Page 142 of To Have and to Stalk
Stalking my stalker.
I’d told my friends the gist of what was happening, minus the criminal part. Things weren’t adding up, and I wanted answers. Where did he spend his day? Who did he spend it with?
I’d told them I wanted to do something crazy.
“I support women’s rights and wrongs,” Eames had said.
Which was how I found myself a few booths away, wearing one of Eames’s wigs, a beard from Olly’s old Darwin Halloween costume, watching Calder. A hat was tugged low on my forehead, and in one of Olly’s oversized shirts, I was mostly unrecognizable.
I’m a criminal.
A criminal who took care of me when I was sick.
A criminal who broke into my house to do my laundry?—
A tall woman with blonde hair approached Calder, ripping me from my thoughts, and sat down at his table. I leaned forward, watching as he ordered for them both with a smile. Was this a date?
It wasn’ttechnicallycheating if we’d agreed to be casual.
But still, it felt fucked up.
The woman slid a grocery bag across the table, and he stood before the food arrived, taking the bag with him, leaving the woman alone to finish eating.
I tilted my head. What the fuck? I was so confused by that I nearly forgot to follow him out. I quickly stood up, dashing after him into the brittle winter air. I followed Calder down the street, keeping my distance enough to see him but not arouse suspicion.
Calder stopped walking, and I ducked behind a trash can just as my phone buzzed—well, Eames’s phone. I couldn’t exactly stalk my stalker if my phone showed my location directly behind him.
He said he’s sorry and wants to know if you’re okay.
I glanced over the trash can. Calder stared down at his phone. He wanted to know if I was okay? Absently, I scratched at the beard. It was made of cheap, most likely plastic, material.
I wasnotokay. I didn’twanta relationship. I didn’t want any of this. But just as I was about to give in and admit okay, fine, I liked him—Imorethan liked him—he told me he cleaned money for the fucking Mafia.
What the fuck did that mean? Was it some kind of role-play? People didn’tactuallywork for the Mafia. That was a movie thing. A specific romance subgenre.
I quickly messaged Eames.
Tell him I’m fine.
A few seconds later, I received a follow-up.
Cool, I told him to reach out later, as unfortunately you were busy blowing up the bathroom.
I’m going to kill you.
Eames sent a cartwheel emoji.
A group of teenagers stopped, giving me a look.
“Dropped an AirPod,” I said, peeking over the trash can.
Calder was moving again.
I followed him to his car, and then continued to follow him from mine. He parked in a church, and I drove past the somewhat empty lot, because if watchingBurn Noticetaught me anything, it was I couldn’t park in the same lot as the guy I was tailing. So I drove around and parked far enough away that I was both inconspicuous and could still see him.
I leaned back, getting comfortable.
Calder didn’t move for hours. The sun made a rotation across the sky, the blue growing hazy and soft as it dropped beneath the western mountains. Then when only the afterglow of the sun lingered, backlighting the night, Calder finally got out of his car. He walked quickly, disappearing inside the church.
