Right. And it’s what year, now?
I know, Inner Bitch, I know, but if I ask he might say no.
He won’t.
He could.
He won’t.
Myrtle growled, which Myrtle almost never did. Hugo immediately jumped in front of her and started snarfing. (Snarf: Snuffly barking, which is what bulldogs do. Yes, it’s another of my words, and also the only perfect word to describe this sound.) We looked where Hugo was looking, at a tall, young man with terrible posture, walking up our seldom used dirt road toward us.
I got to my feet, still nervous from last night’s murder dream. Mason got up, too, stepped over the picnic bench and headed toward the guy. The stranger lifted a hand. He was looking right at me and smiling. “Rachel? Wow, it’s really you!”
Oh my God, a fan, Inner Bitch said.
Fans put these steaks on the table, IB.
Yeah, but they don’t get to show up at our house.
I kind of agreed with her on that one. The thing about writing airy-fairy self-help books like mine, was that you occasionally attracted a batshit fan. Apparently, straight to your front door.
I went to stand beside Mason. Jeremy was on his feet, too, and so was the dark twin, with a distinctive touch-my-aunt-and-you-die glint shining from within her eyeliner. She hates makeup, my ass, Inner Bitch noted.
“It’s really me,” I said, polite, calm, not inviting or friendly. He had brown leaning-toward-gold eyes and thick lashes. His long brown hair hadn’t seen shampoo in a while. He slouched like his backbone was tired. “What can I do for you?”
He was smiling really hard. “I just…there’s so much. There’s so much. I’m Gary. Conklin. I read everything of yours–” As he spoke, he came toward me, and Mason stepped right into his path.
He looked up at Mason. He was a head shorter and had kind of a baby face, round, with big eyes set deep, that turned downward at the corners. “Whoa, man,” he said, “You don’t need to be worried about me.” He leaned sideways, to see me around Mason. “I just…your books, it’s like you’re talking right to me.”
“It feels like that to lots of readers,” I said. “It means I’m doing something right.”
“I have to talk to you, though. I walked all the way here.”
I looked down at his feet. He was wearing sneakers that were more holes than canvas. “From where?”
“The shelter, um, St. Mary’s.”
“In Binghamton?” It was twenty miles south on 81.
He nodded.
“You want something to eat, Gary?”
“Rachel–” Mason turned fully, hands on my shoulders, leaning close, speaking soft. “This guy looks unstable,” he said, for my ears only.
“Yeah, trust me I know. His head’s a fucking cyclone. But his belly’s empty.”
“He could be dangerous.”
“He reminds me of my brother.”
The brother card got to him, but that’s not why I played it. It was nothing but the truth.
“Gary, see the dock right there?” I asked, pointing at the square wooden dock that extended out from the shore. It was redwood stained, with a railing all the way around, and fish-pole holders mounted in four places. We had two Adirondack chairs out there, and a new one on the way, a double-wide one, for proper snuggling. “You go wait for me there. I’ll bring you a plate of food and we’ll talk a little, okay?”
“You don’t have to feed me.”
“We’ll talk. Go, sit. Look at that peaceful lake. It’s so calm. It always makes me feel better.”
He looked at the water for a moment and I did, too. It was particularly placid today, its surface a smooth mirror reflecting the bright September sky. Finally, he gave a nod and went to the dock. He stood at the railing, despite the big chairs.
“I don’t think this is a good idea, Rachel,” Jim said. Jim, the quiet guy, who never rocked a single boat.
“I agree, but he’s here and he’s hungry. Besides, he’s scrawny. Look at him, Jim. I could take him even if I was still blind. And you’re right here, and Mason is coming over there with me, and I’ve got two strong kids here who’ll kick his ass if he gets out of line. Not to mention Jeremy and Josh.”
Misty smiled. Christie did not. She had the guy in her laser sites and wasn’t even hearing me. My goodness, my niece was growing up kinda kick-ass. I liked it.
“Give me a few minutes.” I was filling a plate as I spoke. We always cooked an extra steak to split up between the bulldogs, but they were going to have to muddle through with a couple of bites of mine and Mason’s.
“Keep the dogs here,” I told Josh, who was my resident canine whisperer. Mason put an arm around my shoulders. We hadn’t had a chance to talk about the body that had been found this morning, because everyone had already arrived by the time he’d got back. And now certainly wasn’t the time.
I said, “Hang back a little. I want him to feel safe.”
“I want you to be safe.”
“Perfect. Pick a distance that does both.” I kissed his nose. “I love you.” I said, in case the stranger was going to pull out a weapon and off me within the next few minutes. And I think Mason knew it.
The timing wasn’t lost on me. This guy showing up the morning after a murder dream that might’ve been a…I don’t want to say vision. It sounds so hokey. But yeah. That. Coincidence?
No such thing.
Sandra handed me silverware and a napkin, and I carried the food over to the sdock. “Sit right here, Gary,” I said, standing beside the chair. He came away from the railing, sat in the chair, and I handed him the food.
“Thank you. I haven’t had anything today.”
“I’ll box you up some leftovers to take with you when you go. Go ahead, dig in. Get your belly full first, I can wait.” And I wanted to wait. I wanted to feel him first, you know, with my NFP. I went to the railing myself, leaned my forearms on it, gazing out at the water while he ate. It was always easier to feel someone with my eyes closed, probably because I’d done it blind for so long, without even realizing I was doing it. It only became a full-blown thing though, after I got my new corneas. Mason thought, in hindsight, his brother must’ve had a touch of…what I had. But in Eric’s case, it had made him crazy.
I closed my eyes and opened my radar. What I got felt like sparks from a live wire. I tried to focus harder, but it was just chaos.
Eventually the sounds of fork hitting plate went silent, and I turned to see that Gary had cleaned it. He leaned forward to set his empty dish on the decking.
“So first, you should know, I don’t usually do this. Meet one-on-one with readers like this.”
“Yeah, I–I know.”
“What did you want to talk to me about?”
“Your books, they say things happen to you because you think about them.”
I nodded slowly. “That’s a very simplified explanation. You attract the essence of what you think about, believe in, and expect.”
“Isn’t that what I said?”
“Not exactly. Say you think about dogs all the time. That doesn’t mean a dog’s gonna show up. It all depends on how you feel about dogs when you’re thinking about them. If you’re afraid of dogs, and you think about dogs all the time, other things you’re afraid of will start showing up. Could be a dog, could be a stalker.”