Page 67 of Absolution

“I thought you died,” I finally whisper.

He is quiet for a moment. “Did you really think that?” he whispers back.

Did I?

No. Not really, really. He’s like a force of nature. Like energy. He can’t ever truly cease to exist.

I shake my head and he nods in acknowledgement. We’re like accomplices, partners in the sham. I could have told the policeman from Winnipeg, Officer Tremblay, it was very likely that Christian would turn up again. That he always does. But I didn’t. The moment he saved my child—our child—was the moment he also earned my protection, what little I can give. I want to lay my arms around him. I want to lean my head against his chest and hear if there’s really a beating heart in there. I am so incredibly relieved he is alive; I want to touch him to feel if he’s real. The urge surprises me and I clench my hands, my arms glued to the sides of my body. No. Instead I get angry. Angry at myself for even thinking of wanting to touch this monster, this murderer. Angry for all the agony he’s put me through these last months when I thought he was dead.

I open my mouth to speak, to reject him again and to let that anger well up, when his gaze shifts and he’s looking behind me. I spin on my heels and see that Cecilia, true to her nature, has dropped the less exciting thing for the more exciting. She’s standing on the last step of the stairs, peeking around the corner. I glance back at Christian, finding him crouching, transfixed by my—no, our—daughter.

“Hey,” he whispers.

Cecilia gazes at me for a moment, then she hops down the last stair and walks straight up to Christian and takes his hand. “I am Cecilia,” she says, loud and clear, exaggerating every syllable, pronouncing them perfectly.

I stay out of their way for the next hour, letting Cece show the interesting stranger her room, her drawings, the contents of her wardrobe and every little bit and piece of her world. She chatters vividly, as cheerful as always, and I hear Christian’s soft murmuring answers.

Walking back and forth in front of the panoramic window, I’m beginning to wonder how long it will take before I’ve made a groove in the wooden floor. I’m clutching a cold cup of tea, and I haven’t taken a sip in probably the last half hour. Every nerve ending I’ve got is directed toward his presence. I feel him more than I hear him. I’m exhausted from the constant fear that I’ll suddenly hear the front door slam shut and find them gone. When he comes up to me from behind, I turn deliberately slowly. I don’t want him to know how on my toes I really am.

“She’s yawning.”

I stare at him. He’s thinner than I remember him, his hair has lost some of its luster, and he seems older, even though only a few months have passed. I still can’t believe what I’m seeing.

He clears his throat. “I think she’s tired, I figured you’d want to do the bedtime thing.”

I force myself to snap out of my self-induced trance. “Why didn’t you let me know?”

His eyes dart between mine, a pained expression on his face. “Can we talk later?”

I nod numbly. “Okay.”

His gaze makes my back tingle and burn all the way until I’ve turned the corner where I fumblingly support myself on the wall as I make my way upstairs to my daughter’s room. I have to stop and lean my forehead against the cool wall. Oh. My. God. My life is once again turned on its head, I’m losing my footing and I don’t know how much more I can take.

When I read to her, I have flashbacks from when I put her to bed that first night, with him in the cabin, and I can barely breathe. It hits me hard. How afraid I was. How angry, disgusted, and filled with hate. I try to feel her soft, warm skin against mine as I help her into her pajamas. I try to be here and only here, to cherish the moment, because God only knows what awaits us in this next round in our lives. But I fail. I’m not here. I’m far away as I put her to bed. I’m back in the cabin. I’m listening for any sounds from outside her room, trying to keep track of his movements in my house. I’m anywhere but with my daughter.

Our daughter.

I taste the words and realize I can’t hide from them. He has earned the right to be with her, to get to know her. If that’s what he wants. What if he wants more? The voice in the back of my mind is small, but persistent. I shut it out. Am I afraid? Yes. Of course. Will he hurt us? No. At least not intentionally.

She’s been asleep for awhile and I’ve been hugging her little body for comfort for much longer than she needed, but not for as long as I need. My brain feels like it’s melting from all the swirling thoughts and images and I’m exhausted before we’ve even talked.

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