The Widow's Cabin

by L. G. Davis

  I turn my attention to the group of mourners in the distance, gathered under an oak, in a small cemetery full of beautiful flowers and trees, benches to sit on, and ponds scattered around.

  Given that we’re a few blocks from the cemetery, on the opposite side of the street, it’s hard to make out any faces. In my mind, I can hear the sound of people weeping. I see the casket being lowered into the ground. I feel the wind blowing through the leaves on the oak tree. I feel it sweeping across my damp cheek. The smells of cut grass and damp earth drift through the window.

  As hard as it is to believe Mrs. Foster is gone, I’m glad she’s no longer in emotional pain. She will never experience disappointment again. Wherever Mrs. Foster is, I hope if she’s able to see us down here, to see that even though we are not among the other mourners, we still showed up.

  There’s a soft tap on the passenger’s window.

  I turn and meet the eyes of the police officer, whose name I can’t remember immediately due to the fog in my mind. I’d like to think he does not recognize me either, but he does know my car from the day he followed me home.

  I should not have come. I should not have left the motel. I have made a lot of stupid mistakes in my life, but this is perhaps one of the worst. Willow Creek is too small of a town for me to stay anonymous here. They’re still searching for me.

  My lips are parted, but I can’t speak. Being caught off guard like this makes it hard for me to think. I consider starting the car and driving off, but that would be even more stupid. He had followed me once before and he would probably do it again.

  “Who is that policeman, Mommy?” Clark asks from the backseat. His voice is distant through the rush in my ears.

  I do what a normal person would do, someone who has nothing to hide from the cops. I roll down the window and try to keep my breathing controlled.

  “It’s someone I know, baby,” I say to Clark and turn back to the police officer.

  He cannot see through the glasses I’m wearing, but my eyes are pleading with him not to do something that would scar my son for life.

  Don’t arrest me in front of my son, I beg without words.

  “I thought that was you,” he says, and a shiver of fear vibrates down my spine. “I remember the car.”

  Of course, he does. He’s a police officer. They’re trained to recognize these things. They pay attention to detail.

  “Good afternoon, Officer.” The dryness in my throat tickles out a cough.

  He smiles. “I’m surprised to see you here. I’ve been going to Lemon from time to time, and I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  I clench my hands into fists, digging my nails into my palms.

  “Yes.” I’m trying to be brave, to be normal so he doesn’t get suspicious. “I don’t work there anymore.”

  “I heard. That’s a shame. Why did you stop?”

  That’s exactly why I never wanted to speak to him. He would ask questions. His job is to ask a lot of them, in different ways, so he can get to the truth.

  I shrug. “I wanted something different, that’s all. It was a temporary thing.”

  “Is that your son back there?” He peers through the window to the backseat.

  I glance behind me, and notice that Clark has removed his cap. I need to keep talking, to distract him so he does not focus too much on Clark and get a chance to memorize his features.

  “Yes, that’s my son. How have you been doing?” Diverting the conversation to him might be the best option for me right now.

  “I’ve been well, busy chasing criminals.” He gives me a bright smile. Maybe he thinks I’m finally interested in him. That won’t be good either. “Are you here for old Mrs. Foster’s funeral?” He’s saying her name as if he knew her personally, as if he didn’t come to town only a couple of weeks ago.

  “Yes, we are,” I say.

  “Then why are you not going to join the others?”

  “It’s...it’s too hard. I–”

  “I understand.” His lips stretch into a warm smile. “Did you know her well?”

  I shake my head on instinct. “Not that well, but enough.”

  “Yes, Mommy. We know Mrs. Foster. She was my fairy grandmother.”

  The officer laughs and peers at Clark through the window again. “Your fairy grandmother, huh? I heard she was a nice lady.”

  He’s probably wishing I would roll down the window so he can get a good look at Clark.

  “Yes,” Clark presses his nose against the window, flattening it. “She’s in heaven now.”

  “Well, yes, you’re right. She is.” He returns to the front window. “This might not be the right time, but would you mind if I ask you a few questions? It might be best if you step out.” He glances into the backseat at Clark again.

  It’s never a good sign when a police officer wants to question someone. And of course, I can’t refuse, unless I have something to hide, which I don’t want him to believe I do.

  “Um, sure.” I get out of the car.

  Outside the car, I run my hands up and down my arms. When I remember that body language says a lot more than words, I drop my arms again. “What is it, Officer? What do you want to know?”

  A river of sweat is already making its way down my back. What if this is it? What if this is where it ends?

  He walks over to my side of the car, gravel crunching beneath his feet. “I don’t mean to take you away from your son. Since you’re here, I might as well ask you some routine questions we’re asking anyone who knew Mrs. Foster. When was the last time you saw her?”

  I lift my shoulders and allow them to drop again. “It’s been a few days. I can’t really remember.”

  “You no longer live in her cabin. Is there a reason why you moved out?”

  How does he know that I moved out? Did he drop by? Does it even matter now?

  “Like I said, sometimes things are temporary.” My voice sounds harsher than I want it to be.

  He waits for me to say more. When I don’t, he nods.

  “So, you don’t remember the last time you last saw Mrs. Foster?” He pulls out his notebook and starts jotting down my answers. All my lies are about to be recorded in black and white.

  “No.” I discreetly press my palms against the sides of my thighs so my jeans can soak up the sweat.

  “Did you have an argument with Mrs. Foster? Is that why you left the cabin?”

  “No,” I repeat. “We never had an argument.” Of course, I cannot tell the officer that she asked me to leave without getting myself into trouble.

  “Is there anything more you want to know?” I ask. “I actually promised to take my son to the park.” I still haven’t removed my glasses and I’m glad he doesn’t ask me to.

  He puts away his notebook and smiles, shaking his head, but his face lingers on mine for a moment too long. “No, that’s all.” His intense gaze unnerves me. “I didn’t want to keep you. There are just a few unanswered questions when it comes to Mrs. Foster’s death.”

  My breath catches in my throat. “What do you mean?”

  He taps his fingers against his lips, his eyes still trained on my face. “It seems that her death was not from natural causes. The autopsy results have shown that she was poisoned.”

  33

  Icollapse against the car, shock and despair twisting and turning inside me.

  “Mrs. Foster was killed?” I ask, sorrow closing my throat. The news is too bitter for me to swallow.

  “It’s possible,” Officer Roland says. I remember his name now. “I was hoping you know something that might help with the investigation.”

  “I don’t...” My mouth opens. My mouth closes again.

  Clark is pressing his entire face against the window now, his hands on both sides of his head as he blows warm air onto the glass to create a mist. I wonder if he could hear what we were just saying.

  “I don’t understand,” I murmur.

  From the corner of my eye, I catch movement, then sounds make their wa
y to us, the voices of the people who came to Mrs. Foster’s funeral. The burial is over, and they are dispersing. Some of them might come in our direction.

  I need to leave, but I can’t do so without arousing Officer Roland’s suspicions.

  “Yeah, we also don’t understand why anyone would want to kill a woman who everyone insists was a good person.”

  “Yes. She was… She was a wonderful person.” I wish I could remove my glasses so my tears could flow freely. “I don’t get it.” I run a palm over my forehead. “I’m sorry. I... we have to go. I have to take Clark to–”

  “Clark,” the officer repeats the name and I give myself an inward kick. “Lovely name for a lovely boy.” He continues to stare at me as though he’s trying to figure me out.

  More people are walking around us now and I’m becoming increasingly nervous. I wish he would stop talking to me and let me go. The longer I stand outside, the more likely it will be that someone else will recognize me.

  “Officer,” I say, “There are several people here who might know what happened. You might want to question them before they leave.”

  “You might be right. I guess I should get on with it. Thank you for your time, Zoe.”

  I’m about to get into my car when I catch sight of Tasha emerging from the crowds. Too late, she sees me. She stops walking and her husband, who’s next to her, continues to walk on, holding the hands of their two boys.

  My eyes lock with Tasha’s, and her lips curl into a warm smile.

  “I’ll see you around,” Officer Roland says. “By the way, where are you staying at the moment?”

  I want to tell him that I’m not planning to stick around, but then he would insist that I should stay. I don’t want him to get any more suspicious, so I tell him.

  I give him the name of the motel, knowing well that the only thing we’ll do when we get back there is to get our things and move to another place. The number I give him is that of my second sim card, the one I used to call the police in Fort Haven, instead of the one I keep in my phone.

  “Thank you, Zoe. Talk to you soon.”

  It makes me nervous that he still knows my name and now also Clark’s.

  Tasha is making her way toward me now, a faint smile still on her lips.

  “Zoe,” she says when she gets close enough for me to hear her. Her eyes look swollen from crying, and she’s wearing a black cocktail dress, her hair in two braids flat on her scalp.

  She wraps me in a hug. Taken aback, I don’t hug her back immediately. My arms remain limp at my sides until the desire to connect with someone else brings me to put my arms around her as well.

  I don’t know how long we stand there, holding each other, saying so much without words. My glasses are no longer able to prevent my tears from sliding down my cheeks.

  Finally, we let go, but Tasha keeps her hands on my shoulders. “Are you okay?”

  I nod and dig inside my jeans pocket to pull out a tissue. “I am. I’m okay.” That’s what everyone says even when they’re far from being fine.

  “I didn’t think you would come.”

  “I didn’t think I would come either.”

  I remove my glasses and wipe my eyes with a crumpled tissue.

  “It’s good that you came. The way Mrs. Foster spoke about you, it was clear you meant a lot to her.” Tasha glances in the direction of her husband and kids. “You should join us for the wake we’re hosting.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.” I want to accept her invitation, but I can’t. I’m pretty sure Officer Roland will be around, questioning everyone. He might think of more questions to ask me.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Tasha pauses. “If it makes you feel any better, Ronan is not here. He’s still behind bars. Apparently, when he was informed of his mother’s death, he said he didn’t care.”

  “That’s terrible.” How can he be so cold, especially after everything he put her through?

  “I know.” Tasha shakes her head ruefully, then looks me up and down. “You’ve lost a lot of weight. Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t look well.”

  “I’m tired.” It’s an honest answer. I’m tired of running, tired of hiding, tired of hurting. I want to be able to lie in bed and not worry about tomorrow. It feels like I haven’t slept for a year, and when I do sleep, the nightmares come to find me.

  “I’m sorry, Tasha. I actually have to go. I need to take Clark somewhere.” I reach for the door handle.

  “Did you hear that Mrs. Foster was poisoned?” she says before I get back into the car.

  “Yes,” I whisper. “The police officer just told me. I don’t know who would want to hurt her.”

  “Me neither. If Ronan were not in prison, I would have suspected him immediately.”

  Worry snakes through me. If it wasn’t Ronan, and the Willow Creek residents loved Mrs. Foster, maybe it was someone from out of town.

  Overcome with the need to flee again, I yank open the door and get inside. “I… I should go... I’m sorry.”

  I leave her standing on the sidewalk, a confused expression on her face.

  As soon as we get to the motel, I pack our things and we’re back in the car. The only stop we make on our way out of town is to get some groceries. We will be spending another few days indoors.

  I don’t want to think I could be right. I’m wrestling to keep my thoughts from going to a terrifying place, but that’s exactly where I end up.

  If Ronan did not kill his mother, what if Cole killed her because she offered me shelter? What if Mrs. Foster died because of me? If we had never come into her life, would she still be alive?

  Fear like I’ve never known before is coursing through my veins as I drive as far away from Willow Creek as I can.

  But does it really matter where I go and how fast I run? If Cole had found out that I was in Willow Creek, what would stop him from finding me anywhere else?

  I would like to think that Cole would be too busy trying to hide from the cops instead of chasing after me, but the truth remains that Mrs. Foster died the day they said he disappeared. As long as he’s out there, there’s no telling what he is capable of, which means we are in danger.

  Maybe he knows I’m behind his downfall and he’s now more determined than ever to get revenge, destroying anything or anyone in his path to me.

  We drive for an hour until we reach Maple Lane, a town an hour south of Willow Creek. I’m too exhausted both physically and emotionally to drive any further, so I stop at an isolated roadside motel.

  A bored-looking man chewing gum with his mouth open checks us in. Behind him, there are only two other empty spaces on the rack. It seems only two other rooms are occupied in the entire place. No wonder he looks bored.

  In front of the door to our room is a folded newspaper. I pick it up and as soon as I unfold it, Cole’s face stares back at me. Fear paralyzes me as I stare into his cold, murderous eyes. They look alive even on a page, like they’re mocking me, warning me that he’s near and will soon catch up with me.

  Does the fact that the newspaper is at my door mean that he’s at this motel? Surely, he wouldn’t have known that this is the room I would be given. And yet, the newspaper looks like some kind of warning.

  I’m about to grab Clark and escape to another motel, but I relax when I notice that the same rolled-up newspaper is on the doorsteps of the other doors as well. Mine wasn’t targeted. I fold up the newspaper and shove it into my bag.

  Inside the room, the walls are so thin that we can hear music being played in the room next door. I find it soothing until I recognize it and my stomach starts to churn.

  Let’s freeze our memories, baby.

  It’s my wedding song, the song we played on every anniversary except the last one.

  Pain erupts inside my belly. My wedding song will never have the same effect on me again.

  In Brett’s arms the night of our wedding, I thought everything would be ok, that we would make it through anything,
that I would heal. How wrong I was. How stupid I was.

  34

  Istand in the doorway of the bathroom, my gaze sweeping the entire room from wall to wall.

  I can’t see him. I can’t see Clark. I left him in the room and now he’s gone.

  The cold knot of fear clenches inside my belly.

  “Clark,” I call out, searching the small room as though it were some huge living space with lots of places for a little boy to hide. I drop to my knees and search underneath the bed. Maybe he’s playing hide and seek with me.

  He’s not. I can’t see or hear him move. The only thing under the bed is dead, dusty air.

  He’s nowhere to be seen.

  For a heartbeat, everything around me stops. It feels as if my heart has also stopped beating.

  No. This can’t be happening. I have to be dreaming.

  When it hits me that this is not a dream, life comes back to my limbs, and I dive for the door. My pulse pounds in the side of my neck, and my throat closes more tightly with each passing second that I don’t see my son.

  I had only been in the bathroom for a few minutes. I was desperate for time alone, time away to weep without Clark seeing me.

  Normally, whenever I was not in the room with him, I secured the door with the chain lock, but it’s now dangling free. What if I had forgotten to do it and Clark climbed on something to reach it?

  I never got the idea that he would think of going out on his own. I shouldn’t have left him alone. How could I have been so reckless?

  He’s been bugging me for two days to go outside. He wanted to go to the park. The answer was always ‘no’ and that, of course, frustrated him. He responded with escalating tantrums that were starting to wear both of us out.

  He had reached his breaking point and so had I, but we had no choice, we had to stay hidden at least for a few days. I was waiting to hear that Cole is back in police custody.

  I yank open the door and burst outside. I don’t care that I’m in my pajamas and bare feet. My son is missing and all I care about is finding him.