Chapter 106
Tilda
I hold the hose, refilling Quackers’s pool with fresh water.
The internet people have already come and gone. And I was tempted to just rot on the couch, catching up on some shows. But it’s nice out. And even with the noisy distractions, my mind wouldn’t settle.
The sound of the water is soothing, and I wonder how hard it would be to set up some sort of fountain.
Nothing grand, just enough to make it sound like I have a bubbling brook running through my front yard.
Looking out at the trees and my strings of crystals swaying in the breeze, I take in how different my life is now.
And how much I like it.
I’d always thought I was an indoor cat. Never considered an outdoorsy life.
Probably because I always lived in a city, so for me the outdoors were still urban.
But this…
I know this isn’t for everyone.
And I’m still adjusting to the quiet.
And I miss food delivery.
But I don’t think I could go back.
A butterfly lazily flutters past me and lands on the bush on the other side of the kiddie pool. The one Quackers likes to sleep under.
I definitely couldn’t go back.
Careful not to splash the butterfly, I pull the hose away, and lay it under the closer bush, then I walk around to the side of the house where the hose connects and turn the water off.
With the amount of money Uncle Jack left me, and the fact that the house is paid off—leaving me without a mortgage or a car payment—I’m not worried about finding a job.
But even if I can make the money stretch for years and years, I still need something to do with my time.
Making my way back to the front of the house, I stop beside a tree and watch its suncatcher sparkle in the light.
Maybe I can make stuff?
Sell it?
Not with the beads Ethan bought me for my birthday. Those are mine. But maybe…
A sound cuts through my thoughts.
I stand still.
Is that…?
I take a step farther out into my driveway.
I stop again to listen.
And then my heart rate jumps.
Spinning around, I rush back to my front door as the sound of tires on gravel gets louder.
I’m not expecting anyone.
No one should be coming here.
Adrenaline that I’m becoming all too familiar with fills my body as I wrench my door open.
I swing it shut and lock the dead bolt just as a car comes into view.
I don’t recognize it.
But I don’t linger.
I dart straight to my bedroom, where I can hide without being seen.
My lungs burn as I stand just inside the threshold to my room.
And my eyes burn.
I want to call Ethan.
I start to reach for my pocket but remember we never exchanged numbers.
That pressure in my eyes intensifies.
I have a husband, but I don’t have his phone number.
The crunching sound comes to a stop, and then, what sounds like two engines turn off.
I hear two doors slam.
Why are two people here?
I lean a little out of the doorway, wanting to catch a glimpse.
“Matilda!”
I halt. Frozen in place.
My mom is here.
More car doors slam shut, and I take a step back.
It’s bright outside, and I don’t have any lights on inside, but there are no curtains over the living room windows. So if anyone gets close enough—out of the glare of sunlight—they’ll be able to see inside.
But that’s all they can do.
I locked the front door.
The windows are the crank-out kind, and they’re all cracked open, letting in the fresh air and allowing me to hear what’s happening. But they’re only open a few inches.
And if any of them try to pull open a window to crawl through, I’ll be using my new internet connection to call the police.
Ethan would be better.
Backing farther into my bedroom and completely out of view, I wonder if there’s a way for me to climb off the back deck and circle around into the park without being seen.
I look down at my dress, the one I was wearing the last time I went into the park, when I got all tangled up in the barbed wire fence, and know I won’t be able to make it out unnoticed.
The back of my legs bump into my bed, and feeling so incredibly tired of these people, I let my knees give out and sit on the mattress.