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I sucked in another breath, forcing myself to calm down. I had gotten away from the monster I’d been married to. That was a good thing. Grandma’s house had given me the chance to restart my life without stooping to asking my parents for help. I was safe now, back in my hometown.
I drove toward my home, passing the turn to the Armstrong property. I didn’t have to think of the past and all the stupid decisions. Noah wouldn’t stay in Refuge Falls. No way. He was only here because of his father, who would be okay in no time. It was fine. Everything was fine.
Turning on the radio, I tried to clear my mind. Noah Armstrong wasn’t a problem. Facing the past wasn’t a problem. The past would be leaving town in a couple days.
I toyed with the idea of skipping work for the next few days and focusing my time on repairing my grandmother’s home. My home. Too bad skipping work and avoiding people was something my therapist and I had agreed I shouldn’t do. Avoidance had been one of the biggest problems in my marriage.
When Brian called again, I told myself I was done avoiding him. “We’re not talking, Brian. That’s what divorce is. Not talking.”
“Wait. I just … I had a bill come in, and I wanted to make sure it was good with you if I canceled it.”
“What bill?” He’d been making these kinds of excuses for talking to me lately—sorting out all the bills and insurance and blah blah blah after the divorce.
“Um. That life insurance policy we bought for you.”
His tone sounded uncertain. It confused me. “What?”
“Fine. It’s not about a bill. Ella, look, we can’t be divorced. I need you. I have been getting help, and I need to see you.”
“No,” I snapped. “I can’t do this with you, Brian. Don’t call again.”
“Did you know I’m not even working? I can’t be called a doctor after what I did. I took an oath: ‘Do no harm.’ And I technically broke it by how I treated you. I realize that now.”
I hesitated. “I’m glad you see that.” Apparently, all the therapy he was doing now was finally having an effect on him. If only he’d started doing it when I’d brought it up to him again and again.
“Let me come see you. We can talk all of this out.”
“Brian,” I said, trying to keep my words calm. “We’re finished. While I’m happy you are getting help, it doesn’t mean I want to talk to you.”
“How can you do that?” he said, his voice rising. “Just act like you care, then turn me away when I need you. Can’t you see that I need you?”
I hung up, fuming. This was his tactic: constantly finding ways to talk to me, to try to apologize, to say he needed me.
My phone buzzed. A text popped up from Brian.
We’re not done, Ella. We can’t be done.
I chucked my phone onto the passenger seat. I was angry now. Ironically, that made me feel better. Anger was a nice emotional change from being afraid or insecure. “Wearedone, Brian. We are so done!”
I tried to focus on the radio for a few minutes, but I couldn’t let the music all the way in. My monkey mind kept reminding me about all the stupid stuff with Brian, occasionally adding flashes of Noah’s face for good measure. Ugh.
Finally, I grabbed my phone and pressed Mercy’s phone number.
She answered on the first ring. “Are you okay?”
I sighed, hating that I was so vulnerable. “I’ve had an emergency come up, and I’ll be out of town for the next couple days. I’m sorry.”
“You mean Noah Armstrong? That emergency?”
“Mercy, please. I’ll be back at work on Monday. I’ll just take Sunday off.”
“Ella, you have tomorrow off.”
Right. My breathing was shallow, and I forced myself to suck in air. Sunday was my regular day off. “Sorry I called. I’ll let you go.”
“Wait.”
I hedged between pressing the red button on the screen in my car and not wanting to hang up on my best friend.
