Page 33 of Mending Fences
On his way to the airport, he tried Mandy’s number again only to be dumped into voicemail. “Mandy, I hope to see you when I get back so we can talk. I was only trying to apologize for dragging you into my world. You deserve some privacy, not a mess that can only get worse. Please call me and please, please, please never trust a tabloid.”
Inadequate. He clicked End. Ordering flowers online wasn’t going to be much better, but at least it was something. He scrolled through the site, discarding several arrangements, before he came to a light-pink, dark-pink, and lavender rose bouquet, the colors reminding him of the impressionist painting on one of the kitchen cabinets. Roses—not red but colors that spoke of new love and sweetness. One hundred and twenty blooms might be excessive. He pondered for a moment before adding the bouquet to the cart. An option to add a stuffed animal popped up. He didn’t think Mandy was a collector, but then a stuffed mallard caught his eye. The message was problematic because in the end the order would go through a local florist and someone was bound to talk. After several tries, he was happy with it.
Sunday delivery was unavailable in such a small town, he selected an option for “as soon as possible” and noted the “Delivery may take up to 72 hours” disclaimer. Not ideal, but he was running out of ideas.
After navigating airport security, he waited in a private lounge. His photo flashed on one of the television screens, followed by one of him talking to Mandy over salad at the restaurant. He couldn’t hear the show host, but the banner headline “DC and the Girl Next Door” was loud and clear.
He pulled out his phone. No answer.
Please, Mandy. I need to know you are safe. Some groupies are crazy.
Five minutes later, still no return text. He did a search on his name. The top five stories featured amateur photos of last night’s date.No! Amanda doesn’t deserve this.
He dialed Colin. “I need your help.”
Raindrops danced over the skylight, and thunder rolled in the distance. Mandy pulled the fleece blanket tight around her shoulders. The gray clouds matched her mood, only she had no more tears to shed. She needed to go down and work on the images for the mansion. The first one had been completed days ago. The traditional home of the Crawford family was repainted, shutters open, windows gleaming. She added a play gym in the backyard, like Danny had always wished. For a moment she dreamed she had been a part of that scene, supervising the meals, welcoming guests, playing with several dark-haired children in the nursery. She reminded herself that half the women in the free world had the same dream and that hers was over. She would not be in public, or private, with him again.
She tossed a pillow against the wall like some tantrum-tossing toddler. Sorry he took her out in public? Enough. She needed to focus on the mansion, not its owner. If she was going to have the project done in less than three weeks, she had better start on one of the other ideas. A long-term mental-health facility had certain charm. Mandy scooted to the stairway, chagrined that the best way to get down with her boot on was to slide down.
Her phone chimed with a text as she walked through the library. Wondering if she had been too hasty with Daniel earlier, Mandy retrieved it from the chair. No. Way. It wasn’t possible to have 1,438 text messages, was it? No way would any guy text that much.
The icons on the main screen indicated she had even more messages in her social media accounts.
A new message popped up.
He is mine, you little brat.
And anotherYou go, girl! One for the little people!
And another, this time a photo from the restaurant with her head distorted like Munch’sThe Scream.
Another message and yet another—the vilest of all. Mandy dropped the phone. “Candace!”
A muffled “Studio!” was her answer. Mandy abandoned her crutches and followed the echo back to the glass-walled room, arms wrapped around her middle. She only took two steps into the studio before Candace wrapped her arms around her. “What is it?”
“My phone.” Mandy shuddered. “Over a thousand messages. Calling me names.”
Candace’s brow knit. “Show me.”
Mandy shuffled back to the library.
Candace bent and retrieved the phone. “No way!” Candace pulled out her phone and sunk into one of the chairs. She opened app after app. “Mandy, I think you are going to want to get a new phone number and close your social media accounts. Not only are there photos of your date yesterday, but someone posted your cell number. Have you checked your email?” Candace handed back the phone.
Mandy hit the email icon. Only three messages sat in her inboxes. “Both my work and personal emails seem to be the typical junk.”
Candace stood and handed Mandy her crutches. “Shut your phone down, then, and let’s see what we can do about your social media accounts.”
Airplane mode was a beautiful thing, but coming out of it stunk. Daniel watched his voicemail, text, and email boxes fill up. Had Mandy called?
Colin, Mr. Morgan, Summerset, and Bonnie had all left multiple messages.
Bonnie never left messages on Sunday, and she avoided texting. He read Bonnie’s text first.Give me her contact information before you mess things up anymore!To the point, as usual. Daniel would call her when he got to the hotel.
He skipped Summerset’s and Morgan’s texts. He would deal with them later. Avoiding Summerset until the trial would be best, though impossible. The crazy rumors she’d started showed how disconnected she had become from reality. The only reason he kept any dialogue with her was on the advice of his legal team.
Colin’s text caused Daniel to stop abruptly on the Jetway, the man behind him swearing as a result. Stronger words ran through Daniel’s mind as he reread the text.
She has death threats. Call me!
