“Char?”Liz’s voice pulls me back like a hand reaching through the mist.
I blink, the kitchen swimming into focus. The chipped ceramic mug in my hand, the faint scent of lemon cleaner, the hum of the old refrigerator. Everything feels ordinary again, but I’m still trembling. “Sorry,” I murmur, rubbing my forehead. “Just spaced out for a second.”
Liz studies me, concern etched in every line of her face. “You went somewhere far away,” she says softly. “You haven’t looked like that in years.”
I try to force a smile. “Just remembering things I’d rather forget.”
She reaches across the table and takes my hand. Her palm is warm and comforting. “You’re safe here, Charlene.” Her words are meant to soothe me, but they land hollow. The man outside the salon today watched me like he knew exactly who I was.
I squeeze Liz’s hand tighter. “What if… what if they’ve come to finish what they started?”
Liz’s expression hardens. It’s maternal, protective. The years may have softened her hair to silver, but that fire in her eyes still burns white hot. “Don’t you borrow trouble, Charlene. You’ve built a good life here. No one’s going to take that from you.”
“Why is it I feel like I’m seventeen again, not thirty-two?”
Her silence answers for her. The clock ticks between us. One, two, three beats of dread. Then she exhales and rises from her chair, moving to the window. Her reflection flickers in the glass. “We’ll reach out to our contact at the agency in the morning,” she says, her voice steady but low. “I haven’t spoken to anyone there in so long, I’m not sure who that is. But I’ll ask if someone can reach out to the police chief here. Perhaps they can check the cameras near the salon. Maybe it was nothing. Just an overbearing tourist watching a pretty girl across the way.”
I nod, though the pit in my stomach disagrees.
Liz turns back, offering me a small smile. “For tonight, you’re staying here. Lock the doors. I’ll set the alarm.”
I rise, glancing toward the front door where rain streaks the glass. For a moment, I swear I see movement, like a shadow slipping past the mailbox, just beyond the porch light. My pulse kicks up again. “Liz?” I whisper, my voice catching.
She peers out beside me, but the street is empty now. Only the rain, soft and steady. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that someone’s out there, watching. And that the past I’ve spent half my life running from may have finally caught up to me.
Bang, bang, bang.
“Gah!” We both shriek.
I instantly cower in the adjoining living room corner. My hands cover my ears as if that will offer any protection, when Margaret suddenly crouches in front of me, gently placing her hands over mine.
“Oh, Charlene. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make an already tense situation worse.” She pulls me in for a hug, rocking me to and fro as she often did when I was younger. “Liz called me when she was on the way to get you. I got here as fast as I could.”
I met the remarkable Margaret Montgomery not long after arriving in Candy Cane Key. Her cousin Liz was related by marriage. She’d married into the Montgomery family, only to find herself divorced a few years later when Margaret’s two-timing first cousin walked out on her for a younger version of her petite blonde self.
In true Margaret fashion, she immediately took Liz under her wing. From the way Liz tells it, she even paid for the best divorce attorney around. This ruffled more than a few family feathers. But Margaret stood behind the decision. Liz had moved back home to New York to stay with her parents during this time. That’s when she met her new husband, Frank. God rest his soul.
Margaret pushes my hair behind my ear and lays a tender kiss on my temple. “You okay?”
I nod, my nerves shot. Rubbing my hands up and down my arms, I try to reassure her, “I will be.”
With another kiss, she helps me to my feet and walks with me into the kitchen. “I’m going to put on another pot of tea. English Breakfast?” she asks knowingly. Once I nod, she continues, “Then you take one of these.” She holds out a small white pill. “It will let you shut your mind off for the night so you can get some sleep.”
“Drug dealing now?” I chuckle half-heartedly.
“It’s just an extra-strength Benadryl, dear. Nothing hardcore. But it will help.”
“Okay.” I gratefully accept the pill and watch as she scurries about the kitchen as she often did when her and Liz would cook together.
“Try to get some sleep. Don’t worry. We’ve got this.” She stands up as tall as her five foot four height will go, balled fists on her hips. “They don’t know who they’re messing with.”
A real laugh escapes this time.She’s right.
Margaret gives her cousin a hug, whispering a few words to her low enough I can’t hear over the whistling of the teapot. After pouring another cup, I turn to find Liz double-checking the locks. Walking toward me, she gives my shoulder a squeeze before disappearing down the hall. The soft creak of her bedroom door echoing behind her. Admittedly, the place seems different now that Frank is gone. But perhaps it feels this way because it’s simply not my home anymore.
I stay at the kitchen table, tracing the rim of my mug with one finger, watching the rain streak down the window. The rhythmic patter should be calming. I used to find it soothing. Yet tonight, itjust feels like a ticking clock, counting down to something I can’t name.
My phone buzzes beside me, making me jump. Glancing down, I discover it’s simply a reassuring text goodnight from Liz. “You’re safe,” I whisper into the empty room, as if saying it out loud will make it true.
