The Widow's Watcher

by Eliza Maxwell

  She thought again about heading back onto the lake, longed to, but the moment was gone. The beautiful moment she’d driven across the country to find.

  He’d taken it from her, and she couldn’t get it back while stoking her resentment at the theft. She’d mourn the loss later, once she found a way out of this hellhole.

  Looking around, Jenna weighed her options. She could walk back up the winding road that had brought her here, try to flag down a passing vehicle. But the snow was getting thicker, and she wasn’t convinced she wouldn’t end up frozen in a ditch before she found help.

  “Not the distinguished exit you had in mind?” Cassie asked.

  “Stop it,” Jenna said. “I’m not debating this with you.”

  She stamped her feet some more, then balled her hands together and brought them to her mouth to blow on them.

  The neighbors would be a safer bet.

  She took a deep breath and made her body as tight and purposeful as she could manage, then braved the snowfall and headed in the direction of the house nearest the cabin.

  She pictured the cell phone that had once been an integral part of her day. A lifeline to the outside world, a web of connection to her family and friends.

  During the dark days after the call, each time it rang or dinged or beeped, an irrational hope carried her toward it. That unsinkable seed of possibility that this time, finally, would come the punchline of some terrible joke. Someone else’s family had been taken. Not hers. Matt’s voice on the other end, scratchy with distance, explaining everything away.

  The last time, she’d been running a bath, alone in the silence that was no longer serene, only empty. She’d run the bath for no reason except to listen to the sound of the water filling the tub.

  Sitting on the edge of white porcelain, she’d heard the cell phone chirp. She told herself she wouldn’t this time. Wouldn’t run for it, wouldn’t get her hopes up only to have the inevitable pain crash in again.

  But in a life now full of days that meant nothing, there was no distraction from the possibility that maybe, just maybe . . .

  When Jenna grasped the phone from the bedside table, her breath snagged in her throat as she saw she had a message. An old friend’s mother. A woman she hadn’t seen, heard from, nor thought about in over twenty years.

  She was so sorry for Jenna’s loss. There were no words to express . . . And so it went.

  The little seed of hope finally cracked under the weight of all the words that couldn’t express how deeply sorry everyone was. The two halves fell open, revealing a hollow center.

  Jenna had looked up to see the tub was nearly overflowing. She’d risen and shuffled slowly back into the bathroom, the phone hanging loosely within her fingers.

  She dropped to her knees and turned off the tap, then listened to the groan of the pipes as she watched the water drip, drip down.

  She knelt there, next to a full tub of clear, warm water, with her arms leaning over the side. She ran one finger across the surface and watched the ripples spread outward.

  Beckett padded to her side. He whimpered, just once.

  Jenna’s fingers loosened on the phone, and she watched it fall. It splashed into the water and sank face-first to the bottom of the tub.

  They weren’t coming back.

  She hugged Beckett to her. Too tightly, but he didn’t seem to mind. She buried her face in the ruff of his neck and grieved alone in the dry, vacant place she’d been left. Kneeling on the cold tile, Jenna faced her choices. To stay and suffocate under the weight of emptiness, or leave it behind. Everything. Take matters into her own hands, in her own way.

  Beckett was the only one she hadn’t turned away from already. She was an only child, and her parents had been gone for many years, but it would have made little difference. She couldn’t bear to look at anyone else, not her friends, not Matt’s family with their sympathy and their tears. They mourned their loss, while hugging their own children tighter.

  It was no choice at all.

  Jenna shook off the memories. She’d never expected to need her phone again. Finding herself wishing for it was another trespass she placed at the old man’s feet.

  No one answered the door at the nearest neighbor’s house. The place had an air of hibernation about it, a sense that no one had been there for quite some time.

  Jenna walked back to the street, and it occurred to her that no one had. None of the houses in sight seemed to have vehicles in the driveways or smoke coming from the chimneys. All were shuttered against her.

  Summer cabins.

  She was standing on an abandoned street, looking at a row of empty summer cabins.

  “No,” she whispered. She craned her neck to see farther, but the place was deserted, waiting for the harshest of seasons to pass.

  No wonder the old man had been so proprietary about his lake. It was his lake and his alone, at least for the foreseeable future.

  “No!” Jenna shouted.

  She’d have to go back.

  “Bastard.”

  “You’re overusing that word,” Cass told her as she trudged up the hill toward the brown house with the fire in the hearth. “You can do better.”

  “Can it, Cassie. I don’t need a lecture on constructing a chapter. What I need is a tow truck, so unless—”

  Jenna raised her head at the sound of a vehicle beeping an alarm as it backed up, and beheld the sight of a battered truck that had probably once been red with some sort of winch attachment sidling up to her immobile van.

  “Ask and ye shall receive,” Cass said.

  “Hey,” Jenna shouted, hurrying in the direction of the tow truck, waving her arms. “Hey!”

  Her carved box was still in the front seat of her van, about to be towed away without her.

  Skidding around the front of the tow truck, she nearly lost her footing on the icy road, but managed to keep herself upright, just barely, by falling onto the side of the vehicle with a bang.

  The truck jerked and clanked as it was thrown into park, and the driver’s side door opened.

  “Whoa, there, lady.” The tow truck driver had the same thick northern accent as the old man. “Not so smart to be coming up like that on a man backing up a truck.”

  He spoke with a slow, patient cadence, like he was talking to a child.

  Jenna struggled to catch her breath. The cold was taking it faster than she could pull it in.

  “Where’s your coat, missus?”

  Jenna shook her head, unable to put together a coherent sentence.

  Warmth was coming from the cab of the truck, and Jenna was shaking with a bone-deep chill.

  “You can’t be wandering around in the snow like this with a sorry excuse for a jacket and nothing else,” the man said, shaking his head at her.

  “All I have,” Jenna managed to push out through teeth clenched against the chatter.

  The man removed his heavy coat and wrapped it around her shaking shoulders. It smelled of engine exhaust and unfamiliar male, but she was too grateful to care.

  “This your van?” The driver was younger than she’d realized. Nearer her age than the old man’s.

  Jenna nodded shortly, hugging the coat to her.

  “I take it you’re not from around here?” He raised his eyebrows at her in a way she was becoming accustomed to.

  Jenna shook her head. “The old bastard called you?” she managed to ask.

  His eyebrows shot up farther. “Yup.”

  Jenna sighed. “If he thinks I’m going back over there to say thank you, he’s got another think coming.”

  The man shoved one hand into his pocket and used the other to push back his knit cap and scratch the top of his head.

  “Lemme get this straight. You saying old Lars knew you were out here. In that laugh of a jacket. In the snow. And he left you here in the cold?”

  “If by ‘old Lars,’ you mean the goat that lives in the brown house, we didn’t exactly hit it off.”

  The man leaned in
to the cab of the tow truck and cut the rumbling engine.

  “Come with me,” he said, gesturing toward the house in question.

  Jenna shook her head.

  “No thanks, pal. I’m happy enough just to get the hell out of here.”

  He studied her a moment. “Right, then. You can wait here if you want.”

  Jenna’s mouth fell open as the man turned and headed toward the door of the brown bungalow.

  “Wait,” Jenna yelled to his retreating back. He didn’t stop, so she hurried to catch up. “Look, I appreciate the sentiment, but it’s not worth it. Really.”

  When the man’s fist, significantly larger than Jenna’s, pounded on the old man’s door, it sent up a demanding boom that made her wince.

  “There’s no need—”

  “Open up. It’s Owen,” the driver shouted.

  “Please, let’s just go.” Jenna placed a hand on his arm.

  Her self-appointed protector patted it as a grandparent might and ignored her.

  “Open up, I said,” Owen shouted as he banged on the door again.

  A thumping came from inside the bungalow. Jenna dropped her hand and stepped back.

  The thumping was followed by the rattle of the doorknob. The heavy wooden door swung wide again.

  “Keep your knickers on.” The old man peered at them with nothing short of apathy.

  “What’s going on?” the younger man asked.

  Owen, Jenna reminded herself.

  “I’d think that’d be fair to obvious, boyo,” said Lars.

  “You’d be wrong, then.”

  “Woman’s car won’t start. Needs a tow,” Lars said. “Last I checked, you run a garage. You got a tow truck. What’s hard about that?”

  Owen reached up and scratched his head again. “Yup, that part I can see. The part I don’t understand is why you left her to freeze in the cold with nearly no clothes on her back while she waited on said tow truck. You got an explanation for that one?”

  Lars took a step forward, out of the doorway, so he could give Jenna an appraising look. A flush crept up her cheeks despite the chill wind, and she looked away, unable to meet the man’s stare.

  “It’s my house. Don’t suppose I owe anybody any explanations. Least of all you.”

  Lars inclined his head curtly in the direction of the tow truck driver and shut the door on them both.

  Owen’s forehead furrowed, but Jenna couldn’t suppress her relief.

  “Look, I appreciate the effort, but I just want to go,” she told him.

  After a long glance at the barred door, Owen looked back at her.

  “All right, then,” he conceded. “I’ll take the van to the garage, and tomorrow we’ll see what’s what. You staying with friends or something?”

  Jenna shook her head. An unexpected wave of fatigue weakened her knees.

  “Got family around here?”

  “Could I bother you to drop me by a hotel?”

  She hadn’t slept since God knows when. Before she’d left home, and in no more than fits and starts since the call had come, if she was honest. If Jenna didn’t find a bed soon, she’d likely sink to her knees there on Lars’s front steps.

  Serve him right to have to deal with my frozen carcass after all. But her vindictiveness had lost its edge. She was too worn out to give it the effort it deserved.

  So tired, in fact, that Owen had been speaking for a while before her muddled brain had a chance to catch up.

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “I said, that’s going to be a problem,” he repeated with a pitying look.

  Of course it is. Jenna gave a mental sigh.

  “Open up,” Owen yelled, banging on Lars’s door again.

  “Wait, why?” Jenna cried. “I don’t want to talk to him again. Let’s just go.”

  Owen continued his incessant banging.

  “Go away,” came the muffled response from the other side of the door.

  “What’s your name?” Owen asked her, between bangs.

  “J . . . Jenna Shaw.” She glanced between his face and the door.

  “Nice to meet you, Jenna. Owen Jorgensen. I said open up, dammit.” He directed the last part toward the still-closed door.

  Lars must have grown as tired of the noise as Jenna, because he finally flung the door open.

  “What now?” Irritation was visible in every line on his face.

  “Got a problem. She’s got no place ’round here to stay. Hotel’s still shut down for repairs.”

  The bushy gray brows rose slowly. The exact nature of the situation began to dawn on Jenna.

  “I fail to see how that’s my problem,” Lars said.

  “I’d let her bunk at my place, but I’ve only got the old couch,” Owen went on. “She could have my room, but then I’d be stuck on the couch, and after a double shift, I’m beat. I don’t particularly care to spend the night on the sofa, so you’re elected.”

  “No,” said both Lars and Jenna simultaneously.

  “I think after leaving her out in the cold, it’s the least you could do.”

  “The least I could do? I saved her fool life, boy. The least I could’ve done was let her walk off into the lake and drown,” Lars spit out. “Starting to think I should have.”

  “This is not a good idea,” Jenna said.

  “I’m with the lady,” Lars added.

  “Look, your only other option is old Mrs. Beasom’s bed-and-breakfast.”

  Lars snorted. Jenna resolutely refused to look at him.

  “Sounds good, let’s go.”

  Owen held up a hand. “She broke her hip three months ago, and her cats have taken over. The place stinks like urine and cat feces, and the health department wants her shut down. The ladies from the Presbyterian have been trying to help, but she keeps threatening to shoot them.”

  “Old bat couldn’t hit a barn door with that rifle,” Lars said with a roll of his eyes. “It’s the only thing in this town older than she is.”

  “Look,” Owen said to Jenna. “I know it’s not ideal, but I’ll vouch for him. He’s got terrible manners, but ignore him when he talks and you’ll be just fine here until I can get you back on the road.”

  He got only brooding silence in reply.

  “Give me a better option,” Owen said to the two of them.

  Neither spoke. Jenna marveled that there’d ever been a time when she had believed herself in control. Of anything.

  “That’s settled, then,” Owen said, turning to Jenna. “You can stay in the spare room.”

  “No. She can’t.” Lars dug in his heels.

  “It’s clean. Not like he gets many visitors,” Owen went on as if Lars hadn’t spoken.

  “Can’t imagine why,” Jenna muttered.

  Lars sent a withering glance in her direction.

  “I’ll give you a call tomorrow and let you know what’s going on with your van.”

  “I don’t have a phone,” Jenna said desperately.

  “It’s all right. I’ll just call the house.”

  “This is not going to happen.” Lars crossed his arms and planted his feet.

  Owen sighed.

  To Jenna’s astonishment, he took her by the arm and muscled the two of them past the stubborn old man, right into his warm, waiting home.

  “Get out of the way, Dad,” he grumbled. “Sheesh.”

  “Dad?” Jenna cried. “This is your dad?”

  The two men turned to stare at her.

  “Of course it is,” Owen said. “You don’t think I’d just walk into a stranger’s house, do you?”

  “Woman’s not so bright, Owen. Did I mention I pulled her off the ice?”

  “Did I ask you to do that?” Jenna’s helplessness at the circumstances ignited her temper again.

  “See what I mean? You’d think she’d show a little bit of gratitude, but no. Instead, I’m stuck in the middle of The Taming of the Shrew. And I don’t get paid to tame shrews, Owen.”

  “Shrew, is it? I�
�m a shrew? At least I don’t run around manhandling women against their will. You’re lucky I haven’t called the cops and had you charged with assault, buddy!”

  “Ha!” Lars threw back his head with an ungracious laugh. “I’d like to see you try. Maybe you’d care to explain what you were doing wandering around on thin ice in the first place. They’d pin a damn medal on me, just for listening to you shriek and not tossing you back onto the lake.”

  “That’s my business! Mine!” Jenna jabbed a finger at her chest.

  Her pulse pounded in her throat. The old man’s contempt was cracking the shell she’d been encased in for months. Everyone had been tiptoeing around, treating her like she was made of glass. Her body, her mind, her heart. Fragile, handblown glass.

  “What did I tell you, son? Not so bright,” Lars said, crossing his arms again.

  Jenna and the old man glared at each other, neither willing to give an inch.

  “Are you two done?” Owen asked from where he leaned against the kitchen counter.

  They both turned their heat on him, but he seemed unmoved, if exhausted.

  “Good.” He straightened. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

  Jenna saw the resemblance now. It was in the eyes, in the set of the shoulders, and in the complete disregard for the wishes of the people around them.

  Owen moved toward the door.

  “Wait!” Jenna said. “My van. I have to get something.”

  “I can bring in your stuff for you,” Owen offered.

  “No, I’ll get it myself.” She brushed past him.

  As she walked through the falling snow to gather the wooden box from the front seat of her van, she told herself it didn’t matter. What difference would it make, spending the night in the old man’s spare room?

  She slid the box out of the bag and ran a hand over the top.

  This was the only thing left that mattered.

  “And if he turns out to be a psychotic killer prone to murdering middle-aged women in their beds?” Cassie sounded more curious than concerned.

  Jenna pushed the box back into the bag.

  “Then he’d save me the trouble, but somehow I doubt he’ll be so accommodating.”

  When Jenna returned with her satchel slung over her shoulder, its original contents retrieved from the floor of the van, and the box held tightly in her arms, the two men glanced at the box but refrained from comment. Which was good, because Jenna had no intention of explaining what was inside.