I felt the relief invade me.
“So nothing weird happened?”
“Nothing. It was kind, fun and respectful. We talked for almost three hours.”
“Did he tell you anything about another quote?”
“He asked me if I wanted to go back to dinner next Friday.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I said yes.”
For the first time in weeks, I slept without imagining the worst.
The next morning, she was gone too.
I called her before I went to work.
He didn’t answer.
I called her again at lunchtime.
I jumped straight into the voicemail.
I texted him asking if he was okay. None answered.
In the afternoon, he finally sent me a message.
“Don’t call me. Please.”
That wasn’t Rachel.
Rachel would never send me a message like that without giving an explanation. Even in our worst arguments, he had called me and we had argued until we both ran out of things to say.
I went straight to his apartment.
His car was still there.
I had the lights on.
But no one opened the door.
I knocked on the door until my knuckles hurt. I called her by her name through the door. I called his cell phone again and I heard nothing from the inside.
A neighbor went out into the hallway and asked if everything was going well.
“I don’t know,” I said.
I sat in the car in front of his building, almost an hour. I stared at their windows, waiting for some curtains to move.
Nothing happened.
The next afternoon, he called me.
His voice sounded trembling.
“I can’t explain it to you on the phone.”
“When can we meet?” I asked.
“Tomorrow morning.”
I barely slept that night.
The next morning, I caught her right outside her office before she came in.
She seemed exhausted. He had a pale face and kept looking at the entrance of the building, as if looking for an excuse to escape.
“What happened?” I asked.
“What has my father done?”
Then he showed me his cell phone.
His fingers were shaking so much that I had to take it off.
On the screen you could see a message of an unknown number.
“Get away from him. You have no idea what he’s capable of.”
Underneath was a picture of Rachel leaving the restaurant with my father.
The photo had been taken from across the street.
I got a knot in my stomach.
“When did this come to you?” I asked.
“About 20 minutes after I got home.”
I slipped my finger up.
There were more messages.
The sender knew Rachel’s address.
I knew where he worked. He even knew the name of his little brother, Graham.
The last message was the worst.
“If you get back in touch with him or Lola, Graham will find out what happened in Philadelphia.”
I looked at Rachel.
“What happened in Philadelphia?”
His eyes were filled with shame.
“Nothing criminal. Three years ago, Graham was going through an addiction. He was missing for two days. I found him in a motel and brought him home. No one knows except my family.”
“How can this person know?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why did you tell me not to contact you?”
Rachel crossed her arms tightly.
“Because the message came seconds after you called. Whoever sent him knew you were trying to track me down.”
A wave of cold ran through my body.
That meant someone was watching us both.
I asked Rachel to forward all the messages and photos. He hesitated for a moment before he accepted.
“Please be careful, Lola,” he said. “It’s not a scorned woman or a jealous stranger.”
“Do you think my father has anything to do with it?”
“I think he’s someone close to him.”
I wanted to defend him. But then I remembered how quickly he had been angry when I asked him about his appointments.
I left Rachel out of her office and drove to my father’s.
He opened the door for me with an old sweatshirt and sneakers. He was wearing scrambled hair and had dark circles.
“Rachel hasn’t answered me,” he said. “Have I done anything wrong?”
The pain in his voice sounded authentic.
I went in without saying anything.
He followed me to the living room.
“Lola, what happened?”
“Someone has threatened her.”
He was paralyzed.
“What?”
I showed her the messages.
He read them slowly. His expression went from confusion to fear.
“This happened after our quote?”
“Yes.”
He gave me my cell phone back.
