Any Day Now

by Robyn Carr

  “That hypervigilance is very tiring,” she said. “I’m working on minding my own damn business. I don’t want to wonder when someone looks at me if they know.”

  “Well, sometimes they do know. Or guess. What other people think of me is none of my business. Some people guard their anonymity like it’s a precious jewel that will blow up if they breech it while others go on talk shows with it. What you do with yours is up to you. Just don’t handle anybody else’s.”

  “Course not,” she said. “When do I start to feel normal?” she asked.

  “When did you last feel normal?”

  She had never felt normal in her entire life. She bit her lower lip. “This could be problematic,” she said.

  “Do you know what prayer I believe God hears the most? The very most?” Moody asked. “‘Dear God, why can’t I be like everyone else?’”

  “Do you feel normal?”

  He didn’t answer right away and remained silent while their coffee was refilled. Moody took a minute to make adjustments with cream and sugar. He stared at his cup a minute. “There have been days I’ve felt like the job I have ahead for the day is equal to emptying the ocean of water using a fork. And on stranger days I thought everything was right with the world and God was in his heaven. What if this is the new normal?”

  “What if?” she echoed. “What’s your most frequent prayer? To not drink?”

  “Nah. I’m not going to drink, but I’m vigilant lest I forget. My favorite prayer is, ‘Dear God. I’ll pedal if You’ll steer.’”

  “I like that,” she said. “I like that very much.”

  “It’s yours. It wasn’t copyrighted.”

  Two weeks passed with Sierra on crutches, her ankle feeling better all the time, the bruising going from purple to a yellowish blue with a hint of green. She was diligent about keeping it elevated as much as possible, staying on her crutches when walking, but she was in only the slightest discomfort—unless she accidentally put weight on it.

  Sierra decided to look around a Colorado Springs mall since she had the time. She’d been to the city before when she went to a rock climbing gym but that was the extent of her exploration. She even located a meeting over there and if there was time, she might attend after shopping. But what she was really interested in was spending a couple of hours checking out the clothing stores, the only bookstore in the mall and maybe doing a little people watching.

  It had been a long time since she’d been in a department store. She looked through some clothes and actually bought a pair of shorts, but that’s where she stopped because trying them on had been more trouble than it was worth. She spent an hour in the bookstore, which was heaven. She bought a copy of Wuthering Heights because she was weak—it was one of her staple reads and it didn’t feel right not having it with her. As almost an afterthought, she bought something for Cal. Well, for Cal and Maggie—a little unisex onesie that said Auntie’s Favorite on it. Sedona’s kids would never know! And that was about all she could really carry while on crutches. In fact, mall walking on crutches was about all the exercise she could take and she headed in the direction of the exit.

  And then she saw him. Was it him? She was looking at a man’s back, but it sure looked like him—the devil Derek Cox, the man who had changed her life in every way. It was the same thick brown hair, curling at the collar of his powder blue shirt. The same type of shirt he wore a lot because it emphasized his physique, which was impressive. It was tight fitting, the sleeves too tight at the biceps...

  That was a year ago, her mind argued. And aren’t there lots of shirts like that? Don’t a lot of men wear them because they love their muscles? She’d thought about that every time she saw that—couldn’t they find a slightly larger shirt with sleeves that didn’t pinch? Of course they could.

  That belt looked like his belt—she was a little too familiar with that belt. The shoes, she’d been with him when he bought them—Tommy Bahama—just ordinary loafers but they cost a fortune. She barely knew him then. It was the day of their one and only official date and she’d been impressed. How many people could have that hair, that shirt, that belt, those shoes?

  The man was with a woman. A girl, really. His hand was gently guiding her at the small of her back and she had long blond hair.

  I had long blond hair then, Sierra remembered.

  The girl was laughing, happy to be with him. Would she be happy tomorrow?

  Sierra worked those crutches hard, following him because as much as she didn’t want him to know she was there, she needed to know if it was really him. She moved over to the side of the mall walkway, closer to the storefronts in case she had to dart inside to avoid him. She tried to stay a little bit out of sight.

  That gait, the way he walked—it had to be him. His heels lifted a little more than necessary with each step—the swagger. His confidence showed in his walk. He was headed for the same exit she would use, but she followed anyway. She kept what she thought was a safe distance—he didn’t know she was in Colorado. And why would he be looking for her at this late date?

  The man reached the exit door and he turned toward his companion. Derek, the bastard, didn’t have a nose that big! Did he? She was frozen. Her eyes were probably huge. She didn’t know if it was him or not.

  He turned to look over his shoulder, typical. She remembered thinking that was odd about him, always looking behind himself like that, careful to see if anyone was following him, looking at him, looking for him. She thought it was odd until he committed a crime, then she got it.

  Before she could study the face more closely, she turned her face away, looking down, her brown hair making a canopy over her profile, concealing her. She waited a few long seconds. She slowly turned, peeking through the strands of her hair.

  Gone.

  She had to wait a bit before she could dare follow. Maybe it was him. Just in case it was him, he must not see her. He would come right to her, smiling as though they were friends, long-lost friends. He would talk fast, smile broadly, maneuver her away from help or escape, mesmerize her and manipulate her, try to make her think he’s okay, not just okay but good for her. By the time she got to the exit doors, there was no sign of them. She watched the parking lot from inside the glass doors. She didn’t recognize any people or vehicles.

  “Maybe I’ve just lost my mind,” she said to herself.

  That’s when she realized she’d dropped her packages somewhere. They were gone. She went back the way she’d come—no sign of them. A mall security guard directed her to the lost and found. There were no packages turned in, of course, but they took her name and cell number.

  She decided to leave. She sat in the pumpkin for a while, devastated over the loss of a book, a pair of shorts and a onesie. Her throat burned.

  Or maybe it was over almost seeing the most dangerous man she’d ever known...

  * * *

  It was the first thaw of spring in Michigan. It was fifty-five degrees that afternoon and she went to her favorite pub to enjoy drinks on the patio with her peeps. The new guy picked her out immediately and they were together all evening. He was so handsome, all the girls were interested, but he chose her. She wouldn’t let him come home with her but she did give him her number and she was pathetically thrilled when he called her the very next morning. He showed up at her office building where she worked in accounting for an independent insurance carrier. Her boss was annoyed but then her boss, a middle-aged woman with a stick up her butt, was never happy anyway. Derek wanted to know if he could take her to lunch. Of course he could!

  It was much later that she wondered how he had found her. Picked her out like that. Had she told him where she worked? She must have. How else could he have found her? She brushed off the curiosity because who knew what she’d tell someone when she’d been a little lit up with mojitos. Mojitos, a spring drink.

 
He met her after work. He got sulky when she wouldn’t let him spend the night so she tried to make it up to him by being extra sweet and it worked—he went back into Prince Charming mode. Called and texted all the time.

  He was fascinating—he dropped out of law school to enlist. Since one of her brothers was a lawyer and the other a captain in the Army, they had something to talk about. He told her how he went to Afghanistan and ended up being trained in special ops as an undercover officer. When he got out of the military, he worked under civilian contract as a...well...the civilian version of a spy, flying all over the world for special projects with a team of specialists. He had grown up in an interesting family—his father was a race car driver. Not one of the famous ones, but he’d made a good living and the family followed races all over. His mother sang backup in a country band—a pretty famous one. His grandfather, a chemist, actually invented the pregnancy test. He had trained malamutes for a while—bomb-sniffing malamutes.

  At first she teased him about being Forrest Gump. Then she began to wonder how a guy barely thirty-five had time to accomplish all that. Then she stopped believing him. But it seemed like the other people in her crowd ate it up.

  From that first night, he was never far away. He called, he dropped by her office, he took her to lunch, he took her out in the evening. It wasn’t long before he got into her panties and...it was awful. He had trouble getting and maintaining an erection and he grew angrier and angrier until she told him to leave. He refused and they fought until, miraculously, it rose. Then he was on a mission—he wanted to do it every which way. He wasn’t ejaculating. It wasn’t until she began to say enough is enough and pushed at him that he finally had success.

  Then he wouldn’t leave. He left her to lie there beside him, wondering what the hell had happened. In the morning she kicked him out so she could get ready for work and decided she wasn’t going to be seeing him again.

  Of course he pursued her immediately, so she told him over the phone. She wasn’t interested in a relationship, especially one that included fighting. He twisted that to make it sound like a guy had a little trouble and wasn’t a stud on their first night together and that was it? “No,” she insisted. “I don’t want a relationship right now, especially one with fighting.” She wanted space; no more surprise visits, no more calls, no more texting. She wanted him to move on. She stopped answering calls and texts but he was waiting in parking lots and outside work and he was everywhere. She told some of her friends he wouldn’t leave her alone, so he stood back six feet, put his palms up, smiled eerily and didn’t exactly do anything, but he was creepy and frightening. He always knew where she was. She’d make plans to go to a different bar or club and guess who would show up? She’d walk around a corner and he was there. A few times she actually bumped into him, splat!

  One of her friends said she’d had a creep like that once and you had to be firm and direct. She was as clear as she could be when she said, “Go away and leave me alone! I don’t want to date you or anything!”

  So he worked the crowd she hung out with, she was always aware of him and she started needing an escort home. She went to the police to talk to someone about him. He was stalking her; she feared he meant her harm.

  He didn’t have a record. “Stay out of bars,” the officer told her.

  She asked if she could have a restraining order.

  “Has he done anything?” the officer asked.

  “Besides bother me constantly, watch me, follow me, creep me out? Does he have to do something to hurt me?”

  “Yes, or at least threaten you,” the officer said. “Ignore him. Call the police if he does anything harmful or threatening.”

  He began to ingratiate himself to other people in the bars, making them laugh, doing favors, buying drinks, giving them things—he had everything, money, drugs, whatever. People thought he was a little strange but harmless.

  She didn’t know why he wanted her. She thought maybe he only wanted to hurt her. If she didn’t go to her usual haunts, he would still find her wherever she went, try to talk to her, ask her if she wanted a ride, could he take her out for a decent dinner. “I’m a little concerned about you, Sierra,” he said. “You’re living dangerously.”

  That’s when she became stupider. When she should have stayed away from alcohol to remain vigilant and safe, for some reason she just drank more. But she tried to stay around people. She had a roommate, Bobbie Jo, but they weren’t really friends, just two women who needed a roommate to share costs. They got along fine, though Bobbie Jo wasn’t around much, off doing her own thing. She had a boyfriend and they were either in bed together or out or at his place.

  One night she had a little too much to drink. Not exactly a red-letter day—that happened to her now and then. That night she wasn’t sure what had done it—it seemed like it had only been a glass or maybe a glass and a half of wine but man, she was having trouble staying on her feet. Next thing she knew, she was in the car, her car, a six-year-old Honda sedan. And she was dizzy and felt sick. Her head was spinning, her stomach flipping, her vision blurred.

  And the car was moving. She struggled to focus, to see what was happening and, oh God, it was him! Driving her car. Derek was laughing and talking to her and telling her they were going to have some fun. He was speeding, she thought. She didn’t know why they were in her car. He was turning to look at her while he was driving, saying things that made no sense, like “It’s your turn now,” and “Let’s see if you can get out of this one.”

  She couldn’t understand what was happening. There was a thump and the car skidded to a stop. He got out of the car, got back in and just started driving again. She knew something bad had happened. “You hit something. Did you hit something?” she asked. And he laughed and said, “No, you hit something. Someone. But don’t worry—he won’t last long.”

  She started to scream. His hand came out and struck her in the face so hard her neck snapped and everything went black. She was just coming to again when he pulled her car into the small detached garage beside the sixty-year-old two-bedroom house she shared with Bobbie Jo. And when she struggled against her seat belt she saw that her roommate’s car was gone...and Derek was pulling down the garage door. She was trapped. With a madman.

  “You’ll never forget me now,” he said.

  * * *

  She couldn’t keep doing this.

  Most of the way back to Timberlake, she tried out Moody’s prayer, promising to pedal if God would steer. Seeping through the murky mess of her brain, through the fear and paranoia, she found herself driving toward Cal. It was approaching dinnertime and she realized Maggie was in Denver. She made a deal with herself—if Cal wasn’t home or if there were people around, she would take that as a sign that she shouldn’t talk to him about this.

  But if he was alone, she would tell him now. She had run from Michigan to get away from Derek, she had run from Iowa when she thought she saw him near where she was living. Where was she going to run next if that really was him in Colorado Springs? She had to find a better plan. She had to tell someone.

  She pulled up to the barn and saw that only Cal’s truck was parked outside. The front door of the barn stood open and she could hear the Shop-Vac at work. She sat in the pumpkin for a little while, contemplating. If it was Derek Cox in Colorado Springs, she was at risk and would need help. If there was anything she’d learned in the last ten months it was that it was dangerous to try to handle serious problems alone. There was no one she trusted more than Cal.

  He saw her standing in the doorway and shut off the vacuum cleaner.

  “Hey, you’re getting around pretty well there,” he said, smiling.

  “I have to talk to you about something. Something very serious. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, I think. Telling you this.”

  “Sit down, relax, just say whatever you have to say. You know I’m on
your side.”

  “I know. Back in Michigan, back before I went home to the farm in Iowa, I ran into some trouble. And no one could help me.”

  “Go ahead,” he said. “Something to drink?”

  “Arsenic?”

  He chuckled and went to the refrigerator, getting two sodas for them. “Sit,” he said. “Take your time.”

  “I have to get home to Molly soon...”

  “Just do it, Sierra. Tell me what you came to tell me. I think you know you can trust me.”

  She toyed with the tab on the can, taking a couple of deep breaths. “It might seem impossible to believe.”

  “Come on now, Sierra. You’re stalling.”

  She told him everything, from the first time Derek targeted her, hit on her, to the night that ended in her garage. Her brother’s face grew pale, then crimson. She thought his hand was shaking as he lifted his soda can to his lips. His lawyer’s poker face wasn’t working so well as he listened to her.

  “What I couldn’t make sense of at the time... I’d been at a bar. A bar I went to sometimes, where I knew people. I wasn’t with anyone, but the bartender and waitress knew me. He must have drugged me, slipped something in my glass of wine. Then took my keys and got behind the wheel of my car. I couldn’t focus, I was sick. Believe it or not, that didn’t happen to me a lot. I didn’t get sick, didn’t have blackouts, I just got really stupid, unsteady, made bad choices and had a terrible hangover the next day. This was different. He must have drugged me.”