Chapter 37: CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

February 23, 1993.

Javier is at his desk grading exams, and I knock as I walk in.

“Hey,” he says, “look who showed up.”

I fall into one of his chairs. “I went to therapy today.”

“Does your therapist get ‘it’ yet?”

“No, and she’s decided that you’re in love with me.”

He chuckles and tosses his pen onto the papers. “Interesting theory. Did you call her a liar?”

“In so many words.”

“Good,” he says, leaning back.

I’m not sure how to take that, but I think I’m relieved. “I want to give you my phone number.”

“Why now?”

“I’m not at Paul’s anymore. I moved in with Ra’Shelle and her family for now.” I grab a sticky pad, write Ra’Shelle’s number, and hand it to him.

“Nice that you like me enough to let me call you,” he says. “That’s a big step for you.”

I hate that he’s right. “As long as you’re not in love with me, we’re good.”

He folds the sticky note and places it in his wallet. “What happened with Paul?”

On Friday night, it hadn’t seemed like that big of a deal, but with a few days of retrospect, I realized just how wrong that situation could have gone.

Maybe I should’ve talked about that in therapy.

“I–I don’t want to talk about it.”

He springs up in his chair. “Did he fucking try something?”

Even if I would rather be immune to it, Javier’s compassion, his protective nature, makes my spine tingle.

I sigh. “I handled it, all right?”

“This happened Friday night?”

“Yes.”

He shakes his head. “He took advantage of your emotional vulnerability.”

Yep. Paul knew the gala would be hell for me and that I’d be emotionally spent when I got home, so I’d be more likely to give in to requests.

It took me a couple of days to put that together, but Javier figured it out immediately. Why is that?

“Fight-or-flight kicked in,” I say, “and I did both. It’s fine.”

Maybe that was the wrong thing to say because there’s that overlay of anger in his eyes again. “He did something so fucked up that you had to attack him and flee?”

I clear my throat. “That makes it sound worse than it was.”

“Did you attack him?”

“Technically, yes.”

“And then did you immediately leave?”

“Also yes.”

“Son of a bitch!” When I don’t say anything, he rolls his chair from behind his desk and sits in front of me. “Tell me what’s happening in your head.”

“Why?”

“Because I give a shit.”

I hesitate. “Paul was Layne’s oldest friend, and Paul thinks of himself as Layne’s best friend, and I trust Layne and his judgment, so I don’t understand how Paul can act the way he does sometimes and be so trusted and loved by Layne. And then I think–” I bite my lip.

“What?” he prompts.

“Some people are steadying forces in other people’s lives. They’re our bedrock, and when they’re gone, everything changes. What if Layne was Paul’s steadying force? And even worse, what if he was Paul’s moral compass? What if because of Layne’s death, Paul becomes a darker person?”

He nods. “I think that’s highly likely.”

Dammit.

I sigh. “Can we take a walk?”

He nods before locking his door, and we stroll outside. We place our hands in our pockets, and I say, “Paul said something, when… He was mad, and he said something, and I haven’t been able to get it out of my head.”

“Tell me.”

“He said ‘You may have fooled Layne, but I...’”

“‘But I’ what?”

“He didn’t finish. That’s when I wrist-locked him.”

“You wrist– Sam, what the hell happened?”

“Don’t you think that’s weird?” I ask, ignoring the request. “He thinks I fooled Layne? What does that even mean?”

“It means he thinks you’re a gold digger,” he says flatly, “and he thought that Layne was going to leave all of his money to him.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. I’d bet all of my money on it.”

I simper. “But would you bet all of my money on it?”

He laughs. “Yep. All of that money too,” he says. “Think about it, Sam. Layne has no close family, and Paul’s his oldest friend. Of course he assumed it would go to him.”

“But he was in the hospital with me every day that Layne was in the coma. He seemed sincerely upset, and he obviously knew Layne and I were very close.”

“Yep, and I’m sure part of that was genuine sadness about his friend. But, if Layne had woken up and seen how much Paul cared, he might have changed the executor to Paul, and if Layne didn’t wake up, Paul was hoping that you would back out and sign everything over to him. That’s also why he wanted you to live with him.”

“You spent a lot of time thinking about this?”

“And,” he continues, “if he can get you to fall in love with him and marry him, then he’d have half of Layne’s money, so he’s going to try to find ways to make you develop feelings.”

“That’s sick, Javier. Seriously, you spent time on this?”

“I just…” He clears his throat. “I was trying to figure out the guy’s motives because I didn’t like that you were living with him if he was planning something sinister, so, yeah, I’ve been giving it some thought.”

I half-smile. “Jealous?”

He side-eyes me. “Protective.”

“Good answer.”

I only now realize that we’ve been walking toward the construction site. When we arrive, he stops. “They finished the floor. I wanted you to see it.”

The earth and all of Layne’s ashes have been covered by gray concrete. “It’s starting to look like an actual building.”

“Yes.”

I sit on the ground, and he joins me. “We did the right thing, right? Choosing this as his resting place?”

“We did.”

“You think he would have been okay being walked on all the time? That’s not disrespectful?”

Javier bends his knees slightly and wraps his arms around them. “I think he would have seen it as him providing support to the students. I honestly believe he would have loved this. I wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise.”

I stare straight ahead. “Does it bother you that Layne left me the money?”

He looks at me. “Is that a serious question?”

“Yes.”

“Of course it doesn’t bother me, Sam. Come on. Layne can do what he wants, and our friendship has nothing to do with money. He knew that you’d know what to do with it.”

Maybe it’s staring at the new floor, knowing I’ll never see Layne’s ashes again, or maybe it’s that sentence, but either way, I feel something break. “Except that I don’t,” I whisper.

“That’s bullshit. You gave six million to the college, however much you’ll give to the hospital, and you’ll keep supporting his causes. You know exactly what you’re doing with it.”

“It’s not enough,” I whisper.

“Is that your fucking guilt talking again?”

There’s a gnawing in my stomach.

“Come here,” he says, gesturing for me to move closer. When I do, he places his arm around my back and squeezes my shoulder. “I know you’re still in deep denial, but in the meantime, look at the good you’ve done. DuMar Hall will open next year. You did that, Sam.”

“It’s not enough.”

“Enough for what?”

I bite my lip. “Absolution.”

“You don’t need to be absolved of anything.” He shakes his head. “It kills me that you can’t see that, that they fucking did this to you.”

We sit silently for a long time, him holding my shoulder, me holding my own knees. Finally, I say, “I need another favor.”

“Name it.”

“I called your real estate agent to put Layne’s house on the market, and she said that I should clear out Layne’s things–anything I didn't want in the house when people come by, or the next owners to have. I drove down the street a couple of times, but I can’t…” I clear my throat. “I can’t…”

“Actually go to the house?”

“Yeah, and I don’t want to force you to come with me because, I mean, I’m sure it would suck for you too, and I don’t want to just spread the misery, and the pain, and make you an accessory to my grief, and if you don’t want to come, you shouldn’t have to because it’s not your fucking responsibility when I’m–”

“Stop talking, Sam.”

“Sorry,” I whisper.

“Why are you apologizing?”

My stomach flips. “I don’t know.”

“Then don’t.”

I take a shaky breath. “Would it be too hard on you to go to the house?”

“Not as hard as it’s going to be on you. I think I was at Layne’s house twice. I didn’t live there. It’s different.”

“Just because it’s hard on me doesn't mean that–”

“Stop, Sam,” he whispers. “Just stop.”

I lean my head against his shoulder. “You’ll go with me?”

“Mm-hmm. Tomorrow, I have classes in the morning, but I’m done by noon.”

“Thank you, Javier.”

“All you ever have to do is ask.”

See, Dr. Muto is wrong. I don’t have to engage in any “attention-seeking behavior”.

All I have to do is ask.