[Georgia 03] Fallen

apartment. Angie was getting better. This second note packed more punch than the more innocuous “Whore” from the previous day.
    Sara wadded up the paper and threw it toward the trashcan. Of course she missed. She got up to retrieve the note. Instead of tossing it into the trash where it belonged, she unfolded the paper again and stared at the word. It was certainly nasty, but Sara could not help but think it was deserved. In the heat of the moment, she never let herself think about the wedding ring around Will’s finger. The cold light of day was another matter. He was a married man. Even without that legal designation, there was still a bond between him and Angie. They were both connected in a way that Sara would never understand.
    And it was very clear that Angie was not going to bow out gracefully. The only question was how long it would take before the woman managed to drag Sara down into the gutter with her.
    There was a knock at the door.
    Sara made sure the note was in the trash before opening the door. Will was there. He had his hands in his pockets. Though they had been together in every way possible, the first ten minutes between them were always awkward. It was as if he was perpetually waiting for Sara to make the first move, to give him some sort of sign that she hadn’t yet tired of him.
    He asked, “Is this a bad time?”
    She opened the door wide. “Not at all.”
    He glanced around the room. “Am I allowed back here?”
    “I think we can make an exception.”
    He stood in the middle of the room. His hands stayed in his pockets.
    Sara asked, “How’s Evelyn doing?”
    “She’s good. At least, I think she is.” He took his hands out of his pockets, but only to start twisting the wedding band on his finger. “Faith’s going to take some time off work to take care of her. I think it’ll be good for both of them to have some time together. Or really bad. You never know.”
    Sara couldn’t help it. She looked at the wadded-up note in the trashcan. Why was he still wearing his wedding ring? Probably for the same reason Angie kept leaving notes on Sara’s car.
    Will asked, “What is it?”
    She indicated the table. “Can we sit down?”
    He waited until she was seated, then took the chair across from her. He said, “This doesn’t sound good.”
    “No,” she agreed.
    He tapped his fingers on the table. “I think I know what you’re going to say.”
    She said it anyway. “I like you, Will. I really, really like you.”
    “But?”
    She touched his hand, resting her finger on his wedding ring.
    “Yeah,” he said. No explanation. No excuse. No offer to take off the ring and throw it to the wind. Or at the very least, stick it in one of his damn pockets.
    Sara forced herself to continue. “I know that Angie is a big part of your life. I respect that. I respect what she means to you.”
    She waited for a response, but none seemed to be coming. Instead, Will took her hand. His thumb traced along the lines in her palm. Sara couldn’t stop the reaction her body felt from his touch. She looked down at their hands together. She let her finger slip under the cuff of his shirt. The ridge of the scar felt rough against her skin. She thought about all of the things she did not know about him—the torture he had endured. The pain he’d brought on himself. And all of it had happened with Angie right by his side.
    “I can’t compete with her,” Sara admitted. “And I can’t be with you if I’m worried about you wanting to be with her.”
    He cleared his throat. “I don’t want to be with her.” She waited for him to say that he wanted to be with Sara. But he didn’t.
    She tried again. “I can’t be second place. I can’t know that no matter how much I might need you, you’ll always go running to Angie first.”
    Again, she waited for him to say something—anything—that would convince her that she was wrong. Seconds ticked by. It felt like an eternity.
    When he finally spoke, his voice was so quiet that she could barely hear him. “She cried wolf a lot.” He licked his lips. “When we were little, I mean.” He glanced up to make sure Sara was listening, then looked back down at their hands. “There was this one time when we were placed together. It was a foster home. More like a factory farm. They were doing it for the money. At least the wife was. The husband was doing it for the teenage girls.”
    Sara felt her throat tighten. She struggled against the impulse to feel