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I didn't hear from Elijah for two days. I left message after message, ranging from lighthearted to pleading. Elijah didn’t return my texts or my phone calls. I thought we were okay, but obviously not. He caught me going through his stuff, but that’s minor compared to what I have to confess. I'm the reason why he was arrested and all because of a stupid prank. What I did wasn’t thought out, but I was only fifteen. No wonder he thought I was too young.
Eventually, I track him down at the bar, and I’m not sure how to interpret the quick look he gives me. When he turns away without acknowledging me, my heart starts to break as if it’s cracking like ice. I sit down at the bar and wait for him to approach.
“What can I get you?” he asks as if I'm anybody.
“I’ll take a beer, whatever’s on tap,” I reply.
He places the beer down in front of me and then walks off to wait on another customer. I feel him watching me, and every once in a while when I look up, he doesn’t turn away. But it doesn’t feel the same. His attitude is almost indifferent, and the longing is missing from his gaze. Eventually, he walks over, and I take a chance, trying to talk to him again.
“I really need to talk to you.”
“I can tell," he says. "Did you talk to your father?”
His question knocks me off balance, and I can barely catch my breath to speak. “He only just told me. I didn’t know. If I had, I would’ve said something. Did you say something?”
He nods, bracing his strong arms against the bar. “I told my mother. She didn’t believe me at first, and I didn’t understand. But then I was shown the pictures while in custody. I only kept the one you saw."
“They let you have it?” I ask.
“No, I just took it.” He looks over at a man lifting his arm for service. "Excuse me." And Elijah walks away.
I’m ashamed to think about the photos I took and wonder how many people saw them, including my father. I lower my head in my hands, and my face is hot to the touch. It’s so shameful. I feel ill as my stomach twists into a lead knot, and I’m amazed Elijah is talking to me. Maybe I can pull my coat over my head and slip out unseen.
“Lost in thought?" he asks.
I can barely raise my eyes to his. “I don’t even know how to apologize."
“Let it go, Olivia. It's old history."
“You’ve been angry with me for all that time," I scoff, “and now you say let it go?”
Mouth tightens into an ugly slash as he stares off into space. “I thought you knew. That’s why I was angry.”
Elijah walks off again before I can respond to wait on another customer. His calm hurts more than his hate. The light is missing in his eyes, and I don’t think he’ll ever look at me the same way again. I'll never forgive myself for this. I tug my bag off the stool and dig around for my wallet.
“It’s on the house,” he says, walking back.
"I want to pay."
“Better not," he says. "You’re underage.”
The irony is evident, and I wish I could disappear into the ground and never come up again. I can’t look Elijah in the eye as I hoist my bag onto my shoulder. But I force myself to look into his indifferent gaze.
“I’m sorry.” I repeat it firmly. “If I had known, I would have spoken up. There’s nothing I could do to make it up to you, but if there is, please tell me.”
Elijah nods but says nothing as I get up to leave. A small part of me hopes that he'll run after me and pull me into his arms before I walk out the door. I want him to tell me that no matter what, we have to be together. I want to leave and never sit in this bar again, but with each step, I hope he'll stop me. I’m almost out the door when the owner, Norris, stops me instead.
“You’re the woman that took the picture of Winston?” he asks.
I nod, trying to appear friendly when I feel like the world’s dumbest ass.
“We located his son," he says. "He wants me to thank you."
“They have my condolences," I reply with sincerity.
“He hadn’t seen his dad in some time," Norris continues, as he makes himself comfortable at the bar. "Turns out that the son had been trying to see him, but Winston said no. He didn’t want to be seen by his family, not in that condition."
I understand the feeling too well, but I just nod my head. “Do the police know who did it?”
