Chapter 14: The Longest Night

And neither of them moved, because moving would mean breaking the spell, would mean acknowledging that this moment had an ending, would mean accepting that they couldn't stay suspended in this space forever, caught between what had been and what was coming next. Moving would mean admitting that tomorrow was real, that her father would call, that she would have to make a conscious choice about whether to stay or leave, and neither of them was ready for that yet.

So they stayed very still, and they held each other, and they waited for the dawn, and they pretended that time didn't exist, that the world outside these walls wasn't waiting for them to make decisions that would change everything. They pretended that they could stay here forever in this moment, suspended between what was and what might be, held together by nothing but the strength of what they felt for each other and the knowledge that starting tomorrow, everything would be different.

They stayed like that until the night deepened around them, until the stars came out over the lake, until the world seemed to consist of nothing but the two of them and the dark water. And neither of them spoke, because words would only diminish what they were feeling, would only reduce to language something that existed beyond language.

Tomorrow would change everything. Tomorrow she would have to make a choice without the structure of the arrangement, without the excuse of obligation, without the safety of being able to blame circumstances for her staying. Tomorrow she would have to say that she wanted to be here, that she wanted him, that this wasn't something that had been done to her but something she was choosing.

The prospect terrified her. Not the thought of leaving, but the thought of staying, of committing to something so dangerous, so uncertain, so utterly dependent on his choice to remain who he was becoming instead of sliding back into who he used to be.

But looking at him in the darkness, feeling the weight of his arm around her, hearing his heartbeat underneath her ear, she knew already what her answer would be. She knew already that she would stay. She'd known for weeks. She'd been waiting for the moment when she could admit it, when she could stop pretending that she was here against her will, when she could tell the truth about her own desire.

Tomorrow she would tell him. Tomorrow she would choose him. But tonight, they could pretend that the decision hadn't already been made, that the future was still uncertain, that they were still suspended in the space between what had been and what might be.

The phone call came at three in the afternoon. Scarlett was sitting in the library when Mrs. Chen appeared with a cordless phone, and she said, "Your father, miss," and then left her alone.

She stared at the phone for a long moment before answering.

"Dad?"

"Scarlett, thank God." His voice was loud, panicked, full of the kind of relief that came from having solved one problem and realized there were a thousand others waiting. "Are you okay? I was told you were safe, but no one would give me any details. I've been going crazy not knowing where you were or what happened."

The version of Scarlett that existed before this house would have been moved by his concern. The version of Scarlett that existed now recognized it for what it was: the kind of worry that came from someone who was relieved to no longer bear responsibility for her immediate survival.

"I'm fine," she said. "I'm safe."

"The debt is settled," he said. "That Voss man, the one you were worried about, he said the whole thing is taken care of. What happened? How did you convince him?"

"I didn't convince him," Scarlett said. "He made an offer and I accepted it."

"What kind of offer?"

She could picture her father clearly, could see the way his mind was already constructing possibilities, was already wondering if there was some angle he'd missed, some way to leverage the situation for additional gain. She could see all the ways he was trying to figure out how to profit from the fact that someone dangerous had decided to be generous.

"That's not your concern," she said.

"Scarlett, I'm your father. I need to know that you're okay. I need to know that you didn't do anything that's going to come back on you."

"I'm fine," she said. "Actually, I'm better than fine. I'm good."

"Are you coming home?"

There was a long silence. She could hear him breathing through the phone, could feel him waiting for the answer he wanted, the answer that would restore his life to the way it had been, with Scarlett in her apartment in Wicker Park, teaching piano lessons, sending money, holding everything together.

"Not right now," she said. "I'm going to need more time."

"More time for what?"

"To figure out what I want," she said. "To figure out who I am when I'm not managing your life. To figure out if there's anything left of me after twenty-four years of being your solution to problems."

"Scarlett, that's not fair. I've done my best. I've been a good father."

She didn't respond to that. There was nothing to say that would be kind, and she was suddenly too tired to manufacture kindness for her father. She'd manufactured it her entire life. She'd been manufacturing it for twenty-four years.

"I'm going to stay here," she said. "For now. I'm going to figure out what's next for me. And I'm going to call you when I've done that."

"Is this because of him? Is this man threatening you? Is he keeping you there against your will?" There was something in his voice that suggested he was calculating the angles again, trying to figure out if there was something he could do with the information that she was being held captive.

"No," she said, and she meant it completely. "He offered to let me go. I chose to stay."

"Why would you choose to stay with a criminal? Scarlett, he's dangerous. You need to come home. You need to get out of there before something happens to you."

"Because he sees me," she said, and she felt the truth of it like a physical thing, like something settling into place inside her chest. "And you never did. You looked at me and you saw someone who could solve your problems. You looked at me and you saw money and responsibility and someone whose life could be sacrificed for yours. He looked at me and he saw a person. He saw someone worth knowing. He saw someone worth changing for."

She hung up before he could respond, before he could launch into whatever argument or plea he'd been constructing.