"Thank you so much," the woman beams. Those green eyes. As green as freshly cut grass. They sparkle and scrunch up in the corners. Happy lines. Auburn locks fall over her shoulders. Locks I haven't seen in years. I imagine reaching out and caressing them, discovering what they would feel like tangled in my fingers. Sinclair. My Sinclair. But she isn't. This woman's nose is too long, and her jaw is square. Sin has a narrow face, high cheekbones. In fact, those two look nothing alike. It was wishful thinking.
I nod. “It’s quite alright, ma’am.”
Her baby looks at me with curious eyes, like her mother. The color is different, but the truth behind them, the same, and she reaches for me. I shy away from her touch. She frowns, and her gaze turns wary. Suspicious little brat.
‘“They’re busy at this age. She just turned three.” Sin-wannabe laughs. Her laughter is warm and friendly.
My eyes remain downcast. An awkwardness is brewing, and my chest tightens. I want to reach for my inhaler, but I think better of it.
“Anyway, I should go. Thank you again.” Sin-wannabe says. She has that look people get when they’re nervous around me.
"Anytime," I say as I watch her walk to the front of the store to get a bigger trolley and deposit the girl named Willow in it. Sin wannabe returns to her basket, which is filled with fresh produce and empties the contents into the bigger trolley. She turns to me again and waves. I wave back and return to my tasks.
And so I begin to wonder if it is time.
To get reacquainted.
* * *
It wasn’thard to locate Sinclair. She’s pretty famous. She writes under her maiden name. I wasn’t surprised to discover she’d married Cohen Finley and that she lives here in town. Cohen was the most gorgeous guy in school and he was smitten with her back in school. Ruined for any other girl. He grew balls and asked her out senior year, and they became theincouple. The couple everyone loved and despised. They were too cute, too in love, too much of everything the rest of us would never be. He would wait for her every day at the school gate, and he'd kiss her like she was the only girl he saw. They'd walk together hand-in-hand, stop for a smooch at the traffic lights, or a make-out session in the park. Sin was a good girl, a virgin, and Co loved that. I'd heard him talking to his friends about it once. "Sin is not like that," he'd said, his jaw twitching when his friends rolled their eyes and snickered.
He was a selfish asshole to want fresh meat even though everyone knew he'd slept with more than half of the cheerleading squad. He was finding himself, he'd tell naive Sin, who believed him and let him grope her. I knew boys like Cohen. They never change. One rainy afternoon, I watched them leave school the way they always did and make their way to the park. It was a make-out kind of day, and I knew that day was going to be something special. I could feel it in my bones.
He spread his jacket on the ground under a tree with low hanging branches. She wasn't the first girl he'd brought here, but I knew Sin was different because he puts that jacket down. He never did that with the others. Tarty Tanya or Legs For Days Lauren.
He also didn't tell his friends he would be coming here. They were always gawking, yanking off their little dicks to the moans and squeals of Co's girls. Since he started dating Sin, though, he never let them watch when he brought her here. I hated that because it meant that she was special.
Anyway, I watched as he kissed her, fondling her tits till she got all hot and bothered enough to spread her legs for him. He slipped his finger inside her, working her until she cried out an orgasm. I felt an orgasm build, and I slid my hand inside my panties to get off. Then he held her in a way that had my heart pounding inside my chest. It was such a beautiful moment, and for a second, I felt like an intruder. But not for long. I reminded myself that I wasn't doing anything wrong. They were the ones who chose to make out in a public place.
I watchedthem then just like I am now.
They have two girls, beautiful little versions of them. They both look like their father. But, the older one, Willow, is growing up to be a recluse like her mother was before Co. I am fascinated by coincidence. The toddler in the store was a good omen. She had to be. This Willow plays basketball, has many friends, but doesn’t go to parties or smoke like her stupid friend Daphne does.
I didn’t follow her, I’m not that kind of person. I saw her in her basketball kit once when she left for school. Gracie is adorable, a sweetheart. She gets picked up at ten every morning and comes back in the evening. Cohen works long hours, and Sin spends hers on her computer. She's a writer. I'm standing across the road, in Mrs. Gregory's front room. The old fool was kind enough to offer me a job as her caregiver. I look over to where she snores in her armchair, the wrinkles on her face giving her a weathered look.
The evening is my favorite time because Sin leaves the lights on, and I get a perfect view of their lives. It's like looking into a snow globe and watching the little village come to life. Sin cooks, imagine that, auburn-haired Sin slogging away over the stovetop. The domestic goddess. I sigh. This is such a great thing I’m doing, looking out for them, forher.Learning all the things I need to know.
Chapter 8
Sinclair
A Secret told—
Ceases to be a Secret—then—
A Secret—kept—
That—can appall but One—
Better of it—continual be afraid—
Than it—
And Whom you told it to—beside—
- Emily Dickinson
When I get the first letter in the mail, I ignore it. I scanned it, then tear it into shreds before flushing it down the toilet. It is, after all, just a poem. I should not be fazed by poetry. I am a writer, after all, an editor too. It's nothing new for a fan to express their love and gratitude for the work of an artist by sending letters. Who doesn't loveEmily Dickinson? The poem is about secrets, and what is the crime in the act of sending it to me anyway? What harm is there in a bit of mystery? The envelope has no return address, which my overactive imagination should be intrigued by.
