Chapter Nine

                                    

                                              


                          
Somehow, we made it through the rest of dinner with small talk. Suzanne was polite in the face of everything, but the cloud never did lift. Once we'd had quite enough of the visit, I thanked her and then Simon drove me home.
                          
He was silent as we drove along below the streetlights, and I couldn't bring myself to break it. But I could feel that something was about to explode.
                          
Even though we'd stared out earlier at his apartment, he took me back to my own without a hitch. We both got out of the car without a word and he walked me to the door of my building, being a perfect gentleman, even though we had gone silent. When I was standing there, facing him, I wasn't sure that I wanted to apologize. Sure, I had probably been out of line, but that didn't mean that what I'd said at diner hadn't been true. Maybe that wasn't the point. I still should not have taken on his father like I had. It hadn't been my place to do so, and even if I was right, I could see how Simon had the right to be upset with me.
                          
Fear welled up in me at his silence, and finally I was compelled to beg for forgiveness.
                          
"I'm sorry, Simon. I was out of line. I really ruined everything."
                          
I was already thinking I might have to take drastic measures to get him to forgive me, and I was ready to take that plunge if I had to.
                          
He was mild in his response, and I suppose I was thankful that he was so stoic. "I'm not sure why you felt the need to do that, and I'm not sure which makes me more upset: the fact that you decided to take on my father, or the fact that you won't stop talking about what happened the other night. Why must you continually rehash it?"
                          
What happened? He must have been talking about the hit and run. I couldn't let it go, of course, but was I so wrong? The accident had happened in front of us, and whether we liked it or not, it was a part of our lives — an even bigger part of mine, since the victim was apparently my stalker. Could he not understand why I wanted information?
                          
I felt the same flare rising in me that I had used to take on his father.
                          
"You're not upset because I keep talking about the accident," I corrected him. "You mean I keep talking about the guy who died. Well I have every right to be curious about him, Simon. He was stalking me for God's sake!"
                          
"I don't want to fight," he told me diplomatically, cutting me off at the fuse. "I need some time. I think we both do."
                          
"Fine." My heart was racing so fast. I didn't know what was happening, but Simon was continually cool and collected. He turned away without another word and left me standing there in front of my apartment, smoldering, but snuffed out.
                          
--
                          
After that, I lost track of time. I went back into my apartment and began painting. For hours, I splashed colors on the canvas and tried not to think about anything else, but of course Simon was on my mind. He had never left it since the morning I woke up and fell head over heels for him. 
                          
Once again, I was full of fear. Were we over? Had I crossed a line with his family? Of course I had. I really had and I knew that. Still, I had been right. I knew that too. And Simon had seemed to be more upset about the questions I'd posed his father rather than the accusations I'd spouted. This was just ridiculous! If I'd told Chelsea about this, she probably would have laughed at me. Well, maybe not over all of it, but certainly about the dinner outburst. I wasn't so much angry as I was restless, and my artwork reflected exactly what was on my mind. 
                          
When I looked at the clock, it was far past midnight, and I was sure then that I was one-hundred percent wrong in what I had done. I had to apologize — really apologize — and hoped that he wasn't ready to give up yet.