“Have you noticed anyone hanging around or found any more gifts on your front step?”
“No, I haven’t noticed anyone but the feeling doesn’t go away. It’s strange. It’s making me jumpy and I’m having a hard time sleeping. I feel like a little kid who’s afraid of a nonexistent monster hiding under the bed.”
I knew I was being paranoid. Usually I never have a problem with being alone. In fact, I loved it most of the time. It was just a feeling of being watched lately making me nervous.
“It’s probably just my imagination. Too many mysteries too late at night. I thought I would look into the security camera and see what it would cost. It can’t hurt.” I told her.
“Okay. If you want to get together later, give me a call. I’ll be home most of the day. Maybe we can do dinner or something Sunday morning, or go for a run, maybe both?”
“Sure, that sounds great. You could swing by later, check out the stuff I’m getting rid of. I’ll call you this afternoon and we will figure out the details.”
Maggie took off and I looked around me one more time. Not in paranoia but in admiration, I was just taking in the beauty surrounding me. I wish I could come up here every day. I didn’t want to leave all this peacefulness, it was addicting in a good way. This was God’s perfection at its finest, all around me bathed in sunshine. It was beautiful.
I watched her in the parking lot with her friends, talking, laughing, forgetting … I could make her pay right here and now. Right in front of the bitches she called her friends. The barrel was aimed right at the middle of her forehead and I could see her eyelashes through the scope. With one tiny squeeze of my finger, BOOM! She would be history. The score would finally be settled. The only problem with that was that I wanted her to remember, remember every single detail.
EMILY
I talked to the security company when I returned home and scheduled them to come out on Monday morning to install security cameras, both in the front of my house and in the back.
Even though I had a privacy wall made up of concrete and stone surrounding the backyard, they suggested having a camera out there, too. I thought they would laugh at my paranoia, but I was assured a lot of their clients were installing security cameras for peace of mind. The woman I spoke with informed me as a single female living alone, caution could be a lifesaver.
Now I was tackling my closets. I had read something about forty bags in forty days on Facebook, clearing out all the clutter, so I was ruthlessly going through my wardrobe and getting rid of everything I hadn’t worn in the last year. The pile was growing. I set aside what I knew I was going to donate somewhere and then I had a pile for Maggie to look through. When I called her a little bit ago, she said she was doing the same thing at her house. We were roughly the same size so she told me she wanted to go through my piles before I gave anything away. I said the same for her stuff. Just trading out what we didn’t use anymore and getting new clothes at the same time.
My head was buried in the back of my closet when I heard a loud crash that seemed to come from the front of the house. I quickly untangled myself from an array of sleeves and ran to the picture window in the dining room facing the street. Not seeing anything, I opened the service door to the garage and looked in there. Nothing.
The garage door was down so I knew no one could be inside there. Heading over to the front door, I opened it and looked through the storm door to see if anything looked amiss. On the front stone patio was a shattered beer bottle, glass particles all over the ground. Carefully, I stepped outside and looked around but no one was there. The neighborhood was quiet. I walked out to the driveway and looked up and down the street. I didn’t see a single person, not even a car driving by. Puzzled, I walked back inside to find a broom and a dustpan to clean up the mess. I had no idea where the bottle could have come from. It wasn’t there earlier. Or maybe it was and I didn’t notice. I couldn’t remember the last time I even had beer in the house or walked out the front door, for that matter.
I went back into cleaning out my closet and tried to push the uneasy thought away that bounced around inside my head.
Several hours later and a much more organized room, I felt pretty jazzed about my accomplishments. I was heading into my home office when the doorbell rang. Looking up at the clock I had on the wall, I realized I had worked the entire afternoon away. Maggie planned on coming over to have dinner and check out my discard pile. I opened the door to let her in. Standing in my doorway, she had a funny look on her face when I greeted her.
“What’s up?” I asked.
She held up an empty beer bottle, Miller Light. This one was not broken.
“When did you start drinking beer?” she asked.
“What the hell? Where did you find that?” I asked, looking around.
“It was just sitting in front of your door.”
I walked outside to look around again. This was crazy. This bottle had not been here when I cleaned up the broken glass earlier.
“Something is going on. Earlier I had to clean up glass from an empty bottle out here. This one wasn’t here because I would have knocked it over coming through the door.”
“Maybe some kids in the neighborhood are bored and playing pranks on you.”
“Maybe.” But I was doubtful of that idea. Most of my neighbors were older, like retired older, or really young people just starting out with babies and toddlers. Not the age of kids that would do pranks like this.
“I’m getting the security cameras put in on Monday. I’m hoping that might be a deterrent.”
Grabbing the bottle from Maggie's hand, I led her inside and threw the bottle into the recycling bin in my garage.
Maggie followed me into my room and squealed at the sight of clothes all over the bed.
“You’re getting rid of all of this?” she asked.
I nodded. “I went through everything. The bags in the corner are going to a shelter or something. It’s all great clothing, but the stuff on the bed is nicer and more in style. Whatever you don’t want, I’ll donate.”
Maggie looked like a kid in a candy store. Pretty soon she was trying clothes on and checking out the view in the mirror hanging on the back of the closet door. I had to admit, everything she tried on looked great on her.
“I’m going to grab the chicken I have marinating in the fridge and set it out to go on the grill,” I told her.
Heading back to the kitchen, I glanced out front. There was still no one around I could see. I took out the chicken breasts and opened a bottle of Cabernet to let it breathe. I’d made a fresh salad earlier so everything was ready to go. I grabbed dishes and silver and brought them outside while I went to light the grill. It was still in the high 80’s, so I turned on the misters I had installed over the patio to keep the temperature a little more comfortable. I loved being outside, even in the heat. I remembered the cold winters of my childhood only too well and I still shivered at the thought of them.
I glanced back into my room to see how Maggie was doing. She had a growing pile of stuff she wanted stacked neatly on the bed. I laughed with her as she turned to me.
“I’m not sure I’ll need to do any shopping for a while. I’m taking almost everything you’re getting rid of!”
“Good, I’d rather see it go to you than just donating it. Most of it is really good quality. Half of it I’m not sure why I bought in the first place.”
“Emotional shopping, huh?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, the pile I have at home is getting pretty big too, so you’ll have to come by tomorrow and check out what you want.”
“I’ve got the chicken ready to go on the grill and the salad is ready whenever you are. Grab the wine and come out back whenever you’re ready.”
I didn’t have an actual table and chair set on my patio. My back patio space was small so I just had a love seat with a few chairs and a coffee table that I picked up at Pottery Barn a few years ago. Lots of bright pillows gave it a homey look.
/> Maggie curled up in one of the chairs and picked up her glass of wine. Taking a sip, she watched me and I busied myself with the grill.
“I want to hear more about Elliot.”
ELLIOT
I’d hopscotched all over the country for the last month: New York, L.A., Naples, Atlanta, Chicago, and now Phoenix. Every time I published a new book, it meant at least a month or more of solid travel. Not that I hated it, mind you. There was something humbling about meeting my readers and hearing their stories, or hearing how something I’d written had affected them in some way. But honestly? I’d rather be home on my deck writing, listening to the ocean, and drinking a cold beer.
Instead, I was in a noisy bar in Scottsdale, people watching. It was a smorgasbord of men and women desperately looking to hook up. People from every walk of life eyed one another, comparing, analyzing, and trying to figure the odds of the success rate for the night.
Men, avoiding the really beautiful women, as it was a kick in the ego balls when they turned you down, or the just below average because let’s face it, men were shallow. Looks mattered and you’re in a frickin’ bar trying to pick up a woman for casual sex, not someone to spend the rest of your life with.
And then there were the women, gauging paychecks and earning potential of every man strutting by. Add a killer build and GQ looks and they might consider saying maybe.
Owning a Mercedes would simply seal the deal, never mind being mortgaged to the hilt and so deep in debt that the light of day was a pipe dream.
I was way too old and far too cynical for this rat race. Hell, I hadn’t even been out on a date in the last few years. It wasn’t worth it. A couple of drinks, dinner, some so-so sex, and next thing I knew, I heard the damn LOVE whispers. How could you fall in love with someone you didn’t even know?
I did that once. Crazy, wild, lose-my-soul kind of fall in love.
I’d never completely gotten over it.
I tried every way I knew to eradicate her from my mind, everything. Just when I thought it may be working? Whammo!
She hit me with a sledgehammer of emotion or desire again. She ruined me.
Emily Golden.
She lived right here, just south of Phoenix, the same town I was in right now. It would be so easy to pick up the phone and call her, or better yet, drive over and knock on her front door.
Instead, I tortured myself by sitting in a bar watching the hookup game, too embarrassed to stand up and leave because rambling thoughts of Emily had given me a damn hard on.
It never went away …
the dreams of her,
never.
I traveled to escape. I went all over the world and then I pictured experiencing those wonders with Emily. I pictured her walking with me on Tofo Beach along the Indian Ocean in Mozambique, watching for sea turtles along the reef. Or climbing the ancient steps in Santorini, leading away from the stunning blue Aegean Sea, to find a place to sit and drink Ouzo and watch the world pass by in the Greek Islands. Searching for the Loch Ness monster in the forests of northern Scotland. Everywhere I traveled I saw Emily experiencing life alongside me.
Emily, a woman I hadn’t seen in seven years. I remembered the words Jake said to me on the beach about seeking the truth, finding the answer once and for all, before it was too late. I knew what I needed to do and I was right here now, but…
I couldn’t seem to find the courage to dial the damn number. I drove past the house earlier today, several times to be exact. I was almost certain she still lived there. I could see the big stone frog still sitting by the front patio. I remembered when we found the frog at a garden shop up in Winslow. Emily went crazy over it and paid a small fortune to have it delivered to her house in Chandler. Emily had this weird fascination with frogs.
I wondered what she would do if I knocked on her door? Would she invite me in? Or would she slam the door in my face? Had she forgotten all the memories I kept reliving every day?
God, I was so pathetic. I looked around at the women in the bar. I saw them observing me from across the room. I watched as they strolled by, checking to see if I was watching them too.
I’d turned into a bitter old man, a writer who dreamed of murder, corruption, and hate with a bit of passion thrown in for good measure. Sometimes I even wrote of love, not that I understood it. I did at one time, but that was a long time ago. Back when I believed in love.
A tall, perfectly sculpted blond walked slowly by my table. Long, blond beachy hair, expertly styled to look like she just rolled out of bed from sex. Her dress hugged her shape without a bump or a roll showing through. Another time maybe I would have tasted what was so freely offered. Not tonight. Tonight I only had one thing on my mind. One woman, and she ruined me for the rest of them.
EMILY
Time just seemed to disappear on me. Today was the first afternoon nothing was planned. A day to just sit and enjoy the sunshine and the warmth, maybe read a book or just contemplate life. The sun streamed across the patio, bathing me with a blanket of heat as I curled up on the chaise lounge I had out back, my book unopened in front of me on the coffee table. I just wanted to close my eyes for a minute or two before diving into my latest romance novel.
EIGHT YEARS AGO
“Take my hand, Em.”
Lacing my fingers through Elliot’s, we stepped around a bunch of rocks alongside the path that led to the water. The stones were wet from the ocean spray leaping over them as the waves crashed into the shoreline. La Jolla Beach.
I had never been there before, never seen anything as magnificent as the Pacific Ocean on a windy day. The deep, rich color of the water and the force in which it pummeled the beach—I was enthralled completely.
“Easy,” he told me. “Watch where you’re stepping. It can get really slippery along here, and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, like breaking some bones if you fall.”
Elliot led me down to the beach like an adored child, carefully guiding me while holding onto my arm. I was so entranced by the view I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking. He kept me safe and I knew it. I was always safe with Elliot.
We stepped onto a shelf of stone next to the sandy beach where we could sit and watch the surfers try and ride the waves. There were so many of them, paddling out and waiting for the perfect ride, then standing upright on their boards and trying to conquer it back into the beach. Quite a few of them wiped out, the surfboard going one direction and their body in another, only to have both spit back up on the shore by the raging ocean. For every ten surfers that fell, one would ride godlike all the way in, mastering the bitch of the Pacific. Elliot spread a beach towel over the rocks where we sat. I could lounge there for days, not speaking, just watching. He pointed out some of the better surfers, explaining what they were doing and why.
“You should’ve brought your board with you,” I told him, knowing he owned one. I had seen it in his garage and I would have loved to sit there and watch him surf.
He just shrugged.
“This weekend is about you, Emily.” He took my hand again. “I just want to sit here with you, enjoying you.”
We spent the whole afternoon just relaxing on the beach, walking along the rocky shoreline and marveling at the ocean, taking in the beauty of it.
Later, we strolled up the hill to the town square of shops and restaurants and found a place to sit outside and eat. As we walked, he would suddenly stop and wrap his arms around me, kissing me until my legs wanted to buckle and make me fall against him. He had borrowed a friend’s beach house for the weekend. He left the sliding doors open so we could hear the waves crashing as he made love to me all night long. He took me to heights I never knew existed in his loving me, making me beg for more. I would crash as the waves would crash, keeping rhythm to the music the ocean brought to us. I awoke in the morning to the sunlight streaming on my face and Elliot propped up on one elbow watching me. I didn’t need words from him. I just reached out and touched his face, running my fingers down
his cheek and onto his neck, over his chest and beyond. He felt my desire for him with my touch and made love to me again. It was midmorning by the time we climbed out of our borrowed bed. My hair, a wild mass of curls, and my smile, the smile of a woman so completely content it radiated. My life was perfection. Wrapping the sheet around me, I walked out onto the balcony to watch the ocean again. I sat down when he brought me a cup of coffee.
“I think everyone that is walking on the beach and looking up here is dreaming of you this morning,” he told me.
I laughed and took a sip of my coffee.
“Don’t laugh,” he scolded me. “They are telling themselves you are a vision. The best thing is you are my vision and I am the luckiest man on earth.”
“No,” I disagreed. “I am the luckiest woman alive.”
A loud THUNK jolted me awake, startling me, causing me to twist and almost fall to the floor. It took a moment to realize I wasn’t in La Jolla by the beach … I was in my own backyard in Chandler, a long way from the ocean. But my dream had been so real I could feel the saltwater spray on my skin. I could smell the ocean…
Then I remembered the loud noise, like something hit the house wakening me.
“What the hell?” I yelled out loud and hurried to the front where the noise seemed to have come from. Looking through the window, I saw nothing out of place. Unlocking the front door, I opened it to see a rock lying in the middle of the front patio. It was a large smooth rock about the size of my hand, with red paint on the underside. Turning it over with my foot, I read the word BITCH. What the hell was going on?
Stepping farther into the yard, I glanced around the neighborhood. George, from across the street, came sprinting over to me, anger and concern clearly visible on his face. George was at least seventy-five years old and I’d never seen him move faster than a snail’s pace, but right now he was almost running toward me.
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