Page 37 of Resolutions

I wonder sometimes if it hurt. Was she in pain when he took her life, or was she unconscious? I know I shouldn't think like that, but sometimes, sometimes I can't help it.

The only bright spot today is that Michael will be here for dinner. At least I won't have to face the table alone, enduring cheerful family memories and stories. The endless, remember when, that will be said in desperate acts to try and amuse the poor, abandoned Cameron.

Michael arrives in true flashy fashion, bearing enormous expensive gourmet gift baskets for the couples and personal gaming systems for the kids. Sure, he's buying their affections, but it works; everyone loves him for it. Finally, Mom announces dinner is served. I steer Michael and me toward the far end of the table, desperate to avoid being trapped between well-meaning relatives. I'd rather sit at the kids' table, but it's already packed. And since I can't eat in the garage, the adult table it is.

Everyone settles in for grace, including the daily prayer for “finding Melanie and bringing her back to those who love her.” I have to bite my tongue to keep from scoffing. Mom's been going to services every chance she can. Pushing prayer calls. She even coordinated a candlelight vigil with the sister of the teacher. They had over two hundred people show up. I wasn't one of them.

“Mom?” Colton's voice breaks the post-prayer silence. “What's with that place setting over there? Do we need to squeeze down?” He points toward the buffet where a complete placesetting sits - plate, bowl, glass, silverware - as if we're waiting for one more person. But everyone's already seated.

“That's for Melanie.” Mom's voice cracks as she says her name. “I had to-” She sniffles, dabbing at her eyes. “I had to have a place for her.” Tears track down her cheeks. “Just didn't seem right to have Christmas dinner without her presence.”

My sisters-in-law exchange tearful glances before turning their pitying gazes on me. My brothers and my dad silently gaze my way. Taking a deep breath, I push back from the table and walk over to my mother. My frame towering over her, I offer my hand, and she places hers in mine, letting me pull her into a hug. Around us, I hear sniffles, sobs, children's confused questions. But I just hold my mom while we both cry.

When does the hurt stop, when is the ache replaced with something else? Closing my eyes while holding Mom, I say the same thing I've said a hundred times. Melanie, I hope you're okay and I pray you come home soon. But, I swear, if I find out you left because you didn't love me or my family, I'll never forgive you for what you've done.

Michael

The scene before me is absolutely perfect. Merry Christmas to me.

The loving, caring, sickeningly sweet Whitaker family crying their eyes out on Christmas. I have to fight to keep the smirk off my face. Their perfect holiday shattered because of me - that's better than any present under that overdecorated tree, except for the ones I brought, of course. Even though I don't know whereMelanie is right now, I'm sipping my wine, totally loving what I'm seeing.

I watch poor sad Cameron comfort his sobbing mother while bawling himself, his sisters-in-law being consoled by their husbands. And me? I'm savoring how easily manipulated these people have been, like sliding a hot knife through butter. I love it. I just love it.

Cameron's transformation is coming along exactly as I planned - from an ever-loving, devoted fiancé to bitter cynic, questioning everything he thought he knew. What a schmuck! Every time I see him; I mention Melanie's name just to irritate him and get those emotions flowing. I love to gauge his reactions; I'm seeing more anger, more doubt. The lovesick fool who believed in college sweethearts and their happily ever-after is becoming exactly what I need: a morose, distrustful, shall I hope, hateful former shell of a man who'll never accept her back. Provided she shows up here, which I believe she will. I drove her from this holiday movie bullshit; she'll miss it and come back. It's just a matter of time. And when she does, I'll be there to grab her.

All this joyful merriment I'm having with their misfortune and sadness is giving me a stiffy. I have to be careful to control my swelling bulge. I wouldn't want someone to think I was enjoying all these tears. Heaven forbid. I smile into my wineglass. Sometimes revenge works out even better than you planned.

***

Melanie

I miss you. Merry Christmas, my love.

I've tried everything to distract myself with TV, movies, games on my phone, trying to engage Moses. But they all end the same way: me crying in my chair, sometimes clutching Moses when he lets me. This isn't how Christmas was supposed to be. I should be with the Whitakers, my family. But no, they're celebratingChristmas without me. Damn Michael; I'm sure he's there. At my Christmas. Cameron, who should be my husband, is there too. I should be there. Holding his hand under the table, stealing kisses under the mistletoe, curling up against him on the couch, clinking my wedding band on Evelyn's family's stemware. This should have been our first holiday as a married couple. I glance over at my tiny Charlie Brown tree and its one ornament: Our First Christmas. I'm alone in this apartment, eating frozen pizza, listening to carols on the radio, and crying into my cat's fur. Merry Christmas to me.

It should be mine. MINE!

All because of Michael. He's been a toxic force in our lives since freshman year. Tagging along on dates, always trying to monopolize Cameron's attention. Staring at me. Sometimes I swore he would come with just so he could watch us make out, which I wouldn't do if he was with us. I refused. I tried setting him up with girls, but they all saw through him after one date. He's creepy, they would say. What a controlling jerk, some would comment. And the one most said, there's something off about him. If those ladies only knew how right they were and what a giant bullet they dodged.

That lowlife bastard is probably sitting next to Cameron right now, in my rightful place, playing the supportive friend while he destroys our lives. I imagine him there, pretending to comfort everyone while secretly reveling in their pain. The thought makes me physically ill.

I love you and miss you so much, Cameron. Nothing has changed that. I love our life, our family, everything we built. But I'm filled with such rage and hatred for Michael. The intensity of it scares me. That monster, that demon, that despicable excuse of a human being. I don't know how or when, but I swear I'll find a way to expose you, to send you to prison where you belong.

Yesterday, on Christmas Eve, I took advantage of places being busy. Normally, I drive an hour to get my groceries, but this time I ventured out to the small local grocery stores. I went to this store because smaller stores mean fewer cameras, fewer chances for large chain store facial recognition software. Plus, the smaller size lets me get in and out without someone recognizing me. Although I don't know how anyone could. Following my new safety protocols, I don't leave the apartment without a wig, glasses, a stuffed oversized coat, and a facial mask. Thanks to cold and flu season as well as the pandemic, nobody questions someone being over-cautious. Masks have become unnoticeable. Which is perfect for me.

I had to laugh, one day, when I was feeling particularly frustrated with my searching, I decided to go for a walk. Wearing my disguise, I stepped out of my apartment and almost ran into David next door. He stared at me. I told him I was trying out a Halloween costume to see how it felt and if I liked it. Two days later, David knocked on my door to show me his Hulk outfit and that he thought it was a good idea to try them on, too. The next day, it was Spiderman. I feel bad for the stress I may have caused his poor mom.

On Christmas Eve night, I scanned the Whispering Pines paper again. This time, feeling very lonely, I read more than the first page. When I reached the society section, my heart stopped. A full-page ad for the Inn's Annual New Year's Eve party stares back at me.

My mind fills with memories of what was to be the happiest day of my life. But quickly other memories of the Inn take over. Like Cameron's first day, when he took the general manager position at the Inn as a favor to the owners. They were desperately needing someone trustworthy to run things. It was perfect for him because it allowed him to use his business degree while letting him avoid the hospital career his fatherwanted. Last year's party floods back. A packed event, wall-to-wall people filled the event center. The makeshift bar Cameron set up in the hallway when they ran out of space, the chef and kitchen staff frantically filling all his stations trying to keep up. The party's become the social event of the year.

A thought jumps to the front of my head. Maybe, with that many people, would anyone notice one more? I could arrive late, stick to the shadows. If I could just get one glimpse of Cameron, just one, that's all I need. Just to see him, even from across a crowded room.

I'm still hitting dead ends trying to find proof of Michael's operation. Every lead goes nowhere. He's too careful, too tech-savvy. But I have to find something soon. If I don't, I'm risking being found. I'll need to move further away, maybe even leave the state. But before I make any decisions, I want to see Cameron.

So, Christmas night, I find myself browsing lavender dresses online. Order shoes, accessories - why not? Better to buy the digital ticket now too, make up a name and poof, I have my ticket. No interaction needed; I'll be just another faceless attendee in the crowd. One look at Cameron, then I'll disappear again. Just one look to carry me through whatever comes next.

Chapter 18

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