The Widow's Watcher

by Eliza Maxwell

  With a hand on both of their shoulders, he took a moment to give the two doctors a piece of his mind. Jenna couldn’t hear what was said, but when the trio raised their heads, Dr. Young grabbed the hem of her suit jacket and pulled it taut as Dr. Nordquist straightened his tie.

  The two of them turned to face the room.

  “Please forgive me.” Dr. Young pushed her hair from her face and took charge of the situation. “Mr. Jorgensen, if I could have you, your son, and Ms. Shaw remain here at the kitchen table, that would be best. We don’t want to crowd Mrs. Jorgensen.”

  She sent the briefest of glances at her fellow doctor, then moved on.

  “Sergeant,” she said with a questioning glance in the policeman’s direction.

  “I’ll stay by the door. You’ve made it perfectly clear my presence will make it harder for the patient to relax, and I heard you, but I will not leave her unsupervised.”

  Dr. Young nodded. “Per the judge’s instructions, the session will be recorded and provided to you.”

  “That’s fine,” said the sergeant, all business. He’d already set a camera on a tripod that was directed at Audrey Jorgensen as they spoke.

  He took up his post at the front door.

  “Finally,” Lars said.

  Dr. Young pulled a chair from the kitchen and placed it next to Audrey and Beverly on the couch.

  “May I stay?” Audrey’s mother asked.

  Dr. Young nodded again. “Yes, but I’ll ask you not to speak or interrupt, as it will only cause confusion for your daughter.”

  Dr. Nordquist took the only seat left, which happened to be Lars’s worn and faded recliner. The doctor tried to maintain some professional dignity, but it was difficult as the cushion was well used, and he sank into the chair with a harrumph.

  “Now, Audrey.” Dr. Young leaned forward slightly. Her demeanor transformed before their eyes. “My name is Nancy, and I’m a doctor. I’m here to help you, if I can.”

  Her voice was warm, with a gentle cadence that made it clear her focus was solely on Audrey Jorgensen and no one else.

  The door rattled behind Sergeant Allred, and everyone in the room, save Audrey, turned to see Diane Downey enter and run directly into the policeman’s back.

  “Oh my goodness,” she said, looking around at the tableau arranged before her. “Oh my.”

  She placed a hand to her chest.

  “Who, exactly, are you, ma’am, and what is your business here?” the sergeant said rather loudly into the housekeeper’s stunned face.

  “I . . .” Diane looked frantically around the room.

  Jenna understood Sergeant Allred’s frustration, but judging from the way Diane’s shoulders drooped and she shrank back into herself, she clearly wasn’t comfortable in the face of such harsh words.

  “Diane. I’m the housekeeper,” she said meekly.

  “There’ll be no housecleaning today,” the sergeant said. “You can go now.”

  “I . . . Of course.” She stepped hurriedly backward and out of the house.

  Jenna and Owen rose at the same time.

  “You stay,” she told him. “I’ll go.”

  Jenna hurried out the door behind her.

  “Diane, wait,” she called.

  The housekeeper was practically running to get back to her car.

  “Please wait.” She caught up with the older woman just as she reached the door to her sedan.

  “I’m sorry,” Jenna said, placing a hand on the other woman’s shoulder. “We forgot today was your day to clean.”

  Jenna got a good look at the housekeeper’s face and was slightly taken aback by the level of upheaval she saw there.

  “Diane, are you all right?”

  The older woman bobbed her head, swallowing with an effort, but appeared far from all right.

  “What is it?” Jenna asked gently. She couldn’t let her drive off in such a state.

  “Nothing, hon.” She tried to pull herself together. “I’m sorry I ran out like that. It was the uniform. Took me by surprise, that’s all.”

  Jenna shook her head. “The policeman’s uniform?” she asked.

  “Yes. My husband was a policeman. Have I ever mentioned him?”

  Jenna nodded. Diane had talked about him in passing, not necessarily in complimentary terms, but she didn’t remember hearing his profession.

  “He wasn’t a good man,” Diane said in a low, prim voice.

  “I’m sorry,” Jenna said. She could think of little else to say.

  “It’s okay. I’m long done with him now. But sometimes things sneak up on you, don’t they? No matter how many years go by, the past never really lets you go.”

  She ran her hands up and down her arms, as if to ward off a chill. “It’s sewn in, like patches on one of my old granny’s quilts. You can run from it all you like, but it’s part of you. Goes where you go.”

  Jenna’s thoughts turned to Lars and the past he was so desperately trying to see, then to herself and the past she didn’t know how to face.

  “All you can do is your best,” Diane said with a sigh. “Keep going until the good days outnumber the bad.”

  Diane got in her car and turned the ignition.

  She raised a hand and sent Jenna a small wave along with a shaky smile.

  As the woman drove away, her parting words echoed inside Jenna.

  Could it be that simple?

  “It could be . . . if you let it,” Cassie whispered.

  44

  When Jenna let herself back into the cabin, Sergeant Allred barely spared her a glance. She closed the door softly behind her and tiptoed to her chair at the kitchen table.

  Owen pressed one finger to his lips and pointed in the direction of the sofa, where everyone’s attention was centered. Even Dr. Nordquist was leaning forward, perched along the edge of the recliner.

  “Now that you’ve relaxed all the parts of your body and mind, Audrey, I want you to remember what I’ve said. We’re going to walk through the events of the day just like we’re watching a movie. There will be no pain. No hurt, no sadness, no regret. We’re watching these things happen, not experiencing them. There is nothing to be afraid of. Do you understand what I’m telling you, Audrey?”

  Jenna strained to hear if Audrey would give a response. There was none save perhaps a slight inclination of her head.

  “Okay, then,” Dr. Young said, still smooth and unhurried. “Let’s try and go back to the day we discussed, Audrey. This day wasn’t like other days, was it? Maybe it began that way, but something has changed. Something is different than normal. Can you see that day, Audrey?”

  Dr. Young’s attention was focused only on her patient as she studied Audrey’s face for signs she was receptive to her suggestion.

  “Can you tell me if you’re able to see that day, Audrey? Just a normal day, beginning like any other, but this time like a movie on a screen. A movie that cannot hurt you. Can you see the beginning of that movie, Audrey?”

  Everything hinged on whether this was going to work. Jenna held her breath.

  The air was thick with expectation.

  The silence stretched, pulled taut by the load it carried.

  “Yes,” Audrey whispered in her high, girlish voice.

  Jenna bit her lip. Dr. Young closed her eyes slowly, briefly, and her head tilted forward in relief.

  “That’s good, Audrey.” The doctor’s beat was steady, giving nothing away. “That’s very good. Can you tell me, what day of the week is it?”

  The silence was shorter this time, but no less fraught.

  “It’s Saturday,” Audrey replied.

  Jenna glanced in Lars’s direction. His muscles were tense, and he strained to hear what might come from his wife’s mouth next.

  “That’s good,” Dr. Young said. “That’s very good. Now let’s fast-forward a bit, Audrey. Just a bit. Something is different today. Something makes this Saturday different from the rest. Can you take us to that point, Audrey?”

&
nbsp; “Yes,” she said.

  “You’re there now, then? This is an important place to be, and you’ve done very well. I’m with you every step of the way, and I want you to remember, this cannot hurt you. I’m going to ask you to start the movie from this point, Audrey, and tell me exactly what happens.”

  Audrey shook her head.

  “I don’t want to,” she whispered.

  Dr. Nordquist, who’d been sitting rapt, seemed to remember with these words that Audrey Jorgensen was his patient as well, and shifted in his seat. Dr. Young held up a hand in his direction, asking him with her eyes for the leeway to continue.

  “I understand, Audrey. I do, but remember, this cannot hurt you. It cannot touch you. You are separate from this, and the words you speak are only describing the scene in front of you. Are you willing to try?”

  For one terrifying moment, Jenna saw the whole thing collapse into a heap of worthless intentions.

  “Okay,” Audrey said. “I’ll try.”

  “That’s good, Audrey, that’s very good. You are not alone, and there’s no reason to be afraid. Now let’s press ‘Play’ on this movie. Can you tell me what happens next?”

  “I need to call my mother,” Audrey said.

  Beverly’s brows drew together and she cut a glance at the doctor, but Dr. Young gave a miniscule shake of her head.

  “All right. And what happens next?” Dr. Young prompted gently.

  “The telephone. There’s no dial tone, only voices already speaking,” Audrey continued.

  “And can you hear what those voices are saying? Can you tell us about the voices, Audrey?”

  “‘It’s the kids . . . I can’t leave the kids. You have to understand.’”

  The voice that came out of Audrey’s mouth was lower, stronger. The words resonated with indecision and worry. Just as they must have nearly three decades ago.

  A picture floated up in Jenna’s mind of Lars, his head in his hands, as he must have looked when he’d spoken them.

  His stricken face had gone pale. If Dr. Young was right, Audrey wouldn’t be touched by the hurt of hearing these words again. But there was no protection for anyone else.

  “‘I do understand, Lars. And I’m not in a position to judge. It’s no easier for me. I just wish . . . Oh, I don’t know what I wish.’”

  This voice was higher, though still not Audrey’s own. The shock of recognition on Lars’s face said he knew exactly who it belonged to, though.

  “‘She’s just so unpredictable, Nora. And things are only going to get worse once I file for divorce.’”

  Owen turned his head slowly to stare at his father.

  “‘Can I see you today?’”

  There was a pause.

  “‘I’ll try.’”

  The preternatural way Audrey had switched voices sent a shiver down Jenna’s spine.

  “Okay, Audrey,” Dr. Young said after a quick glance over at Lars. “That’s very good. You’ve done a wonderful job, and I think that’s a good place to stop the movie for today. I want you to remember, when you come back to full awareness, that these words are just words, just images, and they cannot harm . . .”

  Jenna lost track of what the doctor was saying as Lars slowly rose from the kitchen table and walked toward the front door of the cabin. After a searching, but silent, exchange with Owen, Jenna watched the younger man rise and follow.

  The click of the door latch shutting behind the two was nearly impossible to hear, but Jenna felt it all the same.

  45

  The air was quiet after everyone left, but Lars’s mind was a riot of noise and confusion.

  Sergeant Allred had escorted Dr. Nordquist and Audrey back to the hospital, leaving Dr. Young to talk them through what would happen next.

  “I know today’s session was short, but my responsibility is to Mrs. Jorgensen. I don’t want to push her too hard or too fast. We’ll try to pick up from here for the next session.”

  Lars was standing in the driveway he and Jenna had cleared together that morning. He knew the doctor meant well, but her words were hardly penetrating.

  She moved into his line of vision.

  “I can see this is hard for you. Hard for you all. But after today, we know this just might work. Let that be enough for now.”

  He nodded distractedly. “Thank you, Doctor.”

  Owen walked the doctor to her car. Lars caught snippets of conversation.

  “Whether we’ll be able to continue will depend on how well your mother recovers. I’ll speak with the hospital director and be in touch.”

  Owen closed her car door for her and watched her drive away. The distance that separated Lars from his son was only a matter of yards but felt insurmountable.

  Lars heard the door of the cabin open and close. Jenna stood there, leaning against it, concern evident in the lines of her face and the tense way she held her body, like a spring coiled too tightly.

  She looked like that often, whether she realized it or not. This time, that tension was for him.

  Ice and snow crunched under Owen’s boots as he slowly made his way back to him.

  “Dad?” A question. One Lars had always known he’d have to answer one day.

  “Jenna, get your coat,” he called.

  “O-kay,” she drew out with a glance in Owen’s direction.

  “We need to talk,” Lars said. “But I can’t take another minute cooped up in there.”

  It turned out to be a bit more involved than simply “Jenna, get your coat,” but after rooting around in the garage and sending the woman back inside the cabin to put on a few extra layers and borrow some woolen socks, they managed to cobble together what they’d need.

  “What was wrong with my socks?” Jenna asked as she pulled on a pair of old hiking boots. They were big for her, but with two pairs of wool socks they would be fine.

  “They were cotton,” Lars said.

  He leaned down to gather the equipment in his arms, missing the look of consternation that crossed her face.

  “Cotton doesn’t wick moisture away from the body,” Owen explained to her. “And moisture in these kinds of temperatures equals trouble.”

  “Just existing in these kinds of temperatures equals trouble, if you ask me,” she mumbled.

  Lars turned around with his arms full.

  “Snowshoes?” she asked doubtfully.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “You know I’ve never used a pair of those before in my life, right?”

  “We won’t go far,” he told her. “But if you don’t think you’re up for it—”

  “I didn’t say that,” she interrupted. “It’s just, aren’t you a little . . . I don’t know . . . old to be tromping around the countryside in snowshoes?”

  “Just put those on, missy, and we’ll see who’s old.”

  He tossed her a pair of shoes, which she almost fumbled.

  “I don’t know how to do this!” she shouted as he walked out of the garage.

  “Get Owen to help you, then try and keep up,” he called over his shoulder.

  Lars stopped at the steps to the cabin and slipped a pair of gaiters over his boots and pants, then attached his snowshoes.

  He didn’t wait for the pair of youngsters, but set out with his poles in hand.

  Owen would know where he was headed.

  It was no more than a fifteen-minute hike through a clear trail in the woods that lined the lake. The terrain had a slight incline, but Jenna should be fine, with Owen’s help.

  When he reached his destination, a familiar clearing in the trees, Lars pulled in a deep breath.

  “Old,” he muttered. He couldn’t deny it. Like the rings of a tree, his age was etched on his heart and mind.

  He walked toward the break in the evergreens that gave way to the best view for miles.

  The ground was higher here, the lake lower, and there was nothing to impede on the vast expanse of lake and wilderness stretched out before him.

  There were m
ore houses dotting the landscape than ever before, but he tried not to begrudge that.

  Progress happened. Time marched on, whether an old man liked it or not.

  He heard the telltale crunch of snow as Jenna and Owen caught up to him.

  “How’d she do?”

  Jenna was trying to hide the fact she was slightly out of breath.

  “Not bad,” Owen said. “Only fell twice.”

  “No one told me these things don’t work in reverse,” she said, leaning her weight against her poles.

  “Must have slipped my mind. The ravages of age.”

  “All right, all right,” she said. “You’ve made your point.”

  He couldn’t help a slight smile.

  “Come look at this.” He turned to the expansive view laid out in front of them. “I used to bring Owen up here as a kid.”

  “Been a long time,” Owen said at his side.

  “Too long,” Lars agreed with a pang in his heart. He cleared his throat.

  “It’s breathtaking,” Jenna said.

  He studied her profile. Her expression caused him to take in the view with fresh eyes.

  “I grew up around here, you know,” he said, leaning against his own poles. “In a house in town. My dad was the only doctor for miles.”

  Owen, of course, knew this, but his son was patient.

  “The cabin was an anniversary gift for my mom. She was the one who loved the lake. Summer or winter, it didn’t matter. That’s why it’s outfitted for the cold while most of the other cabins aren’t.”

  Lars took a deep breath and plunged on.

  “Two years after the cabin was finished, Dad contracted smallpox while treating an outbreak upstate. There’s no doubt my mother caught it from him. She died.”

  Jenna lifted a hand to her lips.

  “In the end, Dad recovered from the disease. But the guilt—he couldn’t get over that. He took a pistol, walked into the backyard, and shot himself.”

  Jenna gasped, but he didn’t look at her.

  “I was nearly sent to an orphanage in Minneapolis,” he continued, “but the Bergman family took me in. Mrs. Bergman and my mother had been close. They had three daughters, and the youngest was about my age. She’d never liked me much, but she had a soft heart and took pity on the boy with no parents. She became my friend. My best friend, if you want to know the God’s honest truth.”