Chapter Three
A crashing sound wakes me. I bolt upright in bed at some small, awful hour of the morning.
There’s the screech of tires as shouting and laughter comes from the street.
My fingers fumble for the phone and taser sitting on the bedside table.
It’s been a while since something like this happened.
A few months at least. But my brain goes from sleep addled to wide awake in an instant.
The wooden floor is cool against the soles of my feet as I move out of my bedroom, down the stairs, and to the front door.
No more noise is coming from outside. Everything is still and silent.
As it should be at almost three a.m. on a Sunday.
There’s nothing interesting on the security cameras either when I look on my phone.
Though I check the front windows, just to be sure.
Then I unlock the door to see what’s happened this time.
Lights have turned on in a couple of nearby houses. I don’t know what drunkards and assholes used to do for fun in this town. But harassing me is apparently a guaranteed good time and has been for years. You can’t really blame the neighbors for not liking me.
And there lies the reason for the almighty crash. Where my mailbox used to be are its smashed remains strewn across the ground. Tire tracks have also chewed up the surrounding grass.
Fuckers.
Noah appears at his front doorstep in a pair of sleep pants and a loose tee. “What is it?”
“Just some idiots being true to their nature.”
His gaze is dark in the dim light. “Does this sort of thing happen often?”
“Often enough.”
The lights go out in one of the houses across the street. No doubt somebody heading back to bed after checking out the commotion. Which is a damn good idea. The ruins of my mailbox can wait until morning.
I turn to leave. “Night.”
“Why do you stay here?” he asks. “If this shit is always happening and people hate you?”
“It’s complicated. You looked me up, right?”
His jaw tenses. “Yeah.”
“I’m not in the sort of situation that goes well with relaxing and enjoying life.”
“No,” he agrees with anger in his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You didn’t seem to want to talk about it the other night.
As for before that…my ex is one of the worst things that’s happened around here.
It’s not easy starting introductions with the biggest mistake you ever made being so well known.
But it also happened ten years ago, and I’m trying to get on with my life as much as I can.
And you and I had only talked a handful of times. ”
He frowns.
“I like you, Noah. I like to think I would have told you sooner rather than later. But the truth is, I don’t know. People don’t tend to hang around long after they find out. I guess what I am saying is you’re right to be angry, or however you’re feeling. Not that you need my permission.”
He doesn’t say a word.
“There was something between us, wasn’t there?”
“Yeah,” he answers eventually. The truth is I barely know him, but losing the idea of him hurts. At least, that’s what I tell myself as I walk away.
Hana texts me the next morning.
Hana: Amateur photography group meets at the brewery near you once a month.
Me: That could be cool.
Hana: You should go.
Me: But people.
Hana: People need to get over themselves and get used to you. Something that’s never going to happen if you keep hiding at home.
Me: Harsh but fair.
Hana: Ask your neighbor to go with you.
Me: He found out about me. Wasn’t happy.
Hana: Shitty.
Me: Yeah.
Hana: Did you know female raccoons are monogamous but males are polygamous?
Me: No. Random but fascinating. No wonder they often seem angry and prone to violence.
Hana: I know, right?
Hana: My point is you can’t trust men to make good choices.
Me: So sad.
Hana: Why are men?
Me: We may never know.
Me: When does the photography group meet? Just out of interest…
There’s a store on Pine Street I’ve had my eye on forever.
Any time I drive past, I check out the windows.
The aesthetic is minimal and modern. Though they stock cute stuff too.
Dresses, tops, and bottoms that are feminine without being overly frilly.
Other people walk into shops all the time.
It shouldn’t be a big deal. But I sit in my parked car for half an hour before working up the nerve to enter. Which is ridiculous.
I want my life back, or some semblance of it. Things are never going to be like they were. My grandmother is gone, and certain people think I am a murderer or accessory to the same. Nothing I can do about it. What I can do is stop skulking about the fringes of society like I am actually guilty.
There’s a long list of things I used to do.
Watch movies and go dancing and hang out with friends.
Hana is right about how me hiding at home achieves nothing.
My face was everywhere when Ryan was arrested, and all throughout the trial, I tried to respect people’s feelings and stay out of sight.
But after almost a decade, I seem to have reached my limit for behaving like an outcast and being blamed for something I did not do.
Anger at the situation with Noah might also have pushed me into doing this today.
Stupid men, stupid hearts, stupid loins, etcetera.
Though some fixing up of my self is long overdue.
I don’t notice my stalker until I’m almost at the shop door.
She’s standing on the other side of the street watching, her long blonde hair shining in the sun.
She’s wearing a white floaty dress. And she’s both younger and thinner than me.
I stare at her and she stares at me and ugh.
The girl’s going to have to try harder if she wants to scare me.
No way does she get to ruin my day. I am a grown-ass woman and more than capable of doing that all on my own, thank you very much.
But she and I should chat. There are some questions I want to ask her. I look both ways searching for a break in the traffic before attempting to cross the road. And she takes the opportunity to turn and start walking away again. I am not chasing after her. Whatever game she’s playing can wait.
Shoulders back and boobs out, I turn toward the store. Here we go.
A bell jingles as I open the shop door and step into the air-conditioned space.
There’s a faint scent of lavender or something.
Wooden racks hold rows of clothing sorted by color.
Jewelry, shoes, hats, and some homewares are displayed on and around a long wooden table in the center of the store.
There’s even a display of vintage jackets and bags for sale.
It all looks so good. I kind of want to buy everything.
A woman approaches me with a smile. She has dark skin, long hair, a cool floral tattoo on her arm, and is wearing one of the green linen jumpsuits displayed in the front window.
There was a time in this town when women were cutting their hair short for safety’s sake.
All of the ones who went missing had long hair.
The shop assistant’s practiced eye takes in my old jeans, faded tank top, and the bedraggled sneakers on my feet.
The fading bruise on my face has been carefully covered with concealer.
It’s not like I’ve bought nothing in the last nine years. Once something wore out beyond repair, then I replaced it. But it was mostly just the basics, which I shopped for online. My therapist Heather would say I don’t believe I deserve nice things. She’d say I have survivor’s guilt.
The woman who works here stops and cocks her head. “Sidney?”
Her recognition is happening faster than I imagined. But if she asks me to leave, then okay. I’ll just try somewhere else. This isn’t the only clothing store in town.
“My name is Emma,” she says. “I was a year below you in high school.”
“Oh.”
“Can I help with anything?”
“I need a couple of outfits. Maybe more than a couple.”
“Okay,” says Emma.
“This has started getting on my nerves.” I wave my hand in the general direction of me. “I want to look better.”
“I can help you with that.”
A woman over by the changing rooms stops and stares at me. The hostility coming from her corner is a lot. But it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. And at least she’s not hissing murderer or whore at me. That shit really hurts my feelings.
Emma heads for the racks on the other side of the store. “How about I show you some things so I can gauge what you like and go from there?”
“That sounds great.” I smile. “Don’t suppose you know a good hairdresser?”
Kaia Kater is playing when we hear the front door open. Muriel and I are in the back of the house in the study, ready for our weekly meeting. Sunday brunch is the perfect time for blackberry scones. Though carbohydrates and sugar are always a solid idea.
Nothing was said about my new navy-and-white-stripe midi tank dress and light makeup.
Same goes for the fresh long layers and strands of honey and platinum in my hair.
Though I know she noticed, thanks to the definite widening of her eyes.
Muriel’s probably scared of saying anything in case I change my mind and run upstairs to scrub my face and put on a pair of sweatpants or something. And who can blame her?
Hana is running late, though that’s not unusual. What is unusual is her remembering to use her key. Banging on the door and hollering is her preferred method of gaining entry to the house. But what’s truly bizarre is how she’s talking to someone. Same goes for the deep voice that answers.
Muriel raises her brows.
I know the voice, though I haven’t heard it in three days. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever hear it again. And now here he is, standing in my living room. Huh.
“…comes from this couple at the farmers’ market they have just down the road,” says Hana.
“Haven’t gotten there yet,” answers Noah.
“You have to go. So good.”
“Nice pictures.”