She answered my question with one of her own, and it’s making me paranoid. I pull the robe tight again.
“Sarah,” she says gently, crossing her legs, “do you still think someone’s after you?”
“Someone’salwaysafter me,” I say flatly. I sink into the couch, suddenly exhausted. God, the house is deathly quiet. “Ever since my sister…” I swallow hard. “I’ve been hunted ever since.”
A flock of corellas bicker in the blackwood tree. They’re like a bunch of little kids. Emily and I watch them, and for a long time we sit in silence. I stroke Reaper, gently scratching behind his ear.
“Nobody sent me,” she finally says. “Nobody even knows I’m here. My hubby took the kids to Canberra. His dad lives there. The kids love their grandpa.”
There’s something calm about the way she says it. She glows with the security that comes from a stable family, stable marriage. It must be nice.
“Do you think you’ll get back into vet nursing?” I ask.
She raises one eyebrow, a neat little trick that I ache to have. Maybe after she’s gone, I’ll practice it in the mirror.
“Did I tell you about that?” She smiles quizzically. “I will. One day.” She straightens up as if she remembered something. “Are you doing better now? You’ve been so sick.”
My heart warms to her sympathy. I need it. Crave it. “I’m worse, actually.” My voice comes out a bit too eager.
She narrows her eyes. “Headaches and nausea?”
I sip from the water bottle beside the couch, and some of it dribbles down my lip. I didn’t realize how thirsty I was. “And dizziness,” I add. “Sometimes I…”
Um, maybe it’s not a good idea to admit this next bit. But Emily won’t judge me. Lovely Emily.
“Sometimes,” I confess, “I forget where I am.”
I don’t tell her that I was standing at the back door with a bloody hammer in my hand. Or that sometimes I wake up under my bedroom window, curled into a ball like a cat.
A phone rings sharply, a crescendo of notes that makes me jump. “Sorry,” she says, rummaging inside her chunky purple handbag. I wonder what’s inside it. Probably kids’ cough drops, permission slips, and tissues. Lots of tissues.
“Hi, lovie!” Emily says.
A stab of jealousy shoots through me. I thought she called onlymethat.
“How are the kids?” she asks, transferring the phone to her other ear. I notice she has a little crescent moon earring. It’s silver and hideous. But I think I want one.
She covers the phone with her palm, gives me an apologetic “I’ll be just one second” look. Frankly, it disappoints me.
“Yeah, I’m at home.” She bites her lip, obviously guilty. This is not a woman who is used to lying. It cheers me up, though, that she’s willing to lie for me.
“I promise I won’t,” she says, smiling. “Say hi to the kiddos for me. Love you too. Byeeee!”
She ends the call. “Sorry,” she says again, tucking her phone back into her bag, where it can’t bother us.
“What did you promise?” I ask.
She smiles. “I promised not to call every five minutes. In fact, my husband’s banned me from calling until they get back to Melbourne.”
I stare at the corellas again, at their murky white feathers and fleshy blue eye rings that make them look like they’ve been punched. They’re not as pretty as the cockatoos. I wonder if they wish they were. I wonder if they compare themselves with other birds and find themselves lacking.
“What’s your husband’s name?” I ask absently.
“Gabriel,” she says, and even though I’m not looking at her, I can tell she’s smiling. “Gabriel, like the angel.”
“Nice name,” I say.
More to myself I add, “Emily’s a nice name too.”
