The house I’m hawking is a small cape-style, and is very cookie-cutter with its blue shutters and matching front door. The grass needs to be cut and mail is spilling out of the mailbox, and I’m sure it’s because she hasn’t bothered with it, not because she’s on a vacation in the Hamptons. A small silver SUV is parked in the driveway. I wish I could see the backyard, but I can’t risk someone seeing me if I go creeping around back there. My veins thrum as I examine the house and everything around it. Everything that is her.
No, this isn’t stalking. Not really. I’d call this interested observation. Bright colored flowers line the brick walkway to the front door, and wind chimes dangle from a low-hanging oak tree branch, creating a soft melody floating in the breeze. A small gnome and three bunny statues surround a stone birdbath with no water in it. She likes whimsical. I bet she likes angels and fairies, and she smiles at butterflies and marvels at hummingbirds.
The only way to make someone happy is to know what makes him or her happy. Alternatively, the way to instill fear in someone is to know what scares him or her. Knowing how to use those feelings to spin a web of seduction and trust takes patience and control.
I’ve got both.
***
On my way home, I grab a monstrous steak and cheese sandwich and a six-pack of beer. I eat it in the living room and give small pieces to Sterling, who likes to supervise all things food-related. When I’m done, I wander into Katie’s room and sit on the edge of her small bed. The kitten has followed me in and walks around slowly, sniffing everything, his little ears twisting around. Sometimes my mind goes screwy and I think I can somehow undo this and bring Katie back, as if it were all a big mistake or a bad dream. I want it to be over, but it never fucking will be.
After staring at Katie’s things for a while, I take a few sleeping pills and check Tabitha’s page before I prepare to pass out on the couch. She hasn’t posted anything in quite a while, but I still check every night, just to see if she has shared any new thoughts, and today she has.
‘Whoever said life is too short obviously never endured heartache or loss, because life is too long. It’s one long, miserable day that just drags out forever. Insomnia has taken over my life. I haven’t slept in days, and when I do finally sleep for an hour or two, I have horrible nightmares. I hate this life.’
How fucking true. Life is really for the happy people.
I miss Katie more than I can put into words, but she is my daughter, my flesh and blood. I think of how I heard Tabitha crying in despair at Nick’s grave. If I had died in that crash, no one would be crying over my grave or still missing me months later. I feel oddly jealous over Tabitha’s intense love for her husband.
There’s another picture I found in one of her many online photo albums where she’s sitting on an old staircase, looking up into the camera, her huge eyes half hidden under her bangs, her small cleavage pushing out of the black dress she’s wearing. I’ve saved it to my computer so I can look at it quickly whenever I want to and fantasize about her on her knees, gazing up at me in that same way with those big enchanting eyes.
She’s stirred me.
Vandal
I throw some clothes into my saddlebags and hop on my bike, looking forward to going to the lake for a few weeks. The past three months have been torturous for me, living in my house without Katie. I need to get away from all that. On my way, I stop at the cemetery to visit Katie once more before I go, and also to check one of my foot pegs that I could hear rattling. I pull out my small tool bag and tighten it in the parking lot.
Off to my right, I hear a sound coming from the direction of my tree. I put my tools away and push my hair out of my face, looking toward the direction of the noise. Wiping my dirty hands on my jeans, I take a tiny teddy bear from my bag and head for Katie’s grave.
I can hear her crying, but can barely see her this time because she’s sitting on the ground on the other side of the headstone. Seeing her again is unexpected, but I can’t resist going to her because I’ve thought about this too fucking much to just walk away. It’s like she was handed to me.
She startles at first when she sees me, staring up at all six-foot-four of me with a small amount of fear in her teary eyes. Those eyes. Holding my breath, I wait for some glimmer of recognition, but there is none. I slowly exhale.
“You’ve got black stuff on your face,” she says, sniffling. Her voice is softer than I expected it to be.
I kneel down in front of her and rub my thumb across her cheek, smudging the stain of tears and make-up under her eye. She flinches a tiny bit and sucks in a breath.
“So do you,” I say.