“Alright then. Ready for school, kiddo?”
“Yep.”
I climb out of the front seat, zip my coat against the cold Colorado wind, and open the back door. Josh holds his arms out for me to unstrap him and lift him out. It’s too hard for him to get out of the buckles of the car seat just yet.
I slip my hands under his pudgy arms. The puffy coat makes him look like the Michelin Man.
Lifting him out, I give him a little squeeze, then set him on the ground and grab his Minions backpack, which is empty but for his lunch. I unzip it, slip his book inside, close the door, and take his small hand in mine. He’ll need new gloves for winter too. His little fingers are already cold.
“We’ll go get some gloves after school too.”
“After the library?”
“After the library,” I say as we walk to the front entrance of the school.
A whisper on the wind has me turning toward the woods that border the back of the property. Dense pines make it impossible for light to penetrate, and for a moment, I think I see movement.
It’s been like this for the past few weeks. I’ve felt it like I did before, that raising of the hairs on the back of my neck. That slight scent that I don’t know if I imagine or if it just happens to be someone else wearing the same aftershave Lev wore. I don’t even know how I still remember that detail and wish I could forget.
“Miss Katie!” a little girl calls out, making me jump.
I turn away from the woods.
I’m just on edge because of the anniversary. Because today is the day Nina and her family were killed. Well, tonight is. It’s the night I found out I was pregnant with Lev’s baby. The night I’d gone to her house for help when she slipped that flash drive into my hand and made me leave, made me promise not to come back until she called me.
She never did call.
The house burned down that night, and three charred bodies were found inside. Foul play. Arson. Bullets.
“What do you say, Katie?”
I give a shake of my head. Katie. Sometimes I forget to answer to it.
“I’m sorry?” I ask.
“Why don’t you and Josh come over for dinner next week on Friday? It’s Emma’s half-birthday, and we’re getting a cake,” Emma’s dad, Luke Foreman, says. He’s a nice guy. In his mid-forties, he lost his wife early to cancer.
“Can we, Mommy?” Josh asks. He tugs on my hand, and I lean down. He raises his eyebrows and leans in close. “There’s cake,” he whispers loudly.
Luke smiles and winks at me when I straighten. “Sounds great,” I say, although I need to be careful not to give Luke the wrong idea. He asked me out to dinner a while back, and I told him it was against school policy to date a parent, which wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the only reason. After everything that happened, I haven’t really been interested in anyone. Just keeping myself and Josh safe is my priority because I’m not sure if Lev or the men he works with have found out that I was there that night. That I have the flash drive they were looking for. That I know they killed Nina’s family.
But I’m not taking any chances. I can’t because it’s not just my life at stake now. I won’t let anything happen to my baby and that includes losing me. Because I know what happens when you’re alone in the world. I know the monsters that prey on those weaker than them, and I will not allow monsters into Josh’s life.
And besides, I’m not interested in Luke as anything more than a friend. Since Lev, I haven’t been interested in anyone.
Another gust of wind has me clutching Josh’s hand tighter.
“They’re saying it’s going to be an early blizzard,” Luke says.
“I hope not.” The first bell rings. “We’d better get inside.”
The morning passes as usual, and although I’d normally spend my lunch hour with Josh, today, I put on my coat and hat and head out to the parking lot.
They’re predicting a foot of snow already, and a glance up at the darkening sky confirms it. Josh and I have lived here for a little over three years, and although I love the snow, I hate driving in it and hope it won’t be as bad as they’re forecasting.
Getting into the Jeep, I glance at the space in the woods that had caught my attention earlier, but nothing’s there now. And it doesn’t look as dark and foreboding as it had early this morning.
Pulling out of the parking lot, I head to the florist in town to pick up the bouquet. It’s ready for me, and I’m grateful for that. I won’t have much time before I have to get back to the school even though the lead teacher in my room knows I may be a few minutes late.
I set the flowers on the passenger’s seat and drive out of town. The elegant, long white callas look out of place on the worn upholstery of the Jeep.
Light flurries have already begun to fall as I navigate the curving road up to Daniel’s Point. I found the overlook by accident. It’s not easy to get to, which means I don’t often run into anyone out there, but today, I’m anxious as the road rises in elevation and visibility becomes an issue.
Switching on the radio for company, I listen absently to songs periodically broken by static until, twenty minutes later, I reach the turnoff for the overlook.
Tires grate on loose stones as I park the Jeep as close to the point as I can. I pull my knit cap on, pick up the flowers, and climb out, my boots crunching on those same stones. I walk around the barrier and onto the barely recognizable trail, and for a moment, the only sound is that of my boots on a random branch or dried up leaf.
There’s a stillness here. Where Josh and I live is quiet too, but here, it’s different than Philadelphia. It’s like the mountains eat sound, and when I stop to listen to it, to hear it, it has a way of reassuring me and filling me with peace. It’s the strangest thing, but when I get to the overlook, and it’s like the world opens up to me, I just stand there and listen to that sound. A part of me wishes it could stay here forever and never go back.
My mom died when I was three in a car accident on a road much like this one in that it was remote and mostly deserted. We were stranded for two days before they found us. It had been fall, too. Fall is an unlucky time for me.
I shouldn’t have survived that accident, but somehow, I did.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I’m grateful for the interruption. I dig it out and switch off the alarm I’d set for myself. I have about ten minutes before I have to head back, and I set a second alarm just in case. I walk as far as I can on the overhanging stone and crouch to lay the flowers down.
Nina loved calla lilies. They were her favorite flowers. She’d always complain that no guys ever sent her flowers.
I spend a few minutes arranging the four long stems. One for each year since she’s been gone.
“I miss you,” I tell the wind. “I should have made you come with me that night.” I dig into my pockets for a tissue but don’t find any, so I wipe my eyes with the backs of my hands. I’m going to need mittens too because my fingers are frozen.
But at that moment, I feel it again.
The back of my neck prickles, the hair stands on end, and that feeling is back. Like someone’s watching.
I freeze, unable or unwilling to turn around. To see.
Something crunches behind me, a twig, and I gasp, straighten, and spin, reaching into my pocket and digging out the pocketknife. I keep one in every pocket and in every bag. I have since I left Philly.