The past few weeks have gone by quickly, with Gavin continuing his pattern of flying in on Friday and out late Sunday. Maddox is over the moon. The first weekend they met, Gavin gave him his very own cell phone before flying back to L.A. Maddox texts him each day before and after school, and they talk every night before bed. It’s a bit strange not being privy to those conversations. It’s completely wonderful that Maddox feels so wanted. It’s utterly terrifying having to share my son with the one person who could obliterate us both.
The flowers have continued to arrive, thankfully, only on a weekly basis now. The attached notes still touch me as Gavin is trying so hard to make us a couple again.
We haven’t had sex since the weekend he met Maddox. Three whole weeks. Three weekends of seeing Gavin. Smelling Gavin. Hearing him talk with that sexy southern drawl that Maddox loves to imitate. Three weekends of soccer games, Sunday brunches and outings. Three weekends and Gavin hasn’t touched me purposefully.
Not. One. Time.
I know what he’s doing. Because, although he’s not touching me, he’s giving me looks . . . glances . . . stares. He’s brushing against me as he walks by. He’s helping out around the house. He’s smelling so flippin’ good. The sexual tension that radiates between us could power a small village.
But his being here every weekend is not without consequences. All the traveling is taking a toll on Gavin. He’s tired a lot of the time and he’s cramming a five day work week into four days. It makes me wonder exactly when he will say it’s all too much. Then he’ll cut his visits down to twice a month, then once. Then after that he’ll only show up for holidays and special occasions.
I’m trying to prepare Maddox. Help him understand that it won’t always be like this. But, he’s seven and he just got the father he’s always wanted, so it falls on deaf ears.
My phone rings, pulling me from my thoughts as I sit in my office staring blindly out the window. I answer the unfamiliar number.
“Ms. Mitchell?” a man asks.
“Yes. This is she.”
“This is Mr. Pruett, the principal over here at Maple Creek Elementary.”
“Yes, hello, Mr. Pruett,” I say. “What can I do for you?”
“I don’t want to alarm you, but there’s been a situation here at school that you should be aware of.”
My heart pounds and my mouth goes dry. “Is Maddox okay?”
“Yes. He’s perfectly fine,” he says. “He is talking with the police right now.”
“The police?” I shriek into the phone, already rounding the corner of my desk to grab my coat and purse.
“Ms. Mitchell, everything is okay,” he repeats.
“Then why is my son with the police?” I shout at him.
He sighs heavily into the phone. “There was a woman on school grounds a little while ago who was talking to Maddox during his recess.”
“What do you mean? Who was she?” I ask, slamming the door to the house before getting in my car.
“Well, we don’t know,” he says hesitantly, his voice now coming through my car speakers. “His teacher, Mrs. Chandler, was tending to another child’s minor injury and when she looked around the playground afterwards, she saw Maddox talking with a strange woman.”
“Strange woman?” I repeat. “Like someone’s mom?”
“No, we don’t think so,” he says. “As soon as Mrs. Chandler called to Maddox and started walking towards him, the woman fled.”
“Fled?” I gasp.
“Yes. She ran across the grounds and parking lot, jumped into a car and sped away.”
“Oh, my God!” I almost run off the road. “I’ll be there in two minutes.” I hang up before I hear his response.
I shout a command at my car to “Call Gavin.”
He picks up on the first ring. “Baylor,” he practically sings my name.
“Gavin!” Everything about the way I say his name alerts him to my frantic state.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. I hear wood scrape against wood as I imagine he’s pushing a chair away from a table and leaving a meeting perhaps.
“There was a woman at Maddox’s school. She talked to him at recess. Nobody knows who she is. She ran away. The police are there.” My words come out quickly and garbled and I’m not sure he understood them.
“Slow down, Bay,” he says in a calm voice. “Explain to me exactly what happened.” Then I hear a muffled, “Tell them I need to reschedule.”
“I can’t, I’m almost at the school. I don’t know any more than what I told you. Oh, God . . . do you think someone tried to kidnap him?” Tears blur my vision as I make the turn onto the road that will take me to the school.
“Calm down, Baylor. You’ll get into an accident and that won’t make things any better. Did you ever put my name down on the parent list at school? Will they talk to me if I call?”
“Yes, yes, I did it last week right after you asked me to,” I say.
“Okay, good. You get Maddox. I’ll call and get all the details. Call me when you get him back home and we’ll figure this out. Can you do that, darlin’?” he asks calmly.
“Yes. I’m pulling in now. Oh, God, there are three police cars here!”
“They said she was gone and he’s okay, right?” he asks.
“Yes, he said Maddox was safe.”
“Okay. Go get our son and call me when you get home.”
Two hours later, after meeting with the police, school officials and my agent, an investigation has been opened to look into any of my over-zealous fans.
Based on Maddox’s seven-year-old description, which was more-or-less backed up by Mrs. Chandler’s brief look at the woman, she was ‘older than Mommy but with black hair and kinda fat.’
My first fleeting thought was relief that he didn’t describe someone who looked like Barbie . . . or Karen McBride, as it may be. He said that the lady was very nice and showed him a picture of her hugging me and that’s why he felt it was okay to talk to her. She said she was a friend of mine and knew a lot of details about me so he had no reason to distrust her. She said that maybe the three of us could get together. She said she had a nice dog that Maddox would like and a big trampoline in her back yard. She also said her name was Kylee.
Jenna and I gave the police access to our computer files and e-mail accounts in hopes that they will find the psycho-bitch who thought she could get to me through my son. Unfortunately, nobody saw the car she drove off in, as Mrs. Chandler was understandably working to get all the kids back inside after the incident.
My call to Gavin goes to voicemail and I wonder if he’s jumped on a plane to come out here. Would he do that? Would I want him to do that? Here I am struggling with the horrible thing that happened today, yet butterflies take up residence in my belly when I think of seeing him again.
No. He can’t simply hop on a plane anytime something happens. I’m sure he’s already compromising his business to be here as it is.
Finally, right before dinner, he calls.
“You’re not on your way to JFK, are you?” I ask.
“No. But don’t think the thought hasn’t crossed my mind,” he says. “Two men are going to be coming to the house within the hour. Collin and Jake. They will handle things when I’m not there to protect you.”
“Handle things? What things?” I ask. “Who are Collin and Jake?”
“Personal protection,” he says. “You know, bodyguards.”
“Gavin, I—”
“Listen Baylor,” he asserts, like a father scolding a child. “I talked to the school. I talked to the police. It’s obvious we’re dealing with a stalker. Both of you could be in danger and I’m not taking any chances. You are to be with Collin or Jake at all times when I’m not there. One of them will go to school with Maddox. You’ll let me do this, Baylor. It’s not up for debate.”
“Are you done now?” I sulk at him. “Can I talk?”
He sighs. “Go ahead.”
“I’m not going to argue with you, Gavin. The police told me that stalkers can be pretty screwed up in the head. I’ll do anything to protect Maddox.”
“Good. And I’ll do anything to protect you. Both of you,” he says. “Anything.”