Chevy Stevens - Always Watching

“My mother, she told me she’d wanted to leave after Finn died, but she never explained how my father knew to come get us.”

“She left a note for your father at the store. Told him that she wanted to come home, but she was scared of Aaron.”

“He wouldn’t let her leave?”

“She didn’t ask. When Finn died, we’d talked and she wanted out. She was going to tell Aaron, then I showed her this.” She held up her hand with the missing finger. “That’s when she got in touch with your dad.”

I remembered my father showing up, the rage on his face and the gun in his hand. There was something else I had to ask.

“Did she know that Aaron was molesting me?” My body tensed, braced for the blow.

Mary held my gaze. “Not at the time. But after you came up here and talked, she didn’t understand why you couldn’t remember so much. Later, she started thinking about it more, how Aaron would take you swimming alone, the way he’d touch you, kind of possessive, how you changed that summer….”

I was crying again, wanting to stop the words out of Mary’s mouth, but needing to hear them.

“She figured out that he’d probably done something to you. She was upset—and angry at herself for not protecting you. She was going to talk to you about what she suspected, see if it would help you remember.”

“So she was just speeding?”

“She’d been smoking pot all night, drinking some too, mixing it with those pills she was always taking. I told her she should stay that night, sleep it off and go in the morning. I was making up her bed when I heard her drive off.”

She looked down at her boots, dragged them through the dirt, clearing a spot, like she was trying to erase something. “I heard the next day that she’d had the accident. I couldn’t go to the police, because Aaron had Daniel.”

I nodded, looking at her house. For a moment I imagined I saw my mother on Mary’s porch, walking down the front steps, ready to protect her daughter. She turned and blew me a kiss. Then she was gone.

Though we still didn’t know if someone was out to harm me, I refused to live my life as a prisoner. The next day I was kneeling in my yard, weeding one of the garden beds, my cell within reach, when I heard a soft thump to my right. I jerked around, the trowel in my hand like a weapon. It was the cat. I hadn’t seen her in months. She watched me lazily from across the yard, blinking in the sun. I pretended to ignore her and continued with my work. She strolled over and rubbed against my side, bumping her head on my elbow. I got up, slowly, but she still skittered away a few feet, ready to break into a run as she watched me brush dirt from my knees. I said, “You hungry?” then walked toward the house.

I glanced back. She was following, but cautiously, taking a few trotting steps forward, then pausing. Inside, I put some tuna on a plate and went back onto the porch. She was on the top step. When she smelled the tuna, she cried plaintively, weaving back and forth between my legs, staring up at the plate.

“Well, little miss—you’re going to have to come in and get it.”

Leaving the door open, I walked back into the house and placed the plate on the floor in the middle of the kitchen, then walked farther into the house, sitting at the dining room table with the newspaper, where I could watch out of the corner of my eye. The cat stood at my back door, meowing loudly. I ignored her, turned a page.

She crept in, body low, ears flicking back and forth. Then at the plate, she lapped at the food, purring so loudly I could hear her from my chair.

When she was done, she cleaned her paws, and still sitting in the same spot, examined my house. I turned another page, reading words that had no meaning, my breath slowing as I watched the cat. She stood up, stretched. I expected her to run back out the door, but instead she sauntered past me and jumped onto the chair near the fireplace. Lisa’s chair. She curled into a ball. One amber eye blinked at me, then she tucked her nose into her tail and fell asleep.

Two weeks later they finally identified Joseph’s body. I was glad that he couldn’t hurt anyone ever again but frustrated that we’d never be able to find out if he knew what happened to Lisa. And if he was dead, who had been keeping an eye on me? I hadn’t had more creepy feelings since that day Kevin chased the person down the street, and I hoped that was the last of it. But I still wondered if it had been Daniel or maybe another member with a grudge. Part of that question was answered the following week when Daniel was caught trying to cross the border into the States. He was arrested on the spot—and claimed he didn’t know that his father had planned to hurt anyone. He also said that he hadn’t been anywhere near me. I believed him, but he still had to stand trial for his part in the events.

A couple of days after Daniel was apprehended, I was on the couch, reading a book with a blanket wrapped about me, and the cat, now named Glenda, purring on my lap. I turned the pages with my free hand—if I tried to take away the one that was stroking her, I’d earn myself a growl. Someone knocked on my door, and the cat leaped off, making my heart jump. Thinking it was Kevin, who was on his way over, I opened the door.

But it wasn’t Kevin on my doorstep. It was Lisa.

She said, “Mom, I—” then broke off, crying.

I stared at her, sobs ripping out of my chest, my body shaking violently. I couldn’t move, nothing would work, my limbs frozen, blood roaring in my head. She stepped forward, and I grabbed her, my forehead pressed into her shoulder, my hands gripping her so hard it must’ve hurt. I couldn’t get my breath, couldn’t form words, just loud gasping sobs as I held her to me.

Lisa was also vibrating. Her hair tangled in my mouth, my nose was running, I tried to get some air, but I still couldn’t control my body. I held the back of her head, stroking her hair over and over, rocking back and forth.

Finally, some words escaped my mouth in strangled sobs.

“Oh, God. Sweet Jesus. Thank you.”

It took us a long time to calm down enough to move inside. My body still shaky, and my head light. I had to stand for a moment, lean against the wall, tears still hurrying unbidden down my cheeks as my daughter held out a steadying hand. She looked good. Her hair windblown, but her clothes tidy, a new jeans coat and cargo pants. Her eyes were bright, though red-rimmed from crying. She’d gained some weight, her face filling out. I wanted to know everything, where she’d been, what had happened. But she was hungry, wanted to eat, then talk, said that it would help us calm down. And she was right, the activity bringing back some sense of normalcy to a surreal situation. We made some tea and toast, like we used to when she was a little girl. One of us buttering the bread, the other spreading the honey. I couldn’t stop myself from reaching out to touch her, to stroke her hair, to assure myself that she really was standing there. Finally, we sat on the couch, our knees touching.

She started talking. “The fire, Mom, it was so horrible—but I couldn’t help them. I couldn’t get them out.”

“You saw the fire? Where were you?”

“I was in the chamber. Aaron had put me there a couple of days before—he said it would answer all my questions, but it just messed me up. When Joseph opened the door and told me to go upstairs, I tried, but I got dizzy, and I had to sit down. He didn’t notice. He was too busy running around and grabbing containers, then he left so fast he didn’t know I was still there. I was so scared. I didn’t know what was going on. Then I heard this huge bang, Mom. I started running upstairs. The hallway was full of smoke, and I could hear this awful screaming. I tried to figure out where all the people were, but everything was on fire. It was so hot.”