Page 16 of The Liar I Married
SEVENTEEN
I’ve been driving the new car for a week now, and each time I’m out, I feel as if someone is following me. I admit I do like the features but I prefer my old car. I could park it anywhere and no one knew I was there. Being white, it blended into parking lots. This one sticks out like a sore thumb and makes it difficult for me to avoid people I don’t really want to spend time with. We all have those, right? Those who gather information about you and then pass it on as if they’re the community police. I could count at least five living close by who spend their time stickybeaking on other people. If one blade of grass is out of place, they’ll write a letter to the community management.
Once a week my mom picks up the girls and they go out after school to spend some time with her and my dad. My mother told me that having a grandparents’ day was very important and something that she always looked forward to when we were little. I’ve been spending more time at the art studio. Having a housekeeper coming in daily to clean and prepare meals means that there is practically nothing for me to do. I played tennis the other day and listened to the nonsensical twitter from my friends. They are so self-indulgent, being with them is more boring than watching paint dry. The paint I would prefer towatch dry is on my canvas at the studio. I climb into the SUV and head along Main, the awful feeling of someone watching me creeps over me again. It’s happening more often now. I check over my shoulder, looking to see if somebody’s there. Panic grips me. It’s there again; the same truck is following me.
Throwing caution to the wind, I take evasive action. I brake hard and turn left, weave through traffic. I fly through a light just as it changes to red and make a right, my back wheels squealing on the blacktop. The truck is on my tail. I can’t breathe. I accelerate and then brake hard again. I make a right, overtake three vehicles then turn hard left.
The truck is still there.
Frantic, I slide between two SUVs. I need to be with people and head to the art studio. My heart is pounding so fast by the time I finally arrive, I can’t think straight. I park my bright-red tomato in a field of gray and white vehicles. Chills run down my spine and the truck slows and then drives past. I climb from the car and with trembling legs run into the studio. I find Alex working on his picture. Relief floods over me and I smile at the sight of him, palette in one hand, a brush clamped between his teeth as he waves another to create magic on the canvas.
“You look upset.” Alex examines my face. “Everything okay?”
I want to tell him everything but he’ll figure I’m crazy. “I had some guy almost run into my SUV. It shook me up some.”
“Wow. Are you okay? You can relax, it’s all over now.” He goes back to his painting.
I wish it was but I know it’s not over. I didn’t imagine the truck. I shrug. “Yeah, I’ll be fine as soon as I stop shaking.”
We work all afternoon until the sun dips behind the trees. The natural light is slowly fading in the studio as Alex recounts one of his publishing antidotes and his laugh echoes through the room. I force a smile but my thoughts are elsewhere. I catch a flicker of movement from the corner of my eye. A shadowmoves in the bushes and fear crawls up my spine. Is someone outside the window watching us? I stare into the gloom and see nothing. Perhaps it’s just a bird or a trick of the light. I push the thoughts to one side and gather my brushes to clean them but the sensation that someone is out there watching me refuses to leave. I’m staring at the window seeing my own reflection. Shadows move and my heart races.
“What’s so interesting out there?” Alex’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” His warm curious eyes search my face.
I shake off the unease. “Oh, I was just thinking about my girls. They’re having an afternoon with their grandparents. I’m glad I’m here today because it’s so empty in the house without them after school. John doesn’t get home until late.” I meet his gaze. “He’s a stockbroker and works long hours.”
“Maybe he’ll be able to retire early and you can go on a trip around the world.” He chuckles. “Now that would make a good plot, add in a little intrigue, maybe an illicit affair or mistaken identity and have the cops chasing you.” He taps his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t turn it off.”
I gather my things and grin at him. “I enjoy listening to your stories. I really need to buy one of your books.”
“I’ll bring you one.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “I’m done for today and need to get home. I’ll walk you to your car.” Alex drops his brushes in a pot of turpentine and wipes his hands on a towel. “I need to work on my book tonight.”
It’s nice to have him standing there as I climb into my SUV and I give him a wave as he heads for his vehicle. My phone chimes and I look down to see my mother’s name on the caller ID. “Hi Mom, is there a problem with the girls?”
“No, of course not. As there’s no school tomorrow, and there’s a kids’ movie playing at the local theater, we wondered if you’d allow them to stay over tonight and then you couldcome by and spend the day with us tomorrow. No doubt, John will have his nose to the grindstone.”
I agree but the idea of walking into an empty house and spending another evening alone suddenly unnerves me. “They’ll love that and I need to help you pack up Grandma’s things. We should send her clothes to Goodwill.”
“She asked me to go through her things and I’ve been working through the rooms. I know you want everything left as she had it but there’s a ton of junk as well. She hoarded newspapers and so many bits of rubbish. They need to go. They’re a fire hazard.”She sighs.“I still can’t believe she’s gone but those last few months, she changed so much. Arguing with your dad and insisting he retire came right out of the blue. I didn’t want to leave her alone but I’ve been looking forward to moving to Florida. I’ll miss you and the girls and I know you’ll come for a visit but I doubt I’ll come back here. For me, it’s more like a prison than a home.”
I listen in disbelief. “Really, I never knew.” I look around as the parking lot empties and unease slides over me. “I’m on my way home. Have a great time and I’ll see you in the morning.” I disconnect and start the engine. I need to get away from here.
EIGHTEEN
As I drive home, the feeling of being watched intensifies. My attention moves from the road to the rearview mirror every few seconds. Behind me, I see a row of headlights, each blinding me from the car behind them. I take a right and then another until I go around in a square, and one of the sets of lights stays with me. I catch a glimpse of the front grill as it turns the corner. Is it the same truck that followed me earlier? I can’t be sure but each turn seems to bring it closer. I slow down as the lights turn orange and then gun the motor and flash through the intersection just before they turn red. I need to get away from the person following me, and I take the turn into my driveway way too fast. The garage door cranks open slowly. “Come on, come on, hurry.”
I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles whiten, waiting for the gap to grow big enough for me to slide my SUV inside. I slam my hand on the door-shutting remote and sit trembling behind the wheel with the doors locked until it clicks shut. My legs shake as I rush to the door and fumble with the key to get inside the house.
This is another thing I insisted on that I regret now. Most people can walk directly from their locked garage and into their mudroom but I insisted on having a deadbolt between the two.My palms are slick with sweat by the time I turn the doorknob and it takes one or two tries to get it to turn without slipping. I fall inside the door and stare into shadows clinging to the corners. I’ve never been terrified in my own home before and the sensation chills me to the bone. The alarm is buzzing and I have a few seconds to put in the code. Once the buzzing ceases, I reset the alarm and lean against the door panting.
Headlights flash across the windows. Someone is turning around—or are they? I can see the brightness through the front windows as they pause outside my home. A noise comes from the passageway and I spin around but see nothing, just an empty space stretching into darkness. I reach for the lights and sigh with relief as the house brightens before me. My heart is pounding so fast I can hardly catch my breath. Gathering all my courage, I walk through the house and check all the doors are locked. My phone buzzes, startling me, and almost slips from my hand. It’s a message from Alex.
I had a great time today. I hope you’re home safe now.
My fingers tremble as I type a quick reply and then I stare at the phone. I don’t recall giving Alex my number. In fact, I consider it inappropriate. I hardly know the man. If John knew Alex has been texting me, he’ll be angry. My mind goes to Ms. Lawson. I’m sure John has her number on speed dial and Alex is just a friend.
Before I have time to remove my shoes, a scratching noise comes from the window. I freeze and goosebumps crawl up my arms. Is someone trying to get inside? Panic grips me and I look around for a weapon. I edge my way along the wall to the fireplace and grab the poker. The metal feels heavy and cool in my trembling palm but I can’t just stand here waiting for someone to hurt me. Watching me is one thing but breaking inis something else. My life might be in danger. Terrified, I lift the poker like a baseball bat and walk along the tiled passageway, hearing my own footsteps.
Fear is churning my belly but I stand beside the window and wait. The moment the window moves I’ll strike. The scratching noise comes again but nothing happens. The pulse in my ears is so loud, and I’m shaking. The noise comes again. Dragging in a deep breath, I open the drapes a fraction of an inch and gasp at my reflection. I sag against the wall, steady myself and then look again. The noise is just an old overgrown rose bush close to the house scratching the windowpane.
