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But now this man is here and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to look. All I know is that I wanna run up to the cabin and shut the door. I wanna lock all the newly-painted doors and the newly-fitted windows – done by Graham – and dive into our bed, his and mine.
“Hi, uh, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he says politely. “I’m actually…”
He trails off while I stare at his polished boots, fisting and unfisting my cotton dress, feeling all kinds of exposed, fidgeting, shifting on my sneakered feet.
“I’m sorry.” He laughs awkwardly. “But who are you? I don’t… I’m not being rude. I’m Richard. Richard Owens. I’m a friend of Graham’s. I’ve never really seen you here.”
At this, I have to look at him.
I have to.
This is Richard.
The man I overheard that day but never saw.
The man who came to Graham’s cabin to give him an ultimatum about his job.
He’s tall, but not as tall as my Graham, and he has a polished look about him. He’s wearing a suit and his hair’s slicked back.
He has intimidating shoulders. They’re not as broad as Graham’s but while Graham’s shoulders make me feel safe, this man’s make me feel uneasy and fearful.
“I, uh… I’m not…”
Anybody.
But that’s not true, is it?
I’m the girl because of whom Graham left his job in Connecticut. The stuff Richard was talking about when he last came to visit.
Oh my God.
He knows who I am. He knows.
I mean, not that I am that girl but he knows about that girl. The supposed minor Graham allegedly had an affair with.
He frowns. “I’ve got some papers for Graham. Is he… Is he home yet?”
I swallow and shake my head like a mute person.
Like I can’t form words. And that just makes me even more scared and angry at myself. That just flushes my throat even more.
I clear it then, my throat, and try to speak again. “He’s not… He’s not here. But I can g-give them to him. The papers.”
Graham texted me – we finally exchanged numbers when I told him it was weird that we didn’t know each other’s numbers – and told me that he was running late and that he’d bring pizza with him so I don’t have to worry about dinner.
It all sounded very domestic and serene and peaceful to me.
But now, I have a feeling that all the peace is going to go away.
Richard’s considering me with curiosity and I can’t take his scrutiny. I can’t. It crawls on my skin, slithers on it like some slimy animal.
I get this hysterical feeling that the longer he stands here, the closer he’s getting to putting all the pieces together.
“Are you… Have you been living here? With him, I mean?”
At this, my breathing hastens, and I shake my head.
I shake it, sending my dull blonde/brown, straight hair to cover some of my face. “N-no. I’m just visiting.”
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
That gets me more silence and more curiosity and my breath is going haywire.
I need to get out of here.
I need him to get out of here. Before he figures out who I am. Before the panic takes over. Before it roars in my ears and sets my skin on fire and chokes my lungs and I can’t breathe.
“I actually have to…” I swallow and try to moisten my desert-dry tongue. “I have to check on something. I-I’ll let him know that you stopped by.”
I try to take a step to the side so I can get away from him, but he stops me from going anywhere by his next question.
“Is that your car out front? I saw it parked last time when I was here.”
I jerk back a little, all afraid and wary and on the verge of panting. “W-why?”
Richard raises his hands up. “I’m sorry. The question might have come out blunt. But the thing is, the car has Connecticut plates and… I’m just… I’m just wondering –”
“Don’t,” I snap, panic making my voice high and squeaky. “Just leave. Please.”
But he moves toward me and I’m right there.
I’m right there at losing my shit.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he assures me. “You look like I’m going to hurt you but I’m not. I don’t want to cause you any harm. I’m just… I just want to have a conversation, that’s all.”
He even reaches his hand out and that makes me even more scared.
That hand.
It’s not as big as my Graham’s but it’s threatening, and it looks dark and cold.
I never even had conversations with people before I got this doomsday brain. I’m definitely not having one now.
“I have to go. I have to –”
Whatever I was going to say gets swallowed up by… things.
So many things at once.
First of all, there’s the screech of a truck coming to a halt followed by thudding footsteps. Then, there’s my gasp. It’s loud. It’s almost a shriek before I jerk away. I practically lunge away.
