Hey Jude (Lennox Valley Chronicles #1)

When I can trust myself to speak again, I swipe at my eyes and look up at him. “This has to stop.” Suddenly cold, I hug my arms tight to my chest. “Can you come with me to the police station?”

42

OLENA

Nat meets us at the courthouse after the police direct us there. It turns out that filing the paperwork for any kind of restraining order is a three hour administrative ordeal and, even before I start, I’m already shattered from everything that’s happened in the past couple of days—most notably, Sean’s ominous threat before he left. To say this situation is unfair would be a brutal understatement. This situation is hot garbage.

I watch the dust dance in a late afternoon sunbeam from the stuffy third floor of the Lennox County Courthouse, Wyatt and Nat in matching chairs on either side of me. The sickly orange walls somehow match the earthy scent of old books and papers that permeates the stale air around us; it smells like a library in here. The sound of squeaking metal drawers being pulled and pushed occasionally interrupts the intolerable quiet, and we intermittently look up from scrolling on our phones with disinterest.

Wyatt leaves and returns with coffee that I barely touch. I take occasional sips of the too-sweet, lukewarm drink, but it only fuels the queasy feeling in my stomach. Several other people wait along with us, pressed into the uncomfortable plastic seats. No one here looks like they’re having a good day. I sit with my arms folded across my chest, my leg bouncing with impatience.

After about half an hour, the clerk calls my name and hands me a stack of six forms. Flipping quickly through them, I see the first form alone is twenty-four pages long, including multiple appendices, one of which depicts various firearms. The fine print is already swimming in front of my eyes. I take a deep breath.

After an administrative eternity and a slew of clarifying questions put to Nat, Wyatt, and the long-suffering clerk, my forms are complete and we’re directed to a courtroom. The judge reviews my paperwork and signs the order without issue, reminding me in a well-practiced, droning monotone that no arrests can be made if Sean’s in violation of the order before being served these papers in person. His words sound distant and detached. I let them wash over me as I stand there in a daze, my irritation having been crushed by the tedious paperwork into something more like dissociation.

I can’t believe my relationship with Sean has come to this—talking with a judge about how and when he can get arrested for contacting me. I don’t even know where he is right now. How will he get served with the paperwork if they can’t find him? And if Sean’s still here in Lennox Valley and he tries to find me again… what then?

Sean’s final words to me drift through my head. “I’m gonna fucking make you see we belong together. You belong to me and no one else.”

I shudder. What did he mean by that? What’s he going to do? Jude was right. I don’t know what he’s capable of. I feel uneasy again but, holding my copy of the restraining order, I also feel like I’ve finally done something to protect myself. This boundary between me and Sean was long-overdue. As we file out of the courthouse to head home—and through the fog of my weary exhaustion—I feel proud of myself.

“Olena, you did good, girl.” Nat reaches over and squeezes my arm as we stand together on the sidewalk out front. “This was the right step to take.”

“Thanks,” I say. “I’m still feeling twitchy, though. Like I keep having to watch over my shoulder in case Sean’s following me.”

“Understandable.” Wyatt slings his arm around my shoulder and gives me a squeeze. “What a prick. I’m so sorry you’re dealing with this.”

“Yeah,” I say, looking at the ground, “but… I’m almost feeling like I want to celebrate this.” I hold up the restraining order in my hand. “I mean, I took legal action to get Sean out of my life. That deserves gold stars, right?” I glance up at Wyatt, then over to Nat, who’s smiling proudly at me.

“Did I just hear you say you want to celebrate? Um, yes please,” she says.

“Fuck Sean drinks at our place?” Wyatt arches an eyebrow.

“Fuck Sean drinks!” Nat nods, smiling.

“Fuck Sean drinks, it is,” I say.

“And all the gold stars, of course,” Nat adds, giving my hand a squeeze as we head to the parking lot.

I smile at my friends, knowing I have to get through this even though it’s hard. I refuse to be a victim to Sean’s delusions. I am going to handle this. I am handling this.

43

OLENA

The final touches at the Faulkners’ property wrap up Friday afternoon. The fertilizer is spread, the grass mowed one last time, and the irrigation system is turned on. I spend the afternoon with my camera, taking the pictures that will be the after photos of my before-and-after set for the project—at least until I can get a final set done later in the spring when all the plants have settled and the new flowers are blooming.

Wyatt and Nat text me throughout the day to check in, likely a team effort on their part to ensure I’m safe. They help distract me from the ball of dread and anxiety that’s taken up residence in my stomach. Holed up with my camera in the sunken garden, I’m grateful to have a private place to linger. Finding I need a break from the constant, chirping text notifications, I set my phone on silent and toss it onto one of the benches. I take my last photos of the firepit and the view over the river.

I’m reviewing the images on the camera’s screen when the sound of approaching voices has my eyes snapping up to the pathway. Shit.

Jude’s been taking Charles and Carol on a walk-through, making sure there are no last steps that need to be flagged for completion before we pack up the equipment. Unable to stomach the possibility of being cornered into joining them, I hurry to leave.

“Excuse me,” I mutter as I rush past the three of them on the path. “Sorry, just have to…” I trail off, holding up my camera and smiling apologetically like I’ve got more work to do. I barely meet Jude’s eyes.

Once I’ve safely escaped the sunken garden, I realize I’ve also finished all that I need to do. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, looking around at this beautiful property. Spotting Jude’s team chatting across the yard, I head over to say my goodbyes. I thank them for their hard work and tell them I hope to work with them all again—which I do. As awkward as things have been with Jude on and off throughout this project, this group has been unfalteringly professional and kind to me.

With Jude still busy touring the Faulkners around, I decide to leave without saying goodbye to them. Probably for the best, I think, pushing down the twinge of regret I feel about sneaking off. I’ll need to call Charles next week to follow up, anyway.