While They Watch

by Khloe Summers

  He took a sip of his beer and set the can gently back on the table. “You could have text me if you were running late.”

  “I know. God, I’m so sorry. I lost track of time. We had a surprise visitor at the end of the day,” I rambled, “It was that billionaire, Matteo De Luca. He’s donating a bunch of money to the center, and he wanted to be on the news, and it’s a godsend because we’ve been struggling so bad over there. Like today, we took in a fox—"

  “Well, while you were off playing Pocahontas, I went and made actual money. Then, I came home and got actual dinner!” He stood up, his body jolting in erratic movements as he spoke.

  My heart began to pound, unsure of what combination of words to use to calm him. I had been wrong—forgetting to text him, but I didn’t deserve this. “I know, babe. I’m sorry. Let’s just talk about last night. I want to make this better.”

  “You’re so damn needy!” he stated, as though it were fact.

  I was desperate for someone to shake him and make him see he was wrong. That he was the reason we couldn’t have a proper conversation. Then, I came to my senses. No one was coming. It was just he and I in suburbia, fighting against monotony, fighting against each other. Except I was the only one fighting. He’d have been happy to sit in doldrums for eternity. I was only in his way.

  “No, I get it. I’ll try harder.” The words fell through my lips, desperate for solitude, but I didn’t believe them. In truth, I wanted him to try harder. I wanted sex on the dining room table at noon on a Sunday. I wanted him to take me behind the oak tree at the park because he couldn’t wait until we got home. I wanted love to fill the rooms of our small home in a way that made me sick with happiness. Instead, we were mechanics constantly working on what needed to be fixed.

  Breaking the silence, he began laughing through his teeth, spitting as he formed words, “You realize no one else would put up with this shit, right?”

  “I’m sorry, Daniel. I keep fucking things up. Maybe it’s better if I go to bed for the night.” I was unsure what my sarcasm would do to the moment and I immediately regretted my decision.

  Though, to my surprise, he sat silently, staring from the far end of the dining room table with folded arms, pouting like a child as I retreated to our bedroom. I closed the door and locked it, knowing full well he could open it any time he pleased. But it made me feel powerful like I had a say in my destiny. A clear message that screamed, I needed space. Sure enough, before I’d even tucked myself under the covers, he was breaking into the room — his message, louder than mine.

  His frame was shaking with the vibration of the words, proving that he was in control, that I wasn’t allowed even the smallest amount of personal regulation. “Don’t lock the fucking door. This is my room, my bed. And I will sleep in it tonight!”

  I let his words dangle, as I rolled into my blanket, covering my head. His quips were like poison in the only well I had to drink from, turning the water black with filth. Still, I kept coming back for more. I’d forgotten what our life was like before this, before the years of lonesome pining.

  I say this because a part of me wondered if this was normal, if this was a part of every relationship. After all, I had nothing to compare it to, but did anyone? Were we all just wasting away in hopes that love was real? This thought is what carried the doubt. A seed I watered daily. A plant that grew well in wet soil.

  I knew right then; nothing would change. This was my life, hunted, and wrangled, never touched with affection and wonder. It had become a far-off fantasy, the idea of being warmed lovingly by another person. Maybe even feeling as though they desired me, somehow needing my pale skin, thick hips and tired eyes.

  I focused again on my phone, letting my mind wander to the meeting with Matteo the following morning. More funding at the shelter meant we could rehabilitate longer, which meant a higher rate of survival after release. Hours went by as I formulated a business plan for the shelter, noting each idea and approximate price point in my note app as I drifted off to sleep.

  Daniel was gone when I woke in the morning. I hadn’t heard him get into bed, but his side was messy like he’d been there. I clicked the link in Matteo’s text for directions. Almost an hour to his place from here, that gave me about twenty minutes to get ready. I rushed around, slipping on the only business-related attire I owned. A short black cocktail dress that hugged my hips and split at my breasts. Offering a bit more cleavage than I’d liked for this occasion, but most of my days were spent in jeans, t-shirts, and hiking boots. I didn’t own much else. Scouring through my closet, I found a light pink cardigan to throw on over the dress. Makeup was never my thing, but I wanted to look extra nice. This guy was investing big in our small center, and I needed him to know I was serious. I twisted my blonde hair into a knot and pulled down a piece to frame my face, following up with a few strokes of mascara. Good enough, I thought as I rushed out the door.

  Matteo’s home was in a part of Tahoe I’d only been a few times. Though, the drive up the mountain was familiar. Small rocks laid on the dusty terrain, mingling with sagebrush and wild horses that grazed in the mid-morning sun. As I climbed up towards the snow-covered highlands, dust turned to boulders—giant and mossy, shaped and cut by wind and time. Soon, tall scratched pines replaced sage, leaving behind evidence of bear activity, along a cold winding river that rushed at the edge of the road. I’d been raised in the high Sierras, but never tired of its majesty.

  Fifty minutes later, I pulled up to a black, iron gate perched on either side of large brick columns, clearly marked on the stone, house number “92874”. I punched in the code he’d given me on the small keypad and waited as the gates opened. Mature trees swept the edges of the paved driveway as I drove up towards the house. As I rounded the corner, a beautiful white mansion popped from beneath a canopy of ponderosa pine. Crisp, fresh, woodland overtook my senses as I made my way to ring the bell. An older, kind-looking man with a beak nose and an English accent answered the door. His hair, mostly gone with a circle of gray surrounding the shiny top.

  “Mr. De Luca is on the back terrace. Please, follow me,” he said, leading me through the marble entry. I tried not to gawk, but couldn’t help but notice the large living room with vaulted ceilings and wood-burning fireplace. There was a rustic charm to the home that I wasn’t expecting. Straight through the house, behind a wall of glass doors was an outdoor patio with a built-in fireplace and view of the lake. Beyond that, a marina style pier with waterfront property. At the end of the dock, a black iron table with cushioned chairs and sprawling umbrella, shading the sun. Matteo stood to greet me, dressed casually in linen pants, and a fitted black, button-down. A shirt that allowed his muscles little room to pop as he moved.

  Shifting up his aviator shades, he kissed each cheek while slightly grazing my hip with his hand. “Molto bella, very beautiful.”

  Blood rushed to my face, turning my skin a dark shade of red as he pulled a chair out for me at the table.

  Sitting closely, he piled fresh fruit onto the side of my tea plate. “My accountants went by this morning to see Lyla; they should be signing over two million dollars for repairs and upkeep. I think a gala would be good though, something to draw attention to your mission.”

  I struggled to keep my composure as I thought about what two million dollars would mean for the center. “That’s way too much! Why are you doing this?”

  “I’m a part of this community now and I want to give back. We can hold the gala here. You’ll plan the presentation.” Everything he said sounded like intrigue as he rolled his r’s.

  “Yes, that sounds good,” I answered, trying not to sound overwhelmed.

  “Good! I went to see your friend last night. She has no hair on her tongue. None at all.”

  I shrugged my shoulders, “No hair on her tongue?”

  “She doesn’t hold back. She just says things. We say this in Italy, no hair on your tongue.”

  I let out a clenched laugh that
made me sound like a goat. Then cleared my throat and straightened. “Oh. Yeah, she’s really into celebrities. How was dinner?”

  “She made me her ‘famous’ spaghetti and garlic toast. I think I was supposed to bring dessert, but I’m not like that. Besides, if I was picking, you seem to be a bit more my type. Not that I am picking. But if I were…”

  Was there no subtlety anymore? Did he not see the ring on my finger? This is what annoys me about people with money. They think they have a right to say whatever they want.

  I crossed my legs and folded my arms, “Well, I’m married so you can take me off the ‘choice’ wheel.”

  He smiled ear to ear, exposing his perfectly white teeth, then looked down slightly. “If I wanted you, I wouldn’t stop until I got you. It wouldn’t matter that you were married.”

  Tiny bursts of blood popped from my heart as I took in his words. He was rude and aggressive. Nothing like he’d been during the interview. But, why did I like this shitty half compliment? Was I really that broken?

  I became surer of that truth as my brain used this awkward moment to scan back to Daniel’s harshness—reminding me of how drained I felt in that house, how I’d ached for my husband to possess me with such passion. Without warning, emotion spilled from me as though I were an overflowing dam—water bursting from my eyes in waves, displaying my crazy for all to see.

  Matteo reached over, touching my shoulder in comfort. “I was only kidding. I’m sorry. I just talk. I don’t think sometimes.”

  His touch didn’t help. I only cried harder. It had been years since anyone had reached out while I was crying. In fact, most of the time, I was told to ‘stop acting like a baby.’ So, this was new, and also, incredibly embarrassing.

  “Are you okay? I’m sorry! I didn’t mean anything. I was just being playful.”

  I turned my head away, feeling a hint of rage tickle my tongue. “This is a business meeting, not time to play! You can’t just—"

  I pulled away from his touch, abruptly standing, “We won’t be needing your donation Mr. De Luca. I hope you don’t treat all your ‘charities’ like this.”

  He stood, towering over me with a straight face, “Hannah—it was a joke. Sit back down.”

  “Now you tell me to sit too? Are you going to tell me to lay down next?” I said the words as I wrapped my purse around my shoulder. “I don’t know how you’ve managed this ‘good boy’ reputation, but smoke and mirrors are doing you wonders.”

  I no longer had control over what I was saying. Words were randomly flying through my lips like bullets, misplaced aggression landing squarely on his chin.

  I turned towards the house and made my way towards the door, stomping away like a toddler who’d just thrown a fit. He was out of line, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as I was making it.

  Hurrying back into the house, I let anger guide me back to my vehicle—opening the GPS on my phone for directions back to the shelter. The adrenaline from my outburst was starting to wear off as an alert popped up.

  ‘Rockslide is blocking RT36/Road is Closed.’

  Panicked, I began to reverse, prepared to drive to the edge of the slide, and wait the day out in my Jeep.

  “Stop! Stop! There’s a rockslide, no way in or out. The city could be days cleaning it up,” Matteo yelled, waving his arms above his head and in my direction. He was standing atop the steps outside the house, gesturing me to stop what I was doing. I knew why he was stopping me, but I was embarrassed, still wanting to run. I rolled down my window, leaning my head slightly out the side.

  “I’ll go down there and wait. Maybe they’ll let me climb over the rocks.” I said the words, realizing instantly how much crazier this made me sound.

  Matteo walked over to the side of the car, with his sunglasses back in place. “Wow, climb over the rocks? I have scared you!” We should have wine. Everything is better with wine. Unless you don’t drink wine at business meetings.” His face turned up in a ravenous grin, proud of his quick remark.

  Mortified and stranded, I smeared the black streaks from my eyes and followed Matteo back inside. We sat on a white couch overlooking the turquoise lake on the back patio—silently watching the chipmunks rustle as we listened to the waves lap against boulders. Although the wine wasn’t the boxed stuff I prefer, one glass turned to two, and two to three. And soon, the rich taste of berries and mocha, tasted like strong grape juice.

  An awkward silence filled the spaces in time. All of which allowed me the opportunity to become incredibly self-aware, realizing how insane I’d sounded. He sat next to me, focused on his phone, finishing his third glass of wine.

  “I’m sorry about earlier. I… I have stuff going on that has nothing to do with you. Though… you should be more careful what you say to people because you’re kind of a dick.”

  He looked towards me, knotting his lips into the corner of his mouth, “Thanks for the advice. Since dick is now in the vocabulary of our business meeting, I’ll assume you’d still like my sponsorship?”

  I cringed at my use of words, then held my head high and took another swig, “Kindly, thank you. So, what’s your deal anyway? I only googled you once.”

  “I invest in properties and keep track of the horses on the ranch. And try to keep my name good. My parents worked hard to build a good reputation. I want to keep it that way.”

  “What happened to them? Your parents?”

  “My dad died almost ten years ago. My mom went shortly after. He and my mother had this connection. I can’t explain it. It wasn’t perfect, but they made each other happy.” He looked down, holding his empty glass in his square hand, his words flowing with the wine. “This will sound crazy, but it was nice when you lost it earlier. People aren’t usually real with me. What was that about anyway?”

  I thought for a moment, wondering if I should tell him the truth. Curious what his response would be to my ‘real-life’ pain. But emotions are complicated, and so was my marriage—yet the liquor moved my lips faster than my brain could finish the thought.

  “Well, you know I work at the center, and I have Daniel. He’s my keeper, I mean my husband, my husband keeper. He tells me what I can do. And honestly, sometimes I want to do other things. Like, go shopping or have kids. But he would rather sit, so I have to sit too.” I was still quite self-aware despite the juice, making the next few moments quite cringy as my inhibitions relaxed. “Like last night, we had this huge fight because I was an hour late getting home from the center.”

  “Because of me?” Matteo asked, sounding slurred himself.

  “No, because I lost track of time. Because I’m a selfish bitch who can’t get anything right. And that’s why I freaked, because I have all these things built up and I don’t know where to put them. Because I have no one to talk to besides him, and he’s a complete ass.” Once I started, I couldn’t stop—like a runaway train of raw emotions, taking hostages without pause. “Like when I arrived, you gushed about how nice I looked, and instead of just taking the compliment and moving on, it sent me into this weird tailspin because I never hear it. Fourteen years! Fourteen! And I have to pry compliments from him, but you… you just say them.” I paused for a moment to breathe, as Matteo stayed focused on my rant. “I don’t know. I just—"

  “Why do you stay?”

  “He’s all I know. I hold on to the good times and hope they come back around. That’s what love is, hope. It’s giving yourself to someone hoping they love you in return.”

  He hesitated, turning his head towards me slightly, though making direct eye contact. “Not really. I think you have it backward. It’s hanging onto that hope that’s holding you back from the life you want. You’re hoping he’ll become what you wish he was. But really, he’s always going to be who he is.”

  The truth of his statement startled me. Again, leaving me defensive. “Talk to me when you’ve been married fourteen years.”

  “I’d rather be in no relationship, than sad about the o
ne I’m in. Hoping someday, if I stick around long enough… they’ll change.”

  I could feel my face becoming red with anger, defensive over Daniel. He’d lived a real life, in the real world. He’d taken me in at my lowest and loved me. Now, I was talking about my relationship with some rich stranger on a Tuesday afternoon, like none of that mattered. What was I thinking? Maybe I was more selfish than I thought.

  “I completely overstepped; I shouldn’t be doing this. Things are complex. They aren’t always black and white,” I said, pulling at the lone strand that fell from my knotted-up hair.

  He nodded, gulping down the last sip of his wine, knocking on the second bottle. “We finished it off, should we get another?”

  “No, I’ll need to drive home later,” I answered, checking my phone for an update — instead, multiple texts.

  Daniel: Where are you? The GPS says you’ve been at some house in Tahoe all day.

  I looked at the time. It was well after 7 PM.

  Daniel: Who are you with?

  Daniel: Why aren’t you answering?

  Daniel: Hello….???

  Me: I’m at the investor’s house. There’s a rockslide, and I can’t leave.

  My stomach turned with fear over his response. He hated it when I didn’t answer right away.

  “You okay?” Matteo asked, “You look sick.”

  “Yeah, gotta find a way out of here. I have an emergency.”

  Despite my rude, insane outburst, he pulled his phone from his pocket without hesitation and began making plans. “I can take you on the speedboat to the other side of the shore, have a car take you wherever.”

  Moments later, we swept off to the far corner of the lake as guilt ate at me. This was not an emergency at all; this was Daniel controlling me again.

  Five minutes later, we arrived at a public dock. Waiting, a black Escalade with a driver, the same man from the house. It suddenly became apparent that if Matteo had wanted to get rid of me, he could have easily done this hours ago.

  He stood, gently squeezing the sides of my arms, “That’s Erik, he’s my guy. He’ll get you wherever you need to be.”