The Widow's Cabin

by L. G. Davis

  But they were close, close enough to shake me.

  I turn around and see Clark’s damp, red eyes. I can tell he was terrified by everything that had just happened, but he also looks very sleepy.

  I draw him to me and squeeze him. “You don’t have to be scared. I won’t let anything happen to you.” Clark tightens his arms around me. We hold each other for a long time, then I release him. I place my hands on both sides of his face and give him a watery smile. “Mommy will always be here.”

  He nods, then he walks to the bedroom and closes the door.

  I sink to the floor. I got away this time, but for how long? How long until they return to get me?

  Blood drains from my face at the sound of a car nearing the house. They’re back already. Ronan must have figured out who I am and told them on the way to the station. Now they have returned before I can run.

  Everything is happening too fast. My mind hasn’t even gotten a chance to recover from the initial shock.

  I’m shaking on the floor when the doorbell rings.

  “Open the door, Zoe.” It’s Mrs. Foster, not the police. What is she doing at the cabin at 8:00 p.m.? She normally heads to bed around 7:00.

  The moment I get to my feet, a wave of dizziness washes over me, getting worse with each step toward the door.

  Before I can open it, Clark runs into the room, calling out Mrs. Foster’s name. The joy in his voice, the laughter in his eyes make my heart hurt. He opens the door before I can and Mrs. Foster steps in. The wrinkles on her face look like they have deepened even more, the bags under her eyes darker.

  She hugs Clark for longer than usual, putting her chin on the top of his head, closing her eyes. Then she lets go and puts both hands on his shoulders.

  “I need you to go to bed now. It’s late. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

  “The police were here,” Clark blurts out. “They took the bad man away.”

  “Is that so?” Mrs. Foster glances at me, then back at Clark. “I need to have a quick word with your mother. Be a good boy and go to bed.”

  Clark’s face falls. “Can I visit you tomorrow?”

  I pull myself together and step in to rescue Mrs. Foster. “Clark, it’s time for bed. Come on.” I take his hand and walk him out of the room. Mrs. Foster waits in the living room until I’ve tucked him in.

  I find her sitting on the couch, her back straight, hands clasped in her lap. She doesn’t look at me when I enter, staring straight ahead at the blank TV screen.

  I sit next to her. She still doesn’t look at me.

  “Ronan was here,” I say quickly because if she doesn’t know already, she deserves to know that her son is still in town, that he’s still stalking me. She has to understand why we’re keeping a distance.

  “I’m aware of that.” Her chin hits her chest. “He told me he was headed here.”

  “He came to see you before he–?”

  “No, he came to threaten me. Since I refused to give him money for drugs and alcohol, he demanded I kick you out of the cabin. He threatened to harm you. He had a gun. I called the police.”

  “Thank you.” It must have been hard for her to call the cops on her own son. “It was his cabin, wasn’t it?” I ask.

  “It was the family cabin. He only thought it belonged to him. He thinks everything belongs to him.” She pauses, taking a deep breath. “Zoe, I’m so sorry, but I have to ask you to leave.”

  “I don’t understand.” Confusion washes over me as I look at the side view of the woman who has been so kind to me over the last months. I knew I would have to leave at some point, but I thought it would be on my terms.

  “I think you do.” Her voice is low as she finally looks at me. “Meghan Wilton, that’s your name, right? When I gave you a place to stay, you didn’t tell me you are wanted for murder.”

  I can’t find it in me to deny it. Her eyes tell me she knows everything. I’ve lied to her long enough. I don’t even know how to talk myself out of this situation, what more lies to feed her.

  “I’m not one to watch a lot of TV, but lately, I’ve had a lot of time on my hands. I saw a photo of you on the news. You look very different...like someone else. But the woman on TV has this same heart-shaped birthmark.” She places a hand on my shoulder and her thumb brushes the birthmark on my collarbone. “In one of the photos you wore a strapless evening gown. That’s how I saw it.”

  I normally hide the mark when I go out, wearing clothes and makeup that cover it up, but she must have seen it the day she showed up with her bike. I had been wearing a spaghetti-strap top.

  When I don’t speak, she removes her hand from my shoulder and continues. “You change your hair and eye color every month. I knew there was something strange about it. I didn’t…” Her voice trails off. “They said the fugitive woman also had a four-year-old son who must be five now.”

  I open my lips to speak, but no words come out. “It’s not what you think. I loved my husband. He was sick and–”

  “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I came to tell you that I need you to leave by tomorrow night. I have come to be very fond of your son. And for his sake, I won’t notify the police. But I need you to go. The sooner the better. Leave the key under the mat.”

  “Thank you.” I blink away tears. “Thank you for everything. But it’s not what you think. I didn’t... I’m not a–”

  Mrs. Foster raises a hand and gets to her feet. “Like I said, I don’t want to know anything more. Take your boy and run. Murderers are not welcome in my home or in my life.” Tears are glistening on her cheeks.

  She feels betrayed, but if I had told her sooner, she would probably have made the same decision she’s making now. But maybe she would have been hurt less because she wouldn’t have gotten close to Clark.

  Even though Clark is in bed, she asks me for permission to say goodbye to him, and I ask her to follow me to the room. He’s already sleeping.

  She stares at him for a long time, then kisses his forehead. In that moment, he opens his eyes. She simply smiles at him and says, “sweet dreams.”

  I can tell he knows it’s goodbye.

  As soon as Mrs. Foster leaves, I tell Clark we’ll be leaving the cabin and he starts crying. My attempts to comfort him fail as he pushes me away and locks himself in the bathroom.

  We are about to lose the cabin, and now I feel as though I’m losing both my son and my sanity. He’s all I have, and I cannot afford for him to slip through my fingers.

  Right now, though, I need to respect his space. I have already put him through a lot. He thought we had found a home. He had come to see Mrs. Foster as the grandmother he never had. And now he just found out he might never see her again. It’s too much for a little boy to deal with.

  But sometimes life can be cruel and you either crumble or you do what you have to do. You survive.

  I give Clark the time he needs. I wait in the living room, in the same spot on the couch where Mrs. Foster had been sitting.

  The one advantage about renting the cabin is that we didn’t have to bring many of our own possessions. It came furnished already. Everything we own can fit into two small bags.

  When Clark finally comes out of the bathroom, he joins me on the couch.

  I hold him in silence. He knows something major is going to change, and I know he understands.

  “Are you ready for another adventure?” I ask, rubbing my hands together. “We’re leaving in the morning.”

  “Okay,” he says, but his voice is empty of emotion. Without asking me where we are going next, he helps me pack.

  Before we go to bed, I write Mrs. Foster a letter to thank her for all she’s done. On the other side of the page, Clark draws a picture of a little boy carrying a toy train.

  24

  Lying next to Clark, I consider our options. Do we move to another small town or a big city? Wherever we go, I don’t think we will find as good a hiding place as the cabin. I doubt we will find another Mrs. Foster waiting for us a
t our next destination.

  The desire to be free is so strong. It hurts almost physically not to be able to go out and do what normal people do without looking over my shoulder.

  As long as I’m not free, Clark won’t be either. His freedom is tied to mine. He won’t have the luxury of a normal life like other kids. He will be scarred by every bad decision I make. The consequences will suffocate both of us.

  Will he blame me one day for the choices I’m making right now?

  Before I fall asleep, I decide that we will hide out in Rogersville for now. It’s only an hour away and we had stayed in a motel there for a few days before choosing to settle in Willow Creek.

  Having decided, I finally fall asleep, too exhausted to even dream.

  In the morning, I’m in the living room going through the notes I’ve been writing when another car pulls up in front of the cabin.

  I peer out the window. It’s not the police. It’s Tasha. Surprised to see her, I open the door before she rings the bell and wakes Clark.

  “Hi.” I hesitate before letting her come inside. It’s her first time visiting me at the cabin.

  “I’m sorry, did I wake you?” she asks. “I won’t be long.”

  “No, it’s fine. Clark is still asleep, though.” I’m quiet until she sits herself down in the living room without me offering. “I’m surprised to see you,” I say.

  She pinches the skin at her throat, I can’t tell whether she’s doing it because she’s nervous. “Zoe, I’m worried about you. After the way you left the restaurant the other day, I needed to make sure that you’re fine.”

  I feel suddenly cold. What if Mrs. Foster told her about me? I want to say something, but I don’t know what that would be, so I keep my mouth shut.

  “So, this is where you live.” She takes in the living room, her gaze resting on the broken armchair by the window.

  I nod. “But not for long. We’re going away.”

  “For good?” Her eyes widen. “You can’t do that.” She gets to her feet. “Clark is so happy here. I know how moving around can affect a child. My kids hated being moved around.”

  “I don’t have a choice.” I run a jerky hand through my hair. “We need to go...away.”

  “Did Mrs. Foster ask you to leave?”

  When I don’t respond, she sighs. “Why don’t you come and stay with us until you figure out what to do next? We have a guest house on the grounds. You and Clark can stay there.”

  “I don’t want to get you in trouble.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize the mistake. Now she will know that I’m running from the law.

  She’s only quiet for a moment, then she squeezes my arm. “Don’t worry about that. I’d like to think we are friends. Friends are there for each other.”

  She’s right about that, but we can’t be friends. She doesn’t know the real me. I want it to stay that way. I still haven’t recovered from the look of betrayal in Mrs. Foster’s eyes. I wouldn’t be able to stand Tasha looking at me like that, too.

  “Tasha, you have no idea how much your offer means to me, but I can’t accept it.”

  “All right, then.” She sounds disappointed. “Then take this, okay?” She reaches into her purse and hands me an envelope. “It’s your payment for this month and a little extra from me. Hopefully it’ll cover you while you find a new place to stay.”

  I know it’s rude, but I open the envelope and look at the cash inside. “Why are you doing this?” I ask when I see that there’s an extra two hundred dollars.

  “Because when I was in a tough situation, many people helped me out along the way. I’m paying it forward. I care about you and your son, and I want you to be safe. But please, let me know where you’re going. You have my number, call me when you need anything, or if you change your mind about coming to stay with us.”

  “Thank you, Tasha. Thank you so much.” I want to refuse the extra money, to give it back, but I can’t. Every bit counts, and I’m touched deeply by her generosity. I can refuse to hide in her home, but I can’t refuse the money.

  Before she leaves, she hugs me tight. When she lets go, there are tears in both our eyes.

  “Take care of yourself,” she whispers. “And if you need anything, call me. Anything at all.”

  I promise that I will, but I probably won’t. But I have her number just in case.

  As soon as she leaves, Clark comes out of the room, looking confused as he looks around him.

  “Are we staying here again?” His face brightens up. “Can we visit Mrs. Foster again?”

  “No, baby. We’re still leaving.”

  Even though I made a decision about leaving Willow Creek, it’s still too terrifying to go to another town just yet. I’ll find a decent motel in Willow Creek for now, one that’s far from the people who have come to know us.

  Before we leave, I cut Clark’s hair, then I cut mine as well into a pixie style, shorter than I’ve ever worn it before. This time, I choose a jet-black color.

  New look, new start. Hopefully, things won’t go horribly wrong.

  25

  Islide the coins into the motel snack machine and Clark chooses corn chips for his treat. I feel like a terrible mother for feeding him junk food, but I need him to be happy. If that means buying him snacks, that’s what I’ll do.

  I paid for our three-night stay at the Midnight Motel in cash. There are only ten rooms in the motel and two are occupied. The owner hands me the key and we walk to our room.

  One thing I hate about most motels is that one doesn’t have to go through reception in order to get to the rooms. Anyone can simply show up at your door.

  I slide the key into the lock and turn it. The door squeaks when I open it.

  In the beginning, Clark used to get excited every time we entered a new place. It felt like a new adventure. This time, he doesn’t even look at the room. Instead, he walks blindly to a rickety chair by the window and sits down, then he pushes his hand into the bag of chips.

  He hasn’t said much during our drive to the motel. He’s still hurting. I wish I had the power to erase his pain.

  Before we left the cabin, we both stood outside and said a proper goodbye to it, thanking it for sheltering us during the time we spent there. I told Clark we are like nomads, never staying in one place for too long because we crave adventure. He simply shrugged his shoulders and got into the car.

  How long can I still fool him into believing this is how normal people live? How long until he starts asking the most difficult questions?

  I’m about to draw the curtains to let in the sunshine, but my hands drop to my sides again. Anyone outside would easily be able to see inside when they walk past our room.

  When we were driving, I didn’t feel as though we were being followed. For the first time in a while, I didn’t, and still don’t, feel Cole’s presence.

  Maybe I was wrong all along, maybe all those things that were happening at the cabin, the cupcake, the squirrel, and the blood. Maybe they were all Ronan trying to chase us out of the cabin and Cole had nothing to do with it.

  But I still have to remain alert in case I got it wrong.

  “It’s too dark, Mommy.” Clark looks up from his chips. “Can you open the curtains?”

  “Let’s keep them closed for a little while, okay?”

  “No,” he demands. “I want to read my book.”

  “All right.” I open the heavier curtain just enough to brighten the room. The sheer curtain underneath stays in place.

  Satisfied, Clark moves over to the bed, puts his chips next to him, and opens the fairytale book he had been flipping through in the car.

  He’s pretending that everything is normal, and it hurts me. I hate that I can’t offer him more than this, at least not right now.

  When my phone rings inside my purse, I hold my breath. The only two people who normally call are Mrs. Foster and Tasha.

  The caller ID is hidden. I don’t answer without knowing who the caller is.

  I
stare at the phone until it stops ringing and beeps to signal that the person has left a message.

  I listen to it right away.

  “Hello, this is Mandy Sanchez, Denise’s mother. Hi, please call me back.” She sounds like she’s in a hurry.

  At first, I berate myself for forgetting to hide my caller ID when I called her, then I realize it was probably a good thing, otherwise she wouldn’t have my number. I never expected her to call me.

  While Clark is still leafing through his book, I sneak outside to return the call.

  “The police came to my house,” Mandy says as soon as she hears my voice. “They wanted to speak to me.”

  “About Denise?”

  “They said they received anonymous calls about the harassment of employees at the hotel where my Denise worked. They wanted to know if Denise said anything to me before she died.”

  Had my call to the Fort Haven police worked? “What did you tell them?”

  “I told them the truth. That man, Cole Wilton, hurt my child. He hurt her.”

  I want to ask her to tell me exactly what he did to Denise, but I already know.

  “It was brave of you. I’m so sorry for what happened to her.” I believe now more than ever that Denise didn’t kill herself, but what if the police don’t find evidence to prove she was murdered?

  “Who are you?” Mandy asks. Her question takes me by surprise. Last time she didn’t seem interested in my name.

  “Denise’s friend,” I repeat what I told her last time.

  “Can you help me?” she asks. “Can you help get justice for my daughter? She didn’t deserve to die that way. They say she jumped out of the window of our apartment, but I don’t believe it.”

  The image of my friend lying dead on a pavement burns a hole in my heart. “I don’t know if I can help. I’ll try.” Tears are clogging my throat now and Clark is at the door, eyeing me suspiciously.

  “Please, she was all I had. I dream about her every night. Someone needs to pay for what happened to her.”

  “I know,” I say. “They will.”