Chapter Four
No matter the question, day drinking is always the answer.
Our laughter and music meant I didn’t hear the noises coming from outside until the late afternoon.
No idea how long Noah’s been in my backyard.
No idea why he’s in my backyard. Though the axe in his hands and pile of wood sitting neatly to the side offer some strong hints.
I grab him a beer out of the fridge. Hospitality was important to Grandma, and she trained me well. There’s a hopeful smile on my face as I head on out and hand over the ice-cold bottle. It’s got to be a positive sign—him being here performing manual labor.
“Just dealing with the tree limb that fell down during that storm,” he says. He looks like lumberjack porn come to life, standing there all sturdy and strong in his jeans, boots, and a tee. So many muscles. Just all the muscles in all the land.
“I did call a handyman. Was just waiting for them to call me back and arrange a time.”
He downs a mouthful of beer. “Now you don’t need to worry about this. Just get them to replace the broken palings on the fence and your smashed mailbox.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
There’s a fire pit made out of stone and a couple of Adirondack chairs.
It’s peaceful and private and all mine. A green space to sit and stare at the flames or look up at the stars.
But not yet. The sky overhead is streaked with the colors of sunset.
Orange and pink, violet and blue. I turn in a slow circle, taking it all in.
It’s like the world is putting on a show.
“How was your ride?” I ask.
“Good. Took Route 2 through the islands. It gave me time to think.” He narrows his gaze on me. “Have you been drinking?”
“Yes.”
“That explains the party I heard happening inside.” He smothers a smile. “Did you have fun?”
“We really did.”
“Good. Hana and Muriel gone now?”
I nod and sit my ass down before I fall down.
Alcohol may or may not have been the actual best answer to my particular set of problems. But today was a heck of a lot of fun just the same.
A dandelion grows in the grass beside my chair.
Obviously, the universe wants me to make a wish.
I blow on the dandelion and squeeze my eyelids shut tight.
“What’d you wish for?” he asks.
“If I tell you, it won’t come true.” I open my eyes and turn the dandelion around and around. “Grandma and I were always doing things like that when I was growing up. Wishing on shooting stars, eyelashes, tossing coins into fountains, and blowing out the candles on birthday cakes.”
“Mm.”
“Somewhere along the way, adulthood takes over and we lose our sense of wonder. One of the worst mistakes we ever make.” Which is when something else occurs to me. “How did you even get out here?”
“The side gate was open.”
Huh. Me and my stalker need to talk sooner rather than later.
There’s no way I left the gate unlocked.
Standing across the street from me is one thing.
But peeping in windows is right the fuck out.
Which reminds me of something. I fetch my cell out of my left bra cup (the dress is great, but it has a distinct lack of pockets).
“Is it okay that I am here?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Makes sense that you’d be security conscious. I should have knocked and said something. I’ll do that next time.”
“Thank you.”
And there’s my stalker on the Justice for Ryan website under updates.
Sometimes I really hate being right. But of course she’s here following me around because of him.
They met when she wrote to him about his tragic plight, apparently.
It was love at first sight when she went to visit him.
How lovely. The happy couple have high hopes of attracting the interest of a well-known organization that works to free people who’ve been wrongfully convicted.
And I highly doubt it’s going to happen with him being guilty as sin.
Interesting how he and I have both met new people this year. Though my ex is obviously doing better at love than I, despite being behind bars. Which both is and isn’t funny. Whatever. There’s no way I am wrecking what’s been a great day by thinking about him and his loser girlfriend.
Soon summer will be over, and the maples will start to show their autumn colors.
But for now, the birds are singing and bugs are chirping and everything is fine.
Turns out a tequila buzz in the afternoon is a splendid thing.
The sky overhead goes on forever, making me feel like anything is possible.
Like I could start my life over and make fewer mistakes or different ones or something. It’s a beautiful dream.
Grandma used to say if you’re always bracing yourself for bad things, you miss the chance to enjoy good things.
It can best be summed up as pessimism makes you a pissy person.
No idea why I am remembering this now. But it feels relevant to my state of mind and how I’ve approached life for the last however many years.
“Have you been walking on your own at night?” he asks.
“No. I thought it’d be best to take a break from that.”
He nods.
Having a stalker means being a bit more careful. Too many places for her to hide in the dark. But I am not getting into that with him. Not when I don’t know where we stand.
“My marriage fell apart because we stopped making time to talk to each other,” says Noah out of nowhere, taking the seat opposite me.
“Both of us had stressful jobs and life was just so fucking busy. What did it matter if I didn’t know exactly where she was at, and if she hadn’t heard the latest bullshit from my work, you know? ”
I listen.
“We wound up being nothing more than roommates.” He stares off in the distance for a moment. “What I am trying to say is that open and honest communication is important to me.”
“Okay.”
“I get your point that we haven’t known each other for long. And it’s got to be hard for you to talk about these things.”
“Yeah. Noah, I didn’t know what he was doing. That he was hurting people.”
“I know.” And he seems so certain. So sure.
The relief running through me is immense. Though open and honest communication requires one more step. Thank goodness for fake courage care of the booze. “It’s okay if you want to ask questions. We can talk about it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. It’d probably be good for me to practice getting it out there with someone new. Not having it be this thing always hanging over my head, you know?”
He pauses. “You’ll tell me if you need to stop?”
I nod.
“What happened the night he was arrested? How far did he get with his plan to hurt you?”
I take my time, choosing my words with care.
Thinking about this stuff sort of makes me want to vomit, but that’s nothing new.
And I’m sick of Ryan having this power over me.
“He’d picked up pizza as an apology for a fight we had a few days before.
Funnily enough it was about me cutting my hair.
All of the women who had gone missing from campus had long hair and so most people were cutting theirs to be safe.
The topic had come up a few times and he always made me feel like I was being stupid and wouldn’t be as attractive with short hair.
And that I should feel safe because didn’t he always pick me up and walk me to and from classes when he could? ”
Noah’s lips are a flat unhappy line.
“He liked me worrying about the missing women. I think it made me more malleable. And of course, it made his secret self seem all the more terrifying and important,” I say.
“That night he was being so sweet, but I wasn’t sure we were going to work out, which hurt because he was my first serious relationship.
We were watching a movie. I can’t remember what it was.
Some of my memories of him are incomplete.
My therapist says it’s a trauma response. ”
“Is that why you’ve been having trouble tracking down the places he took you?”
“One of them,” I say. “But we also did just go hiking that damn much. He liked to drive and of course he’d tampered with the tracking in his car so there are no records of exactly where we went.
Muriel, Hana, and I have been checking weather maps, my class schedule, bank records, and anything else we can think of to try and fill in the gaps. ”
“Makes sense that he’d been trying to cover his tracks.”
“He was organized. It’s why it took them so long to catch him.
” A light breeze ruffles the leaves in the trees.
I am safe, everything is fine, and my ex is locked up in a correctional facility.
Which is exactly where he belongs. “That night there was no knocking or anything. No warning. The Tactical Services Unit broke down my apartment door. Scared the absolute crap out of me. But not Ryan. He immediately knew what was happening and went straight for me. The last thing he wanted to do before he got locked up was kill me.”
“What did he do?”
“He tried to strangle me,” I say. “We think that was his thing. His preferred method of homicide. Briana Petersen’s body was very decayed and…you know…local wildlife. But the hyoid bone in her neck was broken. That’s usually a pretty good indicator of strangulation.”
“Right.”
“He always tried to come across as this easygoing affable guy. The second the door broke his face changed. I don’t know how to explain it. There was nothing of the person I thought I knew. It was like he’d never even existed. The whole good son and loving boyfriend had just been an act, you know?”
Noah nods.