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They watched the previews in silence. Between the previews and the feature was a commercial of models selling makeup. One of the young models reminded her of Tiffany. She had reddish hair and bright, young eyes. She thought about her own eyes and how tired-looking they’d become. When had that happened?
The model had a thin, lithe body like Tiffany’s, and her skin boasted a youthful glow. Another model was a little older and wearing a bikini. Was it body makeup or did these women not have an ounce of cellulite? At the end of the commercial, three models smiled into the camera, their teeth like piranha. They looked so desirable, even to her.
She remembered when she was desired. In those early days, Tom had considered her quite the prize. Stopping by her dormitory in the mornings with steaming coffee and warm glazed donuts, then walking her to class, Tom was always eager to be by her side. He’d leave the sweetest love notes in her box at the post office and listen to her talk about her dreams for hours on end, always seeming curious for more. He’d loved her so deeply and honestly, he’d given her no reason to doubt that he’d always be there for her. But that was a long time ago. A lot had changed.
As they sat staring at the television, Kelsey suddenly got up. “I have homework to do.”
“On a Saturday night?” Rachel asked, tossing the fingernail file on the end table.
“Sure you do,” Tommy said, sarcastically.
“I do!” Kelsey snarled, glaring down at her little brother.
“Kelsey, sit down,” Rachel said. “We’re doing something as a family right now. If you have homework, you can do it tomorrow.”
“Why’d you argue about the damn movie if you were going to pull this, douche bag?” Tommy hissed.
“Shut the hell up!” Kelsey barked. She turned to Rachel. “I hate Saturdays! Family Night is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of! Daddy,” she whined. “I just want to go and do my homework. I don’t want to sit here for two hours worrying over it.”
Tom cradled his forehead with his left hand as though he had a terrible headache. When he spoke, he sounded resigned. “Go ahead. Go do your homework.”
Kelsey quickly left the room.
Rachel felt her cheeks flush. She’d been trying to keep it all together, make non-negotiable the fact that the family needed to spend a few quality hours together one night a week. And Tom had told Kelsey she could leave? “Tom!” she spat. “Why did—”
“She said she has homework,” Tom said firmly.
But Rachel knew better. She knew Kelsey had things on her mind, but that homework wasn’t one of them. “But we agreed that Saturdays—”
“You agreed,” he retorted. “I wish you’d just relax, Rachel. Let the kid do her homework. Let us all breathe a little.”
Rachel suddenly felt exhausted. Feeling her son’s eyes on her and her husband’s blaring indifference, she rose and walked out of the room.
Chapter 27
HE MOVED THROUGH the dank woods listening carefully to any sounds that weren’t his own. Restless, he pushed a branch out of his way. He released it a second too soon and it recoiled. Cool rainwater splattered in his face. He stopped and dried his eyes with an elbow.
He needed to clear his mind, to wade through the gloom inside his head. Allie was gone for now. She’d left in another one of her huffs. But not before hurling the usual insults.
He reached up and snapped the branch, sending it flying until it hit more brush and fell against wet leaves. He thought about Allie pressing her body against his the night before. Lying where the girl had lain. If she’d only known.
Her visit had been obscene and, for a vile millisecond, disturbingly inviting. Her warm softness, her skin like satin. It had been pitch black and he couldn’t see a thing, but he could tell she was wearing the black nightie. . . the trashy one. He was sure of it.
His body had been rigid as he lay on his side, his eyes open, staring, unseeing, ahead. Her steamy breath, laced with ci
A moment later loud curses, spiked with tears, rang from the darkness. Her fists stung his shoulders as she struck him. Then she left the room, the door banging shut behind her. Afterward, all became silent except for the crickets outside his window and Ian’s faint whimpers.
Now, he stepped out from the woods and peered at the Anderson’s home. As always, he had a clear view of the family’s living room at the back of the house. Two people were in the room. The father sitting on the recliner, and the young son on the floor, his body stretched in front of the blue haze of the television set, his face upturned and pale in the jumping lights of whatever television show they were watching.
He crab walked past the swing set whose two swings he had spent hundreds of hours in. Tonight he needed to be closer to the home.
Ten feet away from the big windows, he lowered himself onto his stomach and watched. The father was laughing. So was the boy. Then their faces went blank and they continued to watch.
Rachel was nowhere in sight. Rachel, the one who comforted him with her warm smile and silent laughter. He could tell that she loved her family. She, the mother bird of the nest. The nurturer.
But she seemed stressed lately. So distant from the others. Such a beautiful woman to be so stressed. It tore at his insides. Once he’d seen her daughter yelling at her. She’d been leaning forward on her tiptoes, shouting into the woman’s face. When his angel turned away, her face was so tight. So upset. It took everything he had not to force his fist through the window, to grab the girl by the throat and tell her that what she had was a rare gift. That her mother was an angel.
If only, his angel.
He daydreamed of being inside the house. Not while she was home. . . not yet. . . but when it was empty. What would he see? How did they live up close? He longed to touch the things she touched. She was a special, special woman. One of very few.
A light shone from the bedroom he knew to be the daughter’s. He rose and approached it. Though the blinds were down, he knew she was in there. He could hear her haughty voice and snippets of a one-sided conversation. She was on the phone. And she sounded angry.
He slowly circled the home. At the west end of the house, light shone through a small rectangular window. The master bath. He could see the shadow of a potted plant on the windowsill. Sunflowers. Once, he’d seen her in the small greenhouse, tending to the plants, her hands moving slowly, deliberately, with more care than he’d seen in his life. Her hands were nothing like his mother's calloused hands. Demanding, greedy hands. He shook her from his head.
Slinking forward, he peered into the window. Through the blinds, he could see someone was moving inside. Water was ru
Smiling, he turned away. He pressed his back against the house and stood still. He listened as she walked back and forth. Through sheer process of elimination, he knew it was her. He stood there, close to the woman. Mere feet away.
At that moment, he made his decision. He would go inside. And soon.
For now, though, he closed his eyes and relaxed.
Chapter 28
THE AFTERNOON SKY was gloomy with the threat of a storm. Erica sat in a red, plastic booth, scribbling in her notebook, which was now half filled with notes. Everything was finally coming together. Her epiphany had made a world of difference with the writing and left her so elated, she almost felt like smiling. But she didn’t.