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Schmidt enters the candlelit kitchen. I hear the click of his boots on the floor behind me.
“Thank you, Angelique,” he says. I turn to him. “I will be leaving tomorrow for four days but look forward to more of your cooking upon my return.” He nods at me in what I assume is a dismissal, and he and Fischer leave through the front door.
I open the blackout curtain a fraction of an inch and peer into the twilight-enshrouded vineyard. Fischer isn’t climbing into the Jeep he drove here. He and Schmidt are walking towards the field where the pond lies.
Curiosity and duty spur me into action. I open the front door and follow the two men, my footfalls cautiously silent.
Fear sits tense in my muscles, quickens my heartbeat. But it’s not enough to turn me around. I have so many questions about these two men. Questions about their reactions this evening.
42
JESSICA
May, Present Day
Maple Ridge
Mother’s Day.
I sit on my couch and go through the shoebox that holds Amelia’s birth announcement, heart onesie, and baby shoe. Troy and his brothers are at brunch with their mother to celebrate the day.
It’s been two weeks since I came close to kissing Troy at the cabins. We haven’t had another moment like that, but it doesn’t mean I haven’t wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Doesn’t mean I haven’t wondered how he tastes.
I push the thought aside and close my eyes. Instead of thinking about the kiss that didn’t happen, I imagine Amelia running downstairs and hugging me and wishing me a Happy Mother’s Day. Of her giving me a card she drew with crayons. A card with pink roses and the two of us holding hands.
And I would make her a special brunch with all of her favorite foods.
The image in my head shifts to Amelia doing all those things for Grace, having no clue I exist.
I open my eyes and trace over her smiling face in the photo of when she was twenty months old. “I miss you.” The words come out on a croaked whisper. “I love you. Love you so very much.”
An emptiness stretches endlessly inside me and smothers any joy I had. A tear drops onto the photo.
One day. One day she’ll be back in my life once more. I have to keep believing that. I just need to glue the pieces of my life back together, make it shinier, brighter, and then I can talk to Grace and Craig about seeing Amelia again.
* * *
Wednesday evening,I wheel my bike out of the garage and pull up the flap covering the trailer. Bailey jumps in and settles herself on the canvas seat, wearing herService Dog in Trainingvest.
It’s been six weeks since I’ve become her foster parent. Six weeks of her fitting into my life. Six weeks of spending my weekday mornings at Picnic & Treats, and my afternoons reading Iris’s magazines, and reading Angelique’s journals and transcribing them. Six weeks of yoga and the occasional hike. Six weeks of therapy with Robyn. Six weeks of weekly canoe trips with Troy, Butterscotch, and Bailey. The only thing I haven’t done regularly is participate in Friday Game Night.
I always have an excuse ready because I know Avery and Noah will be there.
Bailey has fitted seamlessly into my life, with one exception. She’s unable to be with me when I work at Picnic & Treats. She stays in a crate in the staff room, and one of us constantly checks on her. And by us, I mean mostly me, especially when I’m anxious, which happens at least once or twice during my shift. But that’s an improvement compared to when I first started seeing Robyn.
“Here’s my yoga mat.” I put the rolled mat next to Bailey in the trailer. Once I became Bailey’s foster mommy, Violet could no longer give me a ride to yoga. Her husband didn’t want a dog in her car.
The sun is still up, but May in the mountains isn’t as warm as it is in San Diego. I zip up my spring jacket and pedal to Shania’s house.
I keep my eyes and ears open for anything unusual as I bike down the street. I can’t shake the feeling someone is watching me. My gaze darts to the bushes ahead of me. Could someone be crouched behind them? Waiting to hurt me, to steal my meager possessions?
I glance behind me and pick up the pace.Faster, faster, faster.My breath comes in ragged and my leg muscles burn.
Relax. No one knows the truth about me. No one knows I’m here.
No matter how many times I tell myself that, I can’t shake the unsettled feeling that follows me every day. The unsettled feeling that grew after learning my husband was stalking me during the last several years of our marriage.
I arrive at Shania’s home and park my bike in the shadow at the side of the house. I open the cover, unfasten Bailey’s safety harness, and hug her, grounding myself again. I press my brow against her body, allowing my breath and legs to recover. “Thank you, Bailey. You’re such an amazing dog.”
