Page 110 of I Hope This Finds You Well

I choke down a sob, turning away from her in a last-ditch effort to hold it together. But then Caitlin’s hand darts out and squeezes my wrist tight, and I fully break.

“I’m sorry.” Then she says, “I believe you.”

Her voice is shaking as much as mine.

“Caitlin, it’s none of my business. I just—I spent years wondering if I could have done something different. And I have that same feeling—that fear that I’m watching another bad thing unfold, and I need to be sure I tried my best.”

She covers her face with her palms. She’s so silent and still. Then a sob rips through her, like it’s being pulled straight from her core. She wipes her palms over her eyes, pushing at the tears that are flooding from them, urgent and visceral. Finally, she whispers, “I’ve gotten so good at managing him. And myself, because of him, even though I don’t want to be good at that.” Another sob crumbles through her words. “But I can’t lose him.” She looks up, her eyes wide and desperate. “This is going to sound fucked up, but he’s the only stable thing in my life. My job here has not been going well lately. I’ve cut out my friends, my family. And he’s not always like this. Sometimes he’s so sweet. He takes care of me.”

Guilt seeps into my muscles, making my legs buckle. Next week Caitlin is going to be let go. She’ll be alone with him. Everything I’ve been doing to fuck with her job has been driving her closer to danger.

I put both my hands on her shoulders, letting her lean some of her weight on me as she straightens herself. Her warmth from being alive, from being a human being, draws into me.

“I’m so sorry, Caitlin. I hate this.”

Then it’s like a switch is flicked. She stops crying mid-sob, rolls her shoulders back, and says, “I have to leave him.”

The wave of relief that hits me is sudden and sweeping. “If you need anything—any help—I can—”

She shakes her head. “It’s okay. I’ll be okay tonight.”

I nod uncertainly. I wish she wasn’t in this tough position. I wish I could take back everything I did to mess with her.

She tucks her chin into the collar of her jacket and says, tentatively, “I’m sorry I’ve been so mean to you.” Then she smiles, soft and sad. “I’ve been trying so hard because... this job, it’s the only thing that’s mine. It means everything to me.”

A reel of memories plays behind my eyes of us through the years, sitting a few feet across from each other, both angry about the other person, both ashamed of ourselves. It’s hard to believe how similar we are.

“I know exactly what you mean.” Then I let out an empty chuckle. “I can’t see how this company could lay either of us off when we’re the only two that could fix this bullshit tonight.”

“Yeah. Good point.” She almost laughs, though it dies in her throat.

The distinct squeal of a bus approaches and rounds the corner, casting its headlights over us. “I think that’s the twelve,” Caitlin says, looking at me guiltily. “Will you be okay out here?”

I check my phone. “Mine’s three minutes away.”

She gives me a solemn smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I watch through the windows as she takes a seat in the dimly lit bus cabin. She looks back at me, waving her hand as she goes.

As soon as Caitlin’s bus peels away, a car rounds the corner and slows right in front of me. The headlights are blinding, and I suppose that’s for the best if I’m about to get murdered.

“Get in the car, Jolene.”

The Day Is Still Going

My chest swells at the sound of Cliff’s voice. The golden wonder that is his car pulls up toward the curb beneath the streetlight.

I pull the passenger-side door open and slump inside, grateful for the rush of warmth from his heater. Then something wet pushes into the back of my neck. I flinch, whipping around to find a hound dog nudging his wet nose at me from between the seats. So this is the mysterious dog I’ve been smelling for weeks. When I turn around to say hello, his tail starts to fly at full speed and he jumps up onto the console, practically flying onto my lap.

“Get down, Biscuit! You’re coming on too strong for a first meeting.”

Biscuit doesn’t listen, just licks the salty part of my cheek. Nothing gets past dogs.

Cliff pushes Biscuit into the back seat again, then looks my way, bashful. “So believe it or not, I wasn’t stalking you that much.”

A grin tugs at my lips. “Sure. I believe you.”

“Really! I was wrapping up playing you-know-what at a place nearby”—he points at his Warhammer hoodie—“when I got your text that you were still working, so I thought I’d swing by, just in case.”