Don't Blink

by L. G. Davis

  I had only planned to stay for a week in a tiny cottage by the beach, but one morning I decided to go for a swim and met Jared Lester, a handsome man in his late thirties with surfer looks and eyes the same china-blue color as mine. He was taking pictures of seagulls until he saw me and focused his camera on me instead. Afraid he was a private detective, I panicked and bolted. In my rush to get away, I twisted my ankle, and he came to my aid. In the days that followed, he visited my cottage every morning on his way to the beach.

  The way he looked after me, the way he looked at me, the way he said my name, healed some of the wounds I used to carry on the surface of my heart. The walls came down, and I let him in. We fell in love fast and hard. The need to be loved again was so strong that my heart forced me to forget New York and stay in Faypine for good.

  Now, here I am, married to Jared and living in a beautiful cottage by the sea. The cottage was a wedding present from him, and it happens to be only a few blocks from the one I’d rented the summer we fell in love.

  In my dark moments, I still fear I’ll wake up one day to find it all gone. I never stop wondering what he would do if he found out the truth about me. I’ve tried opening up to him several times over the years, to tell him about Paige Wilson, but the fear of losing him made me pull back every time. As far as he knows, I was born in New York, and my parents, Megan and Dan Borgen, died in a car accident when I was one, leaving me in the care of my maternal grandmother, who later died when I was in college, pursuing an education and mathematics degree.

  Maybe it was stupid of me to tell him about my true educational background, but I wanted to keep something from the past—something I loved. Just as much as I could not let go of the ocean, I couldn’t let go of mathematics. I’d be completely lost without my passion for numbers. I find comfort in the classroom just as much as I find it in the sea. But I pray every day that no one will find out that my rather convincing college degree is fake and that it was accompanied by a fake resume and references, all paid for with a lot of money.

  I tell myself that the past will never catch up, even though the little voice inside my head tells me it’s a lie. Every morning I choose to ignore that voice. Today is no different.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Lester. I can feel your eyes on my back.” Jared turns to me with a smile. He’s holding a wooden spoon.

  “How do you do that? I didn’t make a sound.” I lift my hands to my hair to force my red curls into a red velvet hair scrunchy.

  “I’d feel your presence in a packed room, my love.” He steps away from the stove and gives me a kiss on the lips. In between the breakfast aromas, I catch a whiff of the woody and minty undertone of his cologne. “Let me.” He takes the hair scrunchy from my hand and turns me around by the shoulders.

  I close my eyes as my husband ties my hair into its everyday ponytail. He thinks I’m a curly-haired redhead, not the blonde I used to be. I work hard to keep it that way, never giving my hair a chance to show its real roots. He once told me it was my hair he fell in love with first, from behind the lens of his camera, before he even heard my voice.

  “Thank you,” I say when he’s done, turning back to face him.

  “Have I told you lately how gorgeous you look pregnant?” He touches my cheek with the tip of a finger. The love in his eyes makes me breathless with happiness.

  “You better mean that.” I laugh, peeling my gaze from his to my swollen belly. I love being pregnant. I’m willing to pay whatever price it takes to bring our baby into the world. The morning sickness, the heartburn, and all the aches and pains that come with pregnancy are all worth it.

  Jared leans in closer, pressing his body against mine, transferring his heat to my body. He puts his arms around me. “You bet I mean it. In fact, I’d like to have a few more after this one.”

  My stomach twists as I lean back to look into his eyes. We’ve been married for three years and tried to have a baby from the first day. But we failed over and over again, miscarriage after miscarriage. Just when I gave up on ever being able to have his child, convinced it’s my punishment for everything I’ve done, I got pregnant. But can we really get lucky a second or third time around?

  The last months of this pregnancy have been both exhilarating and exhausting. As much as I look forward to seeing my baby, I fear I might lose it. Instead of responding to my husband, I just smile and kiss him.

  Jared approaches our kitchen table and pulls out a chair for me. As I lower myself into it, my canary yellow maternity dress drapes onto the sides. Along with a new name and a new life, I’ve given my clothing style a much needed splash of color. No more blacks for me.

  On his way back to the stove, Jared turns on the radio to a country music station. As the music plays, he serves me my breakfast: a full plate filled with toast, bacon, sausages, and poached eggs.

  The rumble of the mail van causes me to peer out the window. Troy Wendel hops from the dusty van and opens our gate, a package tucked under his arm. He disappears out of view as he approaches our front door.

  “Something else for the baby?” Jared winks.

  “Hey, don’t look at me like that. Babies need a lot of things.” I attempt to stand from the table, but he places a hand on my shoulder.

  “Eat. I’ll get it.” He breezes out of the kitchen to receive yet another package I’d ordered online. I can’t even remember what it is.

  A few minutes later, Jared reappears in the kitchen and places the package on an empty chair. He bends to kiss me on the forehead. “I’ll see you later, my love.”

  I swallow the bacon I’ve been chewing and pout. “You won’t eat with me?”

  “You’re not eating alone.” He bends to kiss my stomach.

  I ruffle his chestnut, wind-blown hair. “You know I won’t be able to finish all this food. You always give me too much.”

  “I’m sorry, babe. I need to get to the studio. I have a lot to do before my trip to Campeche.” He glances out the window. “Why don’t you invite Ruby over? She’s been trying to get you to meet up.”

  I raise my shoulders and let them drop again. “I don’t know. I don’t get why she suddenly likes us. I thought she hated me.”

  “People change.” Jared kisses me again and heads upstairs to get dressed.

  Alone in the kitchen, I allow the music to wash over me. I feel safe here, in this town, in my beautiful kitchen. When we’d moved into our new home, the kitchen had lacked life, sucked out of it by mud-brown, broken cabinets, a stained floor and countertops, and mold everywhere. Looking at it now, with its glossy, white cabinets, a tempered glass backsplash, and lots of lighting, it’s barely recognizable.

  My mind takes me to the time we bought every cabinet and appliance, and how much fun we had choosing each piece.

  Our kitchen is far removed from the one in my childhood, which had been cold and dirty and was never the setting for much laughter or home-cooked meals. The one appliance that worked overtime was the oven, which heated frozen meals.

  This kitchen is my second chance, a place I want to fill with love, laughter, and good food.

  I feel at home inside this cottage and Faypine as a whole. Except for when I bump into Ruby Whitmore.

  Since the day we moved into the cottage, the little old lady with one curly hair on her chin had never once greeted us. She’d pass us on the street pretending she didn’t even see us. Apparently, our cottage had once belonged to her best friend, Wilma, who had died a year before Jared bought it. Maybe Ruby has finally come to accept that her friend will not be coming back. Perhaps she’s finally ready to welcome us to the neighborhood.

  Jared is right, people do change. I make a mental note to make time to accept one of her invitations to tea. She’s just a lonely old woman in need of company. What’s the harm in me going over? I should be fine as long as I’m careful about what I tell her. Good thing I’m an expert at the lying game.

  Jared walks back into the kitchen, wearing the same T-shirt with jeans, smelling of soap and af
tershave. “I’ve got to go. I love you.”

  “Bye, honey.” I get up from the table and sink into his arms. “Don’t forget the doctor’s appointment at four.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Less than a minute later, I watch him walking out of our gate and stepping into his Honda. After a brief wave, he drives off.

  Back in the kitchen, I manage to eat a piece of bread and wash it down with apple juice. My stomach can’t handle any more food, but burdened with the guilt of not finishing the meal Jared put so much love and effort into preparing, I pack some of it into a lunchbox to eat at Silver Oak High School, where I’m a math teacher.

  It was never my intention to go back to full-time teaching, afraid it would be all too easy to get my cover blown, but after giving private math lessons to many kids around town and helping them improve their grades drastically, word got around about the teacher working behind the scenes.

  Just as I had back home in Corlake, Florida, I make math fun for my students. That’s a passion that will never go away no matter how far I run from the past.

  After a couple of months of tutoring, Georgia Dally, Silver Oak’s principal, showed up at my door, asking me if I wanted a job. I resisted taking the job for a month, but the desire to be inside a classroom wouldn’t go away until I gave in, terrified that Georgia would discover that my documents are fake. When I handed them to her, she barely even looked at them, more focused on the success I’d had with the students I privately tutored.

  Every time she calls me to her office, I fear it’s because she knows the truth and wants to fire me, but it’s been almost three years, and I still have my job.

  At Silver Oak, I park my Volkswagen Beetle in my assigned parking spot and remove several folders from the back seat. Inside the school, several students are hanging out in the hallways. The girls sport navy and burgundy pleated skirts, white shirts, and burgundy ties, while the boys have the same shirts and ties but with navy pants. Each girl with long hair has a ponytail adorned with a navy ribbon.

  Every time I walk into Silver Oak, memories of Baxter Junior High flood my mind. The sounds of shoes squeaking on the floor, locker doors slamming, and the smells of sweet perfume, sweat, and hair spray never fail to transport me back to Corlake.

  I shove the memories aside before they’re followed by the image of Dylan lying dead inside the presidential suite of the Brookside Hotel. My first husband’s memory is always accompanied by that of my brother’s disappearance, and possible death.

  On the way to my class, I greet students, turning a blind eye to those catching up on homework before classes start.

  Before I open the door to my classroom, someone calls my name. I turn around with a smile.

  Ralph Jenkins, a tall art teacher with hair the color of field oats tied in a ponytail, a tanned, square face, and lips that are always on the edge of a smile, is making his way through the throng of students, hurrying toward me. Although he has adopted the nickname of Mr. Art, I stick to calling him by his real name.

  When I started working at Silver Oak, I was determined not to make any friends. I was here for work and nothing else. The more people I let into my life, the higher my chances of being discovered. It was hard at first as I missed having someone to talk to. Every time I saw my colleagues hanging out together, I felt lonely and missed Thalia so much. Over the years, I’d been tempted to give her a call to see how she’s doing and tell her that I’m fine, but resisted.

  Ralph was so easy to talk to, so kind that it became hard to push him away, and we became friends. And what I loved most about Ralph is that he didn’t ask too many questions about my past. Ours is an easy friendship, and I feel comfortable around him.

  When Ralph is close enough, he leans toward me for a kiss on the cheek, but I step away. Over his shoulder, I spot a group of teenage boys snickering as they gaze in our direction.

  I clear my throat. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  Ralph follows my gaze. There were a few times where a group of students passed on a rumor that Mr. Art and Mrs. Lester were having an affair. The rumor went on for a couple of weeks, with notes passed around classes at every opportunity. Since we simply ignored it or laughed it off, the lie eventually died down. To me, Ralph is like a brother, and our friendship is completely platonic. It was hard to convince Jared about that fact when the rumors somehow managed to reach his ears. Thankfully after the students stopped making up things, Jared and I never spoke of Ralph again, even though I do notice him visibly tensing every time we run into Ralph or his fiancée, Marissa, in town.

  To put my husband at ease, I rarely meet Ralph outside of school anymore. I love my husband and cherish our marriage too much to hurt us that way. I’d never take my life for granted, not for one second.

  “Yeah, I forgot.” He pauses. “Can you believe Marissa still thinks the rumors about us are true? I keep telling her she has nothing to worry about, that we’re only friends. She’s not buying it.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I place a hand on my stomach. “I can talk to her if you like.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Ralph runs a hand down one side of his face, over the five o’clock shadow he never lets go of. “Enough about me. How are you and the baby?”

  “We’re good. We have another doctor’s appointment today.”

  “I’m really happy for you, Caitlin.” His deep, baritone voice lowers. “I know how much you wanted to have a baby.”

  “I’m happy for me, too.” I hug my folders to my chest. “I have to go. I need to make some copies for an algebra test I have planned for my class. See you later?”

  “Sure.”

  “Will you stop by the lounge?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I need a strong coffee before facing the little monsters.”

  I reach into my oversized bag and pull out the lunchbox. “Can you put this in the fridge for me?”

  “No problem.” He takes the lunchbox and walks away. “See you around, Mrs. Lester.”

  As I watch him walk away, a slight limp in his stride, I take in the scene of students opening and closing their lockers or catching up on gossip, teachers hurrying into classrooms, and parents saying goodbye to their kids. My gaze moves to the artwork on the walls as my baby kicks inside of me.

  A warm glow radiates through me. This is my life now. I am so lucky. Paige Wilson is gone with all her bad luck. But how long until I wake up to find it all gone?

  I don’t give myself a moment to dwell on that. Instead, I resume the walk to my classroom, the heels of my shoes slapping against the hardwood floor. For now, I still have my life. For now, I’m happy.

  THE MOMENT I ENTER the staff lounge and my eyes meet those of Lilliana Spooner, a chemistry teacher in her early thirties, my stomach knots. She’s sitting at the long table in the center of the room, watching me. She doesn’t like me. The feeling is mutual.

  At every job, there’s always someone you can’t stand or don’t get along with. Lilliana is one of those people for me. She has a way of rubbing me the wrong way every time we meet. I’ve tried being kind to her, but she never seems to warm up to me, and she never misses the opportunity to point out my mistakes.

  As I make my way across the room to get to the fridge, she follows me with her dark, snake-like eyes while twirling a lock of raven hair around her index finger. Ralph is in the room as well, sitting on the opposite end of the table, eating a banana.

  Although I don’t have a problem with someone disliking me, I can never stop wondering whether she’s able to see right through me. Maybe she knows I’m not real, that I’m hiding something. Maybe she sees me right through to my dark core. Or it could be just my imagination.

  “Hi, Lilliana.” I take my lunchbox from the fridge, where Ralph had put it earlier. Just because she’s not nice to meet doesn’t mean I have to be the same to her. “How’s your day?”

  “Not bad.” She doesn’t cover up the chill in her voice. She continues to w
atch me, her elfin face pinched, as I take a few steps toward the microwave. It’s already occupied, and through the little window, I can see a bowl of soup inside. I wait until the microwave pings before opening it. When I reach inside for the bowl of soup, Lilliana suddenly appears at my side and closes the microwave again. The aroma of chicken drifts into my nostrils.

  “It needs longer.” She studies her long nails. “I’m sure you can wait, Caitlin.”

  “It’s steaming,” I retort.

  “It’s been in there for a while,” Ralph says in a sharp tone of voice.

  Lilliana throws him a look. “Maybe I like my food hot.”

  I don’t need Ralph to look out for me. I’ve had it with her. Determined to put her in her place, I open the microwave again and remove the steaming bowl, placing it on the counter.

  “Enjoy.” I place my own lunchbox inside the microwave.

  Ralph clears his throat. I’m sure he wants to laugh but doesn’t want to piss Lilliana off even more.

  Lilliana grabs her bowl but quickly puts it down again when it scalds her fingers. Without looking at me, she grips a kitchen towel, wraps it around the bowl and lifts it. Cursing under her breath, she walks through the door, leaving behind traces of her Chanel No. 5.

  Ralph and I burst into laughter just as the other staff members trickle in, filling the room with discussions about lesson plans, highlights of the day, gossip, and jokes.

  Instead of staying to eat with everyone, I retreat to my classroom to eat alone while preparing for my next lesson. In between bites, I ignore the tightening knot in the pit of my stomach that always precedes a visit to the OB/GYN.

  CHAPTER 27

  “What did you say your name was?” The secretary moves her head closer to the computer, and I watch her golden-brown eyes move from side to side as she reads whatever is on the screen.