“Once! It was one time, but, ah, sure, if you want to believe that I want you and it’ll make you feel better, go ahead and think that.”
I laugh. “Thanks. I needed that.”
“Don’t you have class, Erika?” I hear in the background.
“Hush,” she says. “There’s only so much that can be found out on the internet. Probably next to nothing. He’s going to be operating mostly underground, but if we can learn what he’s doing, maybe it’ll become clearer why he wants your mom back so badly.”
“I can tell you one thing. It’s not love or lust or anything like that. There has to be another reason why he’s so desperate to get her back, but why? But it doesn’t matter why. He’s not going to get her, not now, not ever. I hired a bodyguard.”
“You did? That’s a really good idea.”
“Why do you sound so surprised?” I groan.
“Now, seriously, that’s really smart. Maybe you should have one too.”
“Nope.”
“Why not? Then have your guys—”
“I don’t have guys, first of all, and second of all, I can’t afford one.”
“Well, then, I know what I’m getting you for Christmas,” she says lightly.
“Erika, don’t,” I warn. “I don’t want one.”
“I’m sure your mom didn’t want one either, but you didn’t take no for an answer.”
“Erika, go to class, and seriously, I will be pissed if you get me a bodyguard.”
“Why? Why won’t you let me do this? I want you to be safe!”
“I am safe. Like I said, my mom is the one Father’s after.”
“Right, but he might very well go after you to get to her,” she points out.
If she only knew. Thank fuck I didn’t tell her about my father’s little visit because she would’ve been on a plane to come here right away.
“And I can handle myself. I’ll be fine.”
"Right up until you aren't." Erika sighs. "I do have class, but don't do anything reckless, and call me often if you want me to listen about not getting you a bodyguard. I need to know that you're safe. I know how quickly shit can turn south."
“Will do, Mom.”
She laughs. “Love you.”
“Right back at ya.”
I hang up and glance around. A few more students are heading toward the library, but no one is paying me any attention. I think it’s about seven or so at night in Ireland, so I call my mom.
One ring. Two. Maybe she’s eating dinner, although hopefully not at a restaurant. I know her money is starting to become tight.
So’s mine. Ugh. I don’t want to think about that.
“Katie, darling. How are you?”
I blink a few times. “Mom?”
“Yes, honey?”