“I want to,” I say, louder than I’d meant to and they all look at me. “I want it,” I mutter as Lucie shrugs, sets her cookie down, and wipes her hands on her jean pants before cracking her knuckles over the keyboard. She plays a slow melody.
“Slower,” I say, because that’s how it’s all felt.
A slow-moving train, headed for a crash, and I can’t get off.
I walk to the side of her keyboard as my phone rings. I check the screen and my mom’s name comes on it, my chest tightening with urgency.
“I’m sorry, I have to take this,” I say and walk into the kitchen.
Lucie continues to play and Royal says something to her. Their voices fade away as I push through the back door, and into the back yard. I answer her call, pressing the phone to my ear, and sit at the patio table where Stevie greets me as I answer.
“Hi Mom.”
A brief pause sits between us.
“Hi baby… what’s wrong?”
I haven’t said a thing, but she knows me. She must hear it in my tone. My chin quivers and tears run down my cheeks as Stevie rests her head on my foot.
“I haven’t wanted to worry you, but it—it started a few days after you left. I’ve had this terrible feeling lately, like I’m being followed.”
“Lyn,” she says in a comforting tone, which makes me cry harder.
“And then there was a car that followed me back here, and it parked out front, and it was there the next night, too.” I control my sobs, fighting through them so she’ll understand me. “I came home one night, and I made fake blood for a Halloween costume, and it was all over the bathroom floor, and Stevie’s toy lamb was smeared in it, and it looked like it was dragged across the floor, into my room, and on my bed. It was such a mess and it—it looked like real blood—and then I ran, and the back door was open—”
“Oh my gosh—”
“And a few days ago, I found the back gate open, and I know you guys never use it, and neither do I, and Stevie got out and went to the neighbours, and that’s where I left her last night, when I came home and the back door was open—”
“Lynda, take a breath, please. Slow down, okay? I want to understand you. Did you call the police?”
“Yes, I went over to Ah—Alex and Carol’s. Stevie was there, so I knew she wouldn’t have made that mess, Mom. I waited for the police to come, and while I was waiting… I found pictures of me that Alex had taken—through my window.”
“Oh my gosh.”
“What?” Ron calls in the background. “What is it, Annie?”
“Hold on,” she says, hushing him.
“And the police… they came and questioned him, but he denied it. I filled out a statement and said I wanted to press charges if they can come up with the evidence—”
“Lynnie, I’m so sorry this happened. I can’t believe—and he was following you this whole time?” She raises her voice and I hear Ron’s muffled voice in the background.
“I—I don’t know if it was just him.”
“Carol, too?” she whispers.
“I don’t know if there’s someone else following me. The black car…”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.” I sniffle. “The police are looking into it.”
“Well, that’s it! We’re booking a flight and coming home on the first one.”
“Mom. I didn’t want to do this to you. I didn’t want to put you through anything like—like that again.”
“Lynda, there’s nothing I won’t do to protect you. No, Ron, could you book us a flight? Now! I’ll explain after. Lyn, are you alone right now?”
“No, the band is over. Stokes stayed with me last night.”
“Oh, thank goodness. Okay, I want you to make sure someone’s there with you at all times until we get back. If Stokes can’t, you call someone from work, okay, call Jeremy and tell him I need him to stay with you.”
“I don’t want to be alone,” I whisper, wiping the tears from my cheeks, and taking a shaky breath. “I have no proof someone is still actually following me, but I just know it.” As I say the words, my stomach tightens and churns at my acknowledgement of my truth. “I know it, and I know you said he didn’t, but maybe Dad knew…”
“Slow down and just breathe. Your dad didn’t know someone was following him. You can’t relate this back to him. That sicko. Ron?” Her voice is distant, muffled, maybe by her hand. “Ron, I’m gonna kill him!”
“Mom!”
“You just wait until I come home, okay, and then we can talk. We’ll talk all this through.”
I sniffle. “How do you know Dad didn’t know? Maybe he could sense it, but it made him feel delusional, and he didn’t say anything to anyone. What if—what if since I joined the band, I have a stalker?”
The words sound so stupid after they leave my mouth, and the line hums with silence as I picture Howard, racing toward me in the parking lot.
“Lynda?”
Ron says something in the background, muffled swears follow.
“Mom? Could Dad have known? Did he say anything to you about feeling weird, or seeing anyone? A car?”
“No, he didn’t.” She takes a deep breath and her voice is muffled again. “He was taking pictures of her. That bastard was following her! He went into the house when she wasn’t home. He was watching Stevie. No, the back door was open!”
“We trusted him!” Ron shouts. Now they’re on speakerphone. Great. I clench my jaw and grip the phone as my hands shake. “We gave him the damn key to—to do that?”
“And he’s probably deleted all the photos!” she shouts.
“Wait ‘til I get my hands on him, Annie—”
“Mom!”
“Lynda, I’m sorry.” Her voice returns and I can tell she’s trying to be calm for me, but as I rub my sweaty palms over my jeans one by one, I think about what she just said.
What I was thinking, about the back door
