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Was she making more of it than was there?
No, she told herself, because somehow, someway, Ray had kept up with her, sending her a congratulatory letter after her marriage to Ian and then again, a month after she’d delivered Renee Grace into the world. Since that day, he’d always sent a letter that arrived the week of Renee’s birthday, making note of the milestone of each passing year. Consequently, Lucy had both looked forward to the celebration of her daughter’s birth and dreaded the arrival of the heart-stopping note.
He’d never written anything directly threatening. No. But it had been there. Lucy had read between the lines, felt the unspoken menace of his words, she thought, sipping from her mug.
Each day since driving up here, she’d walked down the hillside, over a mile to the spot where she’d parked her car, and there, she’d start her Toyota RAV4, ensuring that the battery wouldn’t die. She was also able to recharge her phone while searching the internet for any sign of Ray Watkins. She always brought her daughter with her, much to Renee’s delight, as she, too, could connect to the web, though, of course, she wasn’t allowed to text or call anyone.
That would have to change.
Maybe later today.
Renee had to be allowed to contact her dad or Ian would go out of his mind. For that she should be thankful, she supposed, as her own father had been such a disinterested ass.
Since his release, Watkins hadn’t tried to reach her.
She’d checked her email, but nothing.
She’d also flipped through news information, but his leaving the prison had gotten little notice. In a quarter of a century riddled with outrageous scandals shown daily on television or the internet and social platforms, what had happened between Ray Watkins, a small-time thug, and a B-movie actress whose star had faded decades earlier, was of little interest to a new generation.
But the calm was chilling, the radio silence deafening.
She might have thought it was over but for that last, final letter she’d received, just a week earlier. Another missive on white-lined paper with his address, including cellblock and the warning “Inmate Mail” on the plain envelope. Again, penciled vines encircled the page, slate-gray leaves and twined branches, some looking so much like ropes, the leaves joining like a noose surrounding a simple message:
I’ve missed you.
And, of course, a reference to a Bible verse had been attached.
Her stomach had dropped when she’d received the letter.
And that’s when she’d run.
Which was her go-to in any stressful situation.
She’d left Ian twice in the eight years they’d been married, each time after a huge fight that she’d started. Both times she’d returned for home the next day and sworn she would never take flight again. Both times she’d lied.
Had she been foolish?
Had she been overly reactive?
Probably. But she couldn’t be too careful. She slid a glance at her daughter. So precious. So beautiful. And so damned vulnerable.
Lucy’s throat grew tight as she watched Renee sleep.
A few more days. She stared out the window, heard the wind howl and rattle the thin glass panes. They had enough supplies to last a couple more days and then she’d decide.
But she couldn’t stay here forever.
The old, patchwork house shuddered, overhead beams creaking.
She glanced from the fire to the window and her heart stopped.
Through the frosted pane, she saw his face.
Etched against the icy glass was the watery visage of an indistinct figure.
She started.
A man.
