5
Later in the afternoon, the rain has stopped.
I stand at the front window and watch as the car pulls to the curb.
Security has backed the reporters away, thankfully.
Despite it all, I smile as Olivia skips along the sidewalk toward our stoop, ensuring she splashes every remaining puddle no matter how small and shallow.
This makes me happy. Acacia is right behind her, ushering her along.
As the car drives away, a man on the opposite side of the street catches my attention.
He’s alone, since the reporters scattered when the car arrived.
He stands there on the sidewalk, watching Olivia and Acacia.
I lean closer to the glass, but I can’t quite make out the features of his face.
Dark hair . . . maybe gray at the temples. It’s him, I realize. My pulse quickens.
He stares directly at me, sees me clearly as I am standing in the full-length bay window, the room behind me well lit. He watches a moment longer, then returns his attention to Olivia and Acacia. Acacia notices.
A fragment of distant recall intersects with the image of him. The way he watched me . . . the way he lied to me, then left me in that place—a place that became my prison. Dread unfurls inside me, making my heart pound faster and faster.
I exile the memory and chastise myself for going back there. I stare at the man on the sidewalk. This is about now.
Olivia’s laughter draws me to the foyer. I smile. My daughter is here and safe. She rushes to hug me, and for that too-short time, I forget all else. When she scoots away, I say, “Go to your room and pack whatever I may have missed. We’re leaving in half an hour.”
With a big grin, Olivia scurries up the stairs. She has no idea the danger we may be in from the mistakes of my past. The thought weakens my knees.
I wander back to the living room. Acacia is staring out the same window where I stood watching their arrival.
I have told her the article is the reason we are leaving the city.
The inflammatory accusations of how I lied about the abduction and used the Judge case as an excuse for my selfish escapades is all over social media and network news.
Certainly it’s a reasonable excuse for escape.
For now, she knows all she needs to.
We’re basically ready to go. Acacia helped pack our bags this morning with the intent of leaving as soon as Olivia was home.
Now I wish we had skipped the library event and left right after school.
The overcast sky will usher in the darkness a little early.
Since the accident, I’m not comfortable traveling on wet streets in the dark.
The screech of skidding tires and the bone-crushing crash of the car into unforgiving steel echoes in my ears.
As strange as it sounds, I didn’t feel any pain at the point of impact, or from the accident at all, until weeks later when I emerged from the coma.
Now, however, I can imagine the vicious injuries occurring, followed by shattering pain as my mind plays out the devastating trajectory of the vehicle and the final jarring impact.
“Julia.” Acacia turns to me. “Did you see the man outside watching us?”
I shake off the memories and drift to her side at the window. “One of the reporters?”
“I don’t think so.” She points to the figure, still visible, though a good distance away. “That man. I noticed him staring at the house when we pulled up. Then he watched as Olivia and I came inside.”
I lean closer to the glass to get a better look. “I guess I didn’t notice,” I lie. “He could have been a reporter.”
She shakes her head. “He gave me a creepy feeling.”
The reassuring smile I prop into place isn’t the best, but hopefully it will do. “Well, he’s gone now.”
Worry shows on her face as she searches mine. “Whoever he is, if he’s watching us, he might try to follow us.”
I have no doubt that someone, perhaps several someones, will try to follow us. “We should get going. The sooner we’re out of the city, the better.”
She remains visibly distressed. “I’ll go help Olivia.”
The source of my concern has not asked for money or anything else from me. It isn’t necessary to be a fortune teller or a criminal profiler to recognize what that means.
I suppose I’ll know the rest when that part of my past catches up to me.
I watch Acacia climb the stairs. Perhaps it already has.
It’s only a matter of when it will reveal itself to me.