guest with us tonight,” Chip croons into the camera. The audience howls with fervor. “Yes, the
Blake Campbell is with me tonight. You won’t want to miss my conversation with him.” He winks at the audience, and a woman screeches in response. “
Nothing
is off the table.”

I roll my eyes at his words. Nothing but the items he vowed not to discuss by signing a contract. What a greaseball.

A few minutes into the show he moves to a desk where he introduces the segment with my brother. A montage of videos and pictures from Blake’s life accompany the description.

“Blake Campbell has captivated the attention of Americans since he burst onto the college football scene as quarterback for Illinois University. Under the tenure of Coach Bill Templeton, Blake took his team to the national championship twice, taking home victory in his second showing. Fans and sportscasters alike were transfixed by his story. The son to the owner of two professional sports houses would have his pick of teams to join. But he gave up the chance to play professionally for the dream of ownership and team management. On the heels of a championship win by the Chicago Wind, we’ve got Blake Campbell with us tonight to talk about the team and his vision for the future. Welcome, Blake.”

The moment Blake strides confidently onto the stage, a bit of reassurance settles around me. Whenever I’m sad, my brother eases some of the pain.

Something’s not right with Chip. He looks like a shark, a wicked smile playing on his lips when he shakes Blake’s hand. My brother is unaffected by the host and relaxes into the seat across from him. Chip launches into a string of questions about the team and Blake answers them with the same level of confidence, barely blinking.

SportsHour cuts to a commercial break.

When the show returns, the camera zooms in on Chip. The gleam in his eye is all but an evil twinkle. A sense of foreboding washes over me.

“Blake, you’re a notoriously private man. It’s not hard to find you in the public eye, whether it be splashed across tabloids on dates with celebrities, your relationship with the team, endorsements, or philanthropy, but it doesn’t give the full picture of Blake Campbell the man. Some even go as far as to accuse you of being robotic.”

Though I notice the tightening of his eyes, Blake’s voice doesn’t waver. “There are certain aspects of a man’s life that should remain private. Right, Chip?” There’s an underlying threat in his words.

I chew my lip nervously. Where is this going?

“Perhaps. But I believe good news should be shared with the world. Why don’t you publicize your engagement?”

The bottom falls out from my stomach. I have to remind myself to breathe.

Who did this?

“What?” Blake’s voice is low.

Once again a montage of pictures fill this screen, but this time they are of Blake and me from the anniversary of my parent’s death. The images show us hugging, him displaying the ring to me, and then me throwing my arms around his neck in appreciation for the gift. Mindlessly, I twirl the ring around my middle finger while Chip’s voice fills the room.

How did this happen?
I think dumbly. That night is a bit hazy from the abundance of tequila but… I wrap an arm around my stomach, which suddenly feels all sorts of trembly. This is the kind of complication I absolutely do not need in my life.

“A viewer from New Point, Michigan kindly sent us these photos of your engagement. Though I must say, can’t you do better than proposing in the middle of some Podunk bar?”

“It’s not Podunk,” I grumble in Miles’ defense, momentarily forgetting my fear.

“Engaged?” Blake responds, for a moment looking stupefied.

“Not only engaged, but to quite the fiancée. Zoe Baker is the young woman who notoriously held off would-be shooter Clinton Smith at Clarkes Elementary School in Chicago almost a year ago. For those who don’t remember, the young woman who convinced the gunman not to use his weapon disappeared into thin air. She refused all media interviews. Now, we’ve found the mysterious Zoe Baker. How does it feel to be engaged to a hero?”

Stars burst before my eyes for a moment. Dizziness makes my head spin.
Oh, no.

I shake my head to clear away the confusion when another photo fills the screen. One I’ve never seen before nor knew was taken.

It’s outside Clarkes, and there’s a crush of police officers swirling around the school in various states of activity. I find myself in the center of it all, standing near the curb. My hands clutch my ears as if I’m trying to block out the surrounding sounds, my eyes wide and unseeing. There’s no healthy glow to my skin; it’s chalky and translucent. Raw terror is etched across my face. I don’t know that woman.

Back at home on the sofa, my eyes screw shut.

“
No
.”

I’m fighting so damn hard not get to drawn back into that day. The memories of the moment, the emotions.

Panic.

Dread.

Relentless fear.

“Ah, you’re looking for information on Zoe.” Blake’s voice pulls me back to reality, and I open my eyes.

Breathe.
I exhale a shaky breath, focusing on my brother. He’ll fix this.

For those who don’t know him, they probably think he’s the same old Blake. I see the truth though. He’s two shakes away from grabbing Chip by his designer tie and tossing him aside. Underneath the calm expression, Blake is furious.

Chip’s grin grows victorious. “Yes, actually. Tell us about your fiancée.”

Blake shifts to dig his phone from his pocket. “I’ll do you one better. Here’s another picture of her.” He pulls up something on his phone and turns the device around to show Chip and then the cameraman. The camera quickly zooms in on the screen.