Mr. Barnes is no longer allowed on the property.”
There was a long pause and then, “Excuse me, sir?”
“You heard me. He is not welcome here.”
“Yes, sir.”
Okay, breathe, I reminded myself. So he didn’t just know about me, he knew it all. This doesn’t change anything. They didn't have to let Roman on the property. He’d already taken my stuff to his place, and if they wouldn't let me have my car, I’d call for a Lyft. This was better. This meant I didn't have to be the one to tell him anything.
He reached in his pocket and pulled out what looked like one of the letters and tossed it in front of me. I looked at it like it was a snake ready to bite me. He’d finally done it. The stalker had actually outted me. I was curious about what he said, but I was also scared to find out. With shaking hands, I opened the envelope and pulled out the letter.
“When I got home, this was waiting for me on my desk. He was in the house. I was already incensed enough because you failed to do your duty and come to the rally, but then I had to see that,” he spat out, pointing at the letter in my hand.
I slowly opened the letter, wanting to see what had him so worked up, but as soon as I lifted the fold, a photo fell out. I picked it up and stared at it. It wasn’t a bad shot. It had been taken from some distance, but even as small as we were, we were easily identifiable. Me and Roman, behind the pool house the night we checked the window. There was no mistaking either of us, or the way we felt about each other. The photographer had caught us in the perfect moment. Roman’s arms around me, my body pressed against his, as we gazed into each other's eyes. I looked at it for a moment, and then I finished opening the letter.
All warnings have gone unheeded. Now is a time for reckoning.
I am the vengeance of the Lord.
I flipped it over, checking for more. The letters had always been short, but not that short. I was debating what to do or what to say when there was a knock on the door. “Put that profane photo away before someone sees it,” my father commanded. I hurried to put the picture and the letter back in the envelope and shoved it in my pocket as my father called out, “Come in.”
My mother walked in, disappointment all over her face. That had always been her favorite way of making us fall in line. Some parents preferred timeouts or wooden spoons. My mother liked to use her disappointment as a punishment. But I wasn’t falling for it. I loved Roman, and I had nothing to feel guilty about. I held her gaze, waiting to see what she was going to say.
“Mal, let him go,” she said with a sigh.
My father’s eyes widened, and he shook his head. “No, I won’t have it. This is already a close election. All those bleeding-heart liberals out there who want to destroy American values can’t win. Why did you even come back? Was the plan for you to wait until the last minute when it was too late for me to recover, and then torpedo my campaign all along? That was it, wasn’t it? Well, I won’t stand by while you turn on your own flesh and blood,” he ranted. “I should have done the same thing Winston Ferguson did with his stepson, Maverick. The second I realized you weren’t right, I should have just paid you to disappear.”
“Mal, stop. This isn’t about you. This is about Malcolm.” I stared at her mouth agape. I didn’t believe for a second that she was on my side here. So what was this about? “He just needs some time to get his head on straight. We have raised him correctly according to the commandments of the Lord. He won’t turn from it. He just needs time to think. Let him go.”
I stared at her, still trying to figure out what this meant when my father said, “Fine. Go, but for heaven’s sake, keep this to yourself until the election. I don’t need a scandal a month before.”
“But what about the letters?” Becca said from the doorway. I hadn’t even realized she’d followed Mother back out here, and I had no idea what all she’d heard.