were a dead spot in a sea of wind. Hopelessness. No escape. Death.
The girl pulled one of the glass doors open and stepped out onto the back deck, where she stood on tiptoe to check the contents of a bird feeder hanging from the branches of a tree planted close by. Her thigh muscles stretched and Hayes flinched, his right hand trembling, before he regained control.
The girl scolded a squirrel that was sitting triumphantly on the branch behind the bird feeder and munching on tiny fistfuls of grain. He chewed, unconcerned, as she reached down beside a set of back deck stairs, where a row of plastic trash cans were lined up. She opened the first one and bent over to retrieve a bag stored inside it, her back turned to the house.
Hayes stiffened, his entire body poised as if for flight. He was gauging the distance between the corner of the house and the open back door. He took a single step forward, arms tensed at his side.
A phone rang inside the house.
The girl popped her head up from the trash can, listening for the sound, then hurried back inside to a cordless phone by the computer. She knew who it was before she even picked up the receiver and launched into a soliloquy that was half exasperated and half loving.
“Hi, Daddy,” she said as she returned to the deck. She cradled the receiver between her shoulder and ear and attempted to refill the bird feeder while she talked. “I’m fine. Yes, I got home safely. No, I didn’t flunk the test. Yes, I’ll water the flowers. No, your package didn’t come. Yes, I know I have piano at six. No, I don’t want to eat Indian food tonight.” She paused and then laughed. “Okay, so I can’t read your mind completely. I’ll have a chicken burrito. But stop worrying. I’m home and I’m fine.”
A frown crossed over her face. “Okay,” she conceded. “I think you left it by the front door. Give me a minute and I’ll call you back.”
She placed the phone on the railing of the deck, finished filling the bird feeder, then good-naturedly left a pile of seeds and nuts for the squirrel along a far railing. “Stop being a pig,” she admonished it. “There’s plenty for everyone.”
The squirrel ignored her. His body had grown still. He’d spotted Hayes in the bushes and his black eyes glittered like tiny black beads as he stared at us.
The young girl did not notice. She put the bag of grain back in place, retrieved the phone, and headed inside, pulling the door shut behind her.
She did not lock it.
Hayes saw it all. His breath, which had been as controlled as a yogi’s, became a series of rapid gusts. He leaned forward, risking detection, as he tracked her movements through the room. She replaced the phone in its cradle, headed for the door to the hallway, then stopped and turned toward the sliding doors again, looking uncertain.
Hayes stepped back into his hiding spot and held his breath. She hesitated, still staring at the sliding glass door. My mind raced through every horror movie I had ever seen, willing her to remember what happened to foolish young girls who failed to lock their back doors. Come on, I willed her across the divide of space and glass, give me a thought I can hang on to.
I was too agitated, too frightened to make contact with her. That infinitesimal interval of two seconds seemed an eternity before she finally walked across the room, checked the door, and finding it unlocked, locked it with a nervous smile, as if thinking herself foolish for worrying.
I was filled with an overwhelming relief. Not today, at least. Not today.
But he knew where she kept her key and I knew the day would come when he would no longer be able to wait.
The fury in Hayes flared with frustration, but he shut it down at once. He was too much in control to let a small setback stop him. And, I suspected, this watching was as exquisite to him as foreplay. He did not want to hurry this stage, even though part of him did, and so he accepted his loss of opportunity without rancor. He glanced at his watch, then stepped calmly from his hiding place, checking the driveway and sidewalks for privacy first. He made it back to his car unseen by anyone but me.
I realized then that he had never once hurried, had