Chapter 42
Harper
I know why Everett is being so protective, and I can’t even argue that it’s unwarranted, but getting used to life with a constant guard detail is not easy. I meant what I said to him, I don’t want to leave, but that doesn’t mean I’m comfortable at all with how intense everything has gotten.
I can’t go anywhere alone now. Not to work or the grocery store, and even when I go to the bathroom, there’s someone waiting outside the door for me to be done. I understand why, I really do, but it makes me antsy. I feel boxed in and constantly watched.
No one likes being followed around by armed deputies, even if they’re nice about it. Everett’s deputies are nice, and they seem to understand that Everett takes my safety very seriously, but that doesn’t really make it any better. Even reminding myself that it’s necessary doesn’t help.
I miss the simplicity of just walking into town or pulling weeds in my garden without someone watching from the porch or a car.
Tonight, all three of the men have to work. Everett’s coordinating with state authorities about the stalker case, Lincoln’s covering a late night call with the fire department, and Cash is picking up a double at the bar.
They’re all torn about going off to their jobs, hovering where they would usually just leave after kissing me goodbye.
I know they don’t want to leave me alone, and part of me wants to ask them to stay. I feel safer with them around than all the armed deputies in the world.
But I don’t want to inconvenience them any more than I already have. I don’t want this to turn into a bigger thing than it is.
“I’ll be fine,” I promise them. “I am fine. You have stuff to do.”
“We do…” Lincoln says, still hesitating. “But—”
“No buts. I’ll be okay.”
“If anything happens—” Everett begins.
“You’ll know about it because you have people watching the house. And if somehow I notice it before they do, I’ll call you. I promise.”
“You’d better.” He grabs me and kisses me hard, and then steps back.
I watch as they all head out, taking a deep breath as the dust fades from them driving away.
“It’ll be fine,” I repeat to myself. Even though I know it’s not as fine as I want it to be. Not without them in the house.
There are deputies still on duty, of course. Everett told me there are two of them parked at the end of the long driveway, and there’s another making the rounds on foot, walking the edge of the property with a flashlight.
Every so often, I catch glimpses of the beam passing over the windows, like a lighthouse sweeping through the dark.
It’s a weird kind of comfort, honestly. A reminder that someone’s watching. At the same time, it’s also a reminder of why they have to, and that keeps the anxiety I’ve been feeling since I found that stupid note at the forefront.
The only thing that feels manageable these days is keeping the routine as normal as possible for Cora. I don’t want her to freak out or be afraid that she’s in danger.
With the house to ourselves, we make dinner together, and I try to keep things light and fun for her.
When she makes sad eyes at me and reaches for the silicone spoon stuck into the pot of spaghetti sauce, I say yes, letting her stir vigorously, even though she manages to get sauce splattered all over the cook top.
I’m trying to say yes more, to let her experience things without me holding her back. And sauce can be cleaned up.
We dump it over some pasta and eat at the table, Cora telling in signs about a dog she saw when she was on a walk with Lainey.
After we clean up, we curl up on the couch with one of her favorite books. It’s a story about a fox running a lemonade stand, and we’ve read it plenty of times before.
She’s been saying more and more words lately, and tonight she points to a picture of a dog dressed in a sheriff’s outfit and says, “Ev” very softly.
I suck in a breath, my heart just about breaking in my chest at how proud that makes me. “That’s right,” I tell her, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. “He’s a sheriff. Do you think he’d come by lemonade from a fox?”
She thinks about it and then nods, a smile spreading over her face.
“I think so too. He’s nice like that, when it comes down to it, right?”
We finish up the book and then I take her upstairs, getting her settled in bed without any trouble. Cora drifts off, curled up with her stuffed elephant, and I ease out of her room, heading back downstairs.
Now that she’s asleep, and I’m the only one up and about, the house is too quiet. When the men are here, there’s always some noise. Cash humming random songs, Lincoln muttering to himself, Everett tapping his fingers as he works on paper work. But now the house is just still, and it’s unnerving.
I grab a book from the shelf and try to read, hoping to take my mind off how oppressive and heavy the silence feels, but I can’t focus.
Every gust of wind outside makes me glance toward the door. This has all been so stressful, but the quiet and the waiting are the worst parts.
Still, I nearly manage to doze off on the couch after a bit, a blanket over my legs and the book sliding out of my hand. I startle awake after a bit, and it takes me a second to realize what snapped me out of the doze.
There was a noise downstairs.
I’m used to most of the sounds this house makes now.
The way the kitchen faucet sometimes drips if you don’t turn the handle just right when you turn it off.
The way the wood creaks and settles through the night.
Even the radio static of the deputies outside has started to blend into the usual sounds of this place.
This was not one of the usual sounds. This was a deliberate noise. A floorboard creaking under weight, where no one should be there to make it happen.
My whole body goes still and I try to breathe as quietly as I can, listening.
Something is definitely wrong.