by Mary Cantell
Twenty minutes later and very late, she pulled into the main entrance to Lacy’s school where Lacy stood, teary-eyed, alongside her teacher beside the pond, holding her hand. Her child’s broken spirit sent her own to fracturing. Poor kid.
“So sorry,” Lissa called out the window as the car skidded to an abrupt stop.
“Oh, we understand, Mrs. Logan,” Nan Westbrook said respectfully. Her arm still hung around Lacy’s shoulder. “I told Lacy not to panic. We knew it wouldn’t be long before you’d get here.”
Lissa got out of the car and walked around to where they stood. She bent down and wiped away a strand of stray hair clinging to her daughter’s flushed cheek and wrapped her arms around her. “I’m sorry, baby, traffic was a nightmare.”
“Told you, Lace, your mom was just stuck in traffic,” her teacher said as she squeezed Lacy’s shoulder.
“Thank you so much, Ms. Westbrook, for helping her,” Lissa said, appreciatively. She opened the back door of the car, and Lacy climbed inside.
“Not a problem, Mrs. Logan.” She turned to Lacy. “And we’ll see you tomorrow, right? Can you give me five?” She leaned into the car holding her hand out. Lacy brightened and raised her hand to mirror Nan’s. “And we’ll be making some neat stuff in art,” she said, her eyes widening.
The inkling of a smile crept onto Lacy’s lips, which delighted Lissa.
“Bye,” Lissa said with a wave and shut Lacy’s door before getting behind the wheel.
“Honey, you okay?” Lissa glanced in the rearview mirror after she pulled onto the main roadway. Lacy seemed unusually quiet compared to her normally loquacious self. With no reply from her daughter, Lissa reached back to squeeze her daughter’s knee. Understanding her only child was beset with a fear of abandonment, most likely, an inherited trait. “It’s part of being Italian,” her Aunt Celia once said about the worrywarts in the family.
Lissa would do anything to help her daughter overcome this debilitating characteristic. Her memory drew back to her own crisis when she was a little girl. Tears came easy for her as well at eight years old, the time she lost her mother in a department store. Lissa stole another glance at Lacy curled up in the corner of the back seat. This would not be the time to preach but she felt compelled to say something. Finding the balance between mother and friend could be tricky at this age, so Lissa tread cautiously.
“Lace, I’m sorry. I know exactly how you feel, honey,” she began. “I’ve been in your shoes.” She waited to let her words sink in, hoping Lacy would come around. “But remember, God is watching over us, right? I will always be your mother and here for you, you know that but when I’m—” She stopped, not wanting to paint too harsh a picture. “What I mean is that Mommy depends on God and…well, he’s the only one we can truly rely on.” Lissa knew this concept hadn’t hit home for her daughter yet, though she hoped one day it would. Reading her daughter Bible stories and talking about Jesus was how Lissa shared her faith with her daughter. Spreading the seeds was all she could do for now. She knew her only job was to sow; God’s job was to reap.
“Hey, idea. Do you want to see the house where Mommy grew up?”
“I guess,” she said without much enthusiasm.
“It’s not far, you’ll see,” she said with an extra brightness to her voice, hoping to encourage her daughter back to her usual spritely self. She made a turn and headed toward the main artery through town.
So many memories flooded back as she drove through the downtown part of the city. She pictured the streets as she once knew them.
“This is surreal,” she gushed as they passed St. Jerome’s Catholic Church and Jimmy John’s Sandwiches. “I remember that place… aww, it’s still there,” she said, catching a glimpse of the Baskin-Robbins ice cream shop, recalling the sticky-hot summer days when her mother gave her change to buy a cone, which she ate right on the curb, the hot sun in her eyes.
“Keep an eye out for Queen’s Chapel Road. That’s where my old house was,” she said, feeling a happy flutter in her stomach. “I think it’s coming up soon if I have my bearings right.” She looked back at Lacy who moved from her curled up position and was now sitting erect and looking out the window. “Queen’s Chapel Road…sounds like something out of a fairytale, doesn’t it, honey?”
“Uh huh,” Lacy replied. A trace of lightness in her voice.
They passed Jefferson Street, Prince Rainier Avenue, and then King’s Court Boulevard. “Yep, there it is, just beyond those trees on the right. Twenty-four-twelve. It should be coming up soon—at the top of the hill.” A huge oak tree marked a fork in the road. The engine ground as the car strained to make the steep incline. “There, there it is, Lace.” She pointed excitedly like a school girl.
Lissa pulled up to a red-brick two-story colonial with black shutters. The quiet neighborhood murmured with the delicate sounds of chirping birds, and the air held the sweetness after a freshly fallen rain. Lissa gazed at the property tucked in among the shadow of surrounding trees and overgrown foliage. A nostalgic tug pulled in her heart. She disappeared into the moment, remembering her carefree days of childhood—her mother hanging laundry…planting daffodil bulbs in the front yard…sitting on the front steps with her best friend Ruthann Lowry as they sucked fresh watermelon and swatted the bees away.
“There’s a park right down the street. At least, there used to be. It’s probably a housing development or a golf course by now.”
Lissa drove around Pinewood, first taking in the scenery of Glen Meadows Park. The winding narrow road led through rolling hills where sterling vistas Lissa knew from childhood appeared new. In the hollow at the bottom of the first hill, a set of train tracks cut through some overgrown vegetation. The once vibrant steel devolved into strips of rusted metal atop loose shreds of timber. Lissa mentally relived carefree days when she hopped along the trestles and stepped up on the smooth metal rails pretending it was a balance beam.
“I used to hang out down there,” she said, pointing to the tracks, “with some of the neighborhood kids. We thought it would be neat to put a penny on the rail before the train came by to squash it, but I was afraid the coin would make the train somehow slip off its track. “Goofy right? Lissa made a silly face, mocking herself hoping the moment drew Lacy out of her funk.
Lissa glanced over the hills. “Oh, look, honey,” she said, pointing out the window. “There’s a kissing bridge.”
“Kissing bridge? Why do they call it that?”
“They’re historic bridges from back in the nineteenth century. There was a legend in town about them. Apparently, they said that in Pinewood, more people fell in love there than in any other town in Maryland after they’d driven over one, and wherever Cupid’s arrow fell, the kindling it stirred would simmer forever.”
The landscape, bathed in variegated colorations and altered with time, vaguely resembled the version she knew from back then. Lissa marveled at the beauty of the park’s ambiance and the changes that evolved over the decades.
“Now, I’m going to show you where I went to school.”
****
Perched high above a circular driveway, Lissa’s former elementary school, Chillum Acres, looked abandoned. The long red-brick building that once sat formidably upon the hill appeared diminutive now with patches of wood splayed across the windows.
“Oh, no. Is it closed?” Lissa’s heart sank.
The old school, once modeled in the likeness of a mighty frigate, had turned into a lifeless relic docked for repairs in the shadow of its heyday. The huge flagpole in the center of the circular driveway standing at attention without Old Glory looked naked. She pictured Brian gathering the red, white, and blue material from the thick white cords with one of the other kids in class who’d been assigned to flag duty with him. The image of his bright blond hair and marina blue checked shirt lent a nostalgic rush to the otherwise somber scene.
“Too sad. I didn’t expect this.” She gazed up at the school. “I loved this place—everything abou
t it… the teachers, my classmates…” Her voice trailed. A wistful feeling came over her at the remembrance of it all. She bubbled with an overwhelming desire to go inside, but with Lacy along for the ride, she thought better of it.
On the way home, Lissa checked on her daughter once more. “Love you, Lace,” she said and stole a glimpse of her through the rearview mirror.
“Love you, too, Mom.”
Finally. Her little girl was back to her normal, sweet self.
Just then, something piqued Lissa’s curiosity. The car traveling directly behind them looked familiar. She thought she saw it earlier before she turned into the school. The imposing SUV looked expensive. There weren’t too many of those around town. Was it following them? How long had it been there? The white van from Bryn Mawr popped into her head.
Lissa’s instinct kicked in, and she tried to keep her imagination from running away with itself. Calm down, Lissa. It’s not the same vehicle. Relax. It might be white, but it’s not a van. She shuddered to think her worst nightmare in Bryn Mawr had followed them to Pinewood. Then she realized, no. The van driver had been a rumor. People’s imaginations getting the best of them. It didn’t take long for Lissa’s imagination to rear itself. She took a deep breath and tried to settle down her out-of-control thoughts. There could be any number of reasons for what appeared to be a tailing car. This was a direct route that could have led to just about any major artery. It’s just a coincidence, she told herself. There are lots of people with places to go, things to do. Why be paranoid? The person behind the wheel—a man or a woman—she couldn’t be sure. Was the driver headed to Rockville? Or Hyattstown? Lissa’s mind spun with possible scenarios until the implausibility of them shook her to her senses. She whispered a quick, panicky prayer.
At the upcoming roundabout for Constitution Avenue from Michigan Street, she made a left. The car continued to follow. While this might be just a coincidental happenstance with any plausible explanation, only one haunted her—the worst-case scenario: Years ago, her mother told her about her own similar predicament—the day she was followed by someone unknown.
Lissa fought to disguise her fear from Lacy and didn’t say a word, hoping not to telegraph her worry, though her pulse raced as she zigzagged through town with the stranger in clear pursuit. Whenever she turned, the car behind did as well. What is this person doing? Her heart thrummed. She didn’t want to drive directly home—then the person would know where she lived. She didn’t know what to do. She scanned the sidewalks. There were people walking along the street oblivious to her situation. She wanted to reach out and alert the man who just stepped into the street to cross. Help me, she said with her eyes, hoping he’d notice her desperation. But how could anyone help her now?
Up ahead, she saw a police car. The tension in her stomach eased when the black and white vehicle pulled up to a large gray building and parked in front of the marble steps leading to—a police station. Thank God. She quickly pulled to the curb directly behind the police car. Two officers got out and one glanced Lissa’s way.
“Everything okay, ma’am?” asked the tall, well-built officer who eyed her curiously.
She turned around. The SUV was no longer in sight.
“Yes, Officer. Everything is okay,” she said, forcing a smile.
“You sure, ma’am?”
“Yes. Yes, we’re fine.”
Fine…for now.
Chapter Eight
Lissa turned off the shower. The gray and white tiled bathroom billowed with steam. She wiped down the foggy mirror with a tissue, and before she could inspect her face, a fuzzy reflection met her when the steam rolled right back. Just as well. In the partial clarity of the reflection, she could imagine herself without wrinkles. She wasn’t sure when time began to etch marks into her once porcelain skin, particularly her eyes, where fine lines now feathered like tiny fans at the outer corners. Probably too many summers out on the beach in South Jersey. She made a silent vow to start wearing sun block. After slipping into her shorts and tank top, she went to the window to let in some air and clear the steam.
She lifted the shade and her breath caught. She stifled a scream seeing a dark-haired man standing at the window. Miss Rucker didn’t mention any men living on the property. An icy fear ran through her. Was he the person in the SUV? He looked to be at least her age, if not older.
“Hello, there,” he called through the window. He lifted the wrench and waved it in the manner of a white flag in surrender mode. “I’m here to fix the air conditioner, ma’am.” Her initial fear simmered to a keen curiosity and she lifted the window open a few inches. “I wasn’t aware it was broken,” she replied, flatly.
“Just maintenance, really. Landlady wanted to make sure her tenants are taken care of.”
“Really?” she replied, eyeing him. Landlady? Didn’t he know her name? He looked a little too clean to be a maintenance worker. His fingernails weren’t smudged with dirt and the leather tool belt around his waist seemed brand new, along with his denim overalls.
“Live two doors down. I don’t think we’ve officially met. I’m Mike Hempstead.”
Okay, so he says he’s a neighbor—still doesn’t get him off the hook. The question: ‘Do you drive an SUV?’ popped into her head but she thought better to squelch it.
“Lissa Logan,” she said, her guard still up.
He nodded his head in a gentlemanly fashion. “Welcome. Pleased to meet you, Miss or is it Mrs. Logan?”
“I’m a widow,” she replied, wondering why he needed to get so personal. Her guard, already high, shifted her nerves into third gear.
His eyebrows furrowed. “Um, sorry ’bout that.” His hazel eyes glinted, and she was glad she dressed before raising the shade.
“Well, don’t let me keep you from your work,” she said, somewhat relieved that he wasn’t a Peeping Tom, though she still had reservations. Anyone can put on a tool belt or overalls and claim to be a repairman.
He gave her polite nod before she closed the sash, locked it, and pulled down the shade.
Chapter Nine
Lissa pulled the last of the clean laundry out of the dryer as her phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me,” came the familiar southern twang.
“Robin, it’s so good to hear from you,” she said and threw the towel she’d been folding back into the basket and plopped down on the sofa.
“Just wanted to say hi and see how y’all were doing.”
For all of her fears about the car stalker and the man by the window, hearing Robin’s voice gave her comfort.
“Um, we’re all right,” Lissa answered with a feigned lightness. She didn’t want to dump her imaginary problems onto her friend, particularly on a long-distance call. She’d painted Pinewood so perfectly to Robin. Never even heard a police siren. Her words came back to haunt her in light of her recent encounters. She didn’t have the heart to tell Robin she’d already spoken to the police. She cleared her throat. “So how about you?” she asked, her tone upbeat.
“Oh, we’re all right, but we sure miss you.”
“Aw, goes the same for us, too,” she gushed as she reached into the basket for a towel and began folding the laundry.
“Alex still talks about Lacy.”
“That’s so sweet, Robin. So, how ’bout you guys? What’s going on?”
“We’re making progress. I picked up two more children to sit for—a pair of twins.”
“Excellent news. Glad to hear it,” Lissa replied, cheerily.
“So how’s your work?”
“Well, work is work, right?” Lissa forced a chuckle. “Actually, Dr. Billing is great. He lets me work from home a couple of days a week.”
“That’s awesome.”
“I know. Such a blessing.”
“Good for you. You deserve it. How’s the new school working out for Lacy?”
“I haven’t heard any complaints yet, so I believe she’s adjusting. She’s made some friends and has a ne
w best friend. Becca.
“Wonderful. And the romance front?”
“The what front?” Lissa laughed. “I don’t think I know that territory.” Not wanting to jinx her new relationship, she kept it to herself, though she was bursting to share the good news.
“You have got to be kiddin’ me, Lissa Logan. Any man would be glad to have you on his arm.”
“Oh, Robin. Spoken like a true friend.”
“I’m serious, woman. You’re the whole package.”
“Not.”
“Stop. You’re ridiculous is what you are. You’ll see.”
Bursting to tell her, Lissa couldn’t hold in her secret much longer. “To be perfectly frank,” she began. “I am seeing someone.”
“Get out. Who?”
“Just an old friend.”
“Friends are good, right?”
“The best.” A smile drew to her lips.
“So don’t keep me in suspense, woman. Tell me.”
“His name is Brian.” She tried not to sound like a school girl.
“Brian,” she echoed. “I like it.”
“Turns out, I’ve known him practically my whole life. We went to grade school together. Smartest kid in the class.” She beamed.
“Are you serious about him?”
“Well…” Lissa replied, her voice raised an octave. Then she quickly lowered it. “He’s married.”
“Aw, shoot. Oh, well.”
“At least, for now he’s married.”
“Oh?”
“Technically. Seems there’s trouble there. He’s unhappy. His wife is, too. She’s probably been unfaithful. He didn’t come right out and say it, but the clues are there.”
“Oh, boy. Poor fella.”
“I know.” She paused. “I’m in a quandary, though.”
“How so?”
“Well, he’s still married. I don’t want to hold my heart out to a married man. Yet I can’t help myself.”
