Dear Irene

“She’s just excited about our getting married,” he said. “She’s just trying to be helpful.”

“I’ve told you how I feel about all the help I’ve been getting lately.”

He smiled. “You’ve mentioned it.”

We stood there for a moment, just watching the waves below.

“Want to go for a walk on the beach?” he asked.

I hadn’t been able to do that in weeks. He saw me brighten at the suggestion and led the way down the stairs.

We hadn’t walked far when he said, “You were right the other night. There are people who try to do too much for you.”

“I shouldn’t let it get to me. What happened with Barbara happens to all engaged couples, I suppose. There’s going to be a lot of pressure on us now.”

“I can’t wait to find out what Episcopalian minister in Bakersfield my mother has set up for us. But she’s probably gone further than Barbara. Watch out. If we don’t set a date, she will.”

“Just promise me you won’t ever get the two of them together. God knows what they’d plan for our lives.”

He shuddered and I laughed.

He took my hand as we made our way down the beach. In spite of the run-in with Barbara, I was feeling good. Gradually, something was reawakening within me. It might have been my courage.

6

MONDAY WAS A COOL but sunny day, my first day driving myself to work. In celebration of that newfound independence, I put the top down on the Karmann Ghia and took to the streets of Las Piernas at a speed that created a biting windchill factor inside the car. Well worth it.

Even downtown morning traffic didn’t dampen my spirits. I parked the car, put the top up, and went into work.

When I got to my desk, the phone rang. I answered.

Nothing. Not even breathing.

“Sorry, wrong number,” I said, and hung up.

I took off my coat and started sorting my mail. There’s always a lot of mail to deal with on a Monday, but with the approach of Christmas, the usual onslaught tripled. A large percentage of it arrived in colored envelopes.

Since receiving the letter from Thanatos, I had developed a daily postal ritual. First, I carefully separated out all mail in colored envelopes. Then I sorted the colored envelopes. As I went through them, I made a special stack for those without return addresses, addressed to me on white computer labels. This would be the last stack I opened. I started in on my other mail.

The phone rang again. Again, no one on the line. I hung up and called Doris, the switchboard operator. No, she hadn’t put any calls through to me that morning.

I shrugged it off. The calls weren’t being made after lunch time, so they probably weren’t being made by the watcher. And there was no watcher anyway, I reminded myself. None. No one. Think about something else. At this rate, someday I would be the one writing letters about dogs picking Super Bowl winners.

Still, it made me feel a little spooky about the last stack of mail. I got a cup of coffee, logged on to my computer, checked my calendar. Told myself to get it over with, picked up the stack, shuffled them, counted them. Thirteen. Thirteen? Better check the count, I thought, then became so angry with myself that I ripped the first one open. A coupon for a discount on carpet cleaning. I was more careful in handling the others, but that coupon turned out to be the most spectacular item in the group. So much for my frightening mail.

I went to work on a story that would run near New Year’s Day, our annual standard story on new laws and programs going into effect January 1. Said, “Yes, it’s great to have the cast off,” to at least two dozen well- wishers.

I ate lunch in the building, telling myself I stayed in because I was so busy, not because of the phone calls. I kept distracted by my work and coworkers for the rest of the afternoon. It was dark when I left the building, but as I stepped out the door and glanced toward my car, I came to a halt.

My parking lights were on.

For a brief moment, I was simply confused by it. Had I turned the parking lights on? No, I was certain I hadn’t.

The next thought: Two phone calls.

Lydia came out the door and said cheerfully, “It must be great to be able to drive again.”

“Walk me to my car, would you, Lydia?”

She followed my gaze and said, “Uh-oh. Worried about your battery? No problem. I’ve got jumper cables in my car. Why did you turn your lights on this morning?”

“I didn’t.”

“Then how—”

“He’s trying to scare me.”

“Who? Who’s trying to scare you?”

I hesitated. Lydia had been dealing with my unfounded fears on a daily basis.