Page 31 of The Cadence
“How did you make it stop?” I wondered.
“She died.”
I stared.“Oh.”
“Don’t ask me if I had something to do with that, because I didn’t,” he said, and I told him of course not. “It’s still something I think about,” he continued. “I still find myself looking over my shoulder a lot. I never thought that she’d be able to physically overpower me, but she could have had a weapon. More than that, the idea that she was watching made me feel…”
“Scared?” I prompted, when he stopped again.
“No,” Will disagreed. “I felt like I needed more security.”
“What was the emotion you had?
He squinted. “I knew that I should be more aware of my surroundings. That’s why I’m going to have the cameras installed. I’m not doing it because I think you’re untrustworthy or because I want to stalk you.”
“I don’t mind the cameras. It turns out that I’ve been getting some local attention, and another person might turn weird, too,” I explained. I showed him one of the pictures of me at the grocery store.
“What the hell does this say?” he demanded, and he sounded very angry. “You need more makeup? No, you don’t. You were at work, not a club.”
“Exactly!” I agreed. “Am I supposed to get done up for that? Also, no one ever says that you need more makeup.” I knew that it was true, since I’d been looking at what people said about him. They didn’t mention makeup, but there was a lot that was critical that I didn’t like at all.
“You shouldn’t read that crap,” he advised. “I never do.” But then he moved through the comments under the other posts, and he got furious again as, yes, he read them. “This is ridiculous! It says that you waited for years for me to come back and find you, like you’re Sleeping goddamn Beauty.”
“Wow,” I said. “Wow, someone wrote that I was waiting around for you for seven years? That’s so silly. We didn’t even think about each other for all that time.”
“That’s not true.”
“Oh?” The word had come out a little higher than my normal tone.
“Whenever I went home and drove by our high school, I remembered how you hadn’t known about multiplication,” he explained.
“Oh,” I repeated. “Right, yes. I was very bad at math.”
“No, you just hadn’t learned it yet. I’m heading to bed.” He got up and walked me to the guest cottage first, though, and I watched the light in his room come on after he left me. It stayed on for a while and when I fell asleep, he hadn’t yet turned it off.
The next day, I was in the garage with my latest furniture project when a huge SUV pulled up, and a very small woman leaped out of the driver’s side. “Are you Calla?” she called, and I immediately bristled. Was this another stalker?
“Who wants to know?” I yelled back.
“I’m Annie Whitaker-Gassman,” she answered. “I’m actually Anaïs, but no one called me that except my parents. And my brother still does sometimes when he’s mad at me. My kids think it sounds like ‘anus’ and that’s hilarious to them.” As she spoke, she was unloading a bag from her back seat and then walking fast over to me. “I’ve always loved this place! One thing I do, which I know is a little strange, is keep track of houses.”
So she was a stalker. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” I said. I took two steps back. “Now.”
“Oh, shoot! Is this a bad time? I didn’t see any messages about changing the appointment, but I never check my phone while I drive. I have a little vision issue and I don’t need to make things worse.”
I didn’t pay attention to what she said after “appointment.” “Hold up. You’re here to do the decorating stuff for Will’s house?”
She nodded, smiling. “I do that, and I also supervise renovations if that’s what you’re looking for. I stage for sales, too, so if Bodine gets traded, I can help you guys out. Are you Calla? He told me about you.”
“Why are you talking about a trade? And what do you know about me?”
Before she could answer those questions, Will came out of the house and they started talking. This Anaïs, or Annie, seemed like a very friendly person, although her organizational skills made me a little nervous. Three times during the five minutes that we talked in the driveway, she got messages from her children and on each occasion, she broke away from our conversation.
“I have six kids,” she explained, smiling again. “There’s always something going on. That’s why it’s so important that I also have a great collaborator.”
“Your husband?” I asked, looking at the giant emerald ring on the third finger of her left hand.
“What? Oh, you mean Neil! Yes, he’s amazing, but I mean my collaborator at the design firm, Remy. Now she and Tobin are having their third…”
