Pink Slips, Page 2

  As I make up an excuse for my rushing, my nostrils flare in and out, ever so slightly—a tell my husband pointed out once when he caught me fibbing about spending way too much money on cookbooks. I consider fibs less offensive lies. Cheating on your spouse? Now that’s a lie.

  “Well, here you go,” she says.

  “Thank you, Donna. I’ll see you soon.” I smile, take the phone, and slide it into my purse. I roll up the window and let out the breath stuck in my lungs.

  This time the shiver stuck in between my vertebrae isn’t as easy to shake. I rack my brain trying to figure out who’s placing these notes. I’ve been to this doctor’s office so many times over the past few years; anyone could’ve seen me coming and going. Until I know for sure, I’ll pay extra attention to people lurking around, especially near my home.

  I’m not thrilled about getting home to an empty house and possibly facing a crazy stranger before I’ve had a chance to calm down and figure out what to do. I need to regroup. I wish Steven were here.

  I still have time before I get the kids from school, so I drive a far and safe enough distance away from the doctor’s parking lot and pull over onto a street with busy foot traffic—there’s safety in numbers. My heart is dancing in my chest as I swallow and pray this note isn’t like the other one.

  With numb fingers, I examine my scribbled name on the outside of the envelope. The multiple people walking up and down the street with their umbrellas in hand give me a moment of relief before I rip open the note and expose the end of a rose-colored piece of paper—identical to the other. My stomach twists when I imagine what this sicko intends to do. Is it a man? Or maybe a woman? Without thinking, my hand reaches for my growing belly.

  That side door where the first note was placed, camouflaged with hearty boxwood bushes, is behind a locked gate—so much for privacy. I thought our fence was secure and safe? I guess not. While I’m thinking of it, I grab my to-do list out of my purse and add another item to the ever-growing collection of chores: Install a stronger deadbolt on side gate— maybe a higher fence. Move hidden key from under rock. I’ll scratch that one off the list right when I get home.

  I take a breath and read the second note.

  I want your baby.

  My face heats as my hands stay icy. I shake my head. Well, if the goal was to scare the tar out of me, the stalker is succeeding. Let’s hope it’s all words and no actions. Let’s hope he or she is unaware that my husband is out of town.

  The intense beat in my temples escalates as I fight off a sensation more crippling than falling from a cliff. Ever since the attack in Chicago, I scrutinize everyone I meet; the tangle of anxiety ignites my nervous system whenever I’m away from home or work. These notes justify my fright as I relive being pushed to the wet pavement and kicked in the gut. The attacker didn’t steal my bag or my beloved watch, but he did rob me of my first baby… and gave me cuts and bruises as a reminder. That rib still gives me trouble.

  The notes prove there’s someone wanting to hurt me again, someone who hopefully hasn’t broken into my house and injured my dog. Oh God! I need to get home and protect Barney! I check the door locks, then stuff the new note into my purse and race home.

  I try to calm down as I turn onto my street. The lush, warm-hued rainbow of leaves on the trees and sculptured bushes along this strip of road reminds me that I live in a picturesque suburban bubble. Still, as I pull into the driveway, I realize I’ve turned my home into a fortress—for good reason.

  I pull into the detached garage and shut the door. Sitting inside my car, I finally let it all out like a breaking dam—it can’t be stopped. I clench the steering wheel, shoulders shuddering, propelling uncontrollable sobs—tears of fear and regret for fighting with Steven before he got on that plane to San Francisco. He swears he doesn’t cheat on me, but I fear the distance and days away might tempt him just like it did a few years ago with his secretary. At this point, with two kids and another on the way, I have no other choice but to believe him.

  After several minutes, my fit subsides as I sniffle and catch another glance of myself in the rearview mirror. Forget the rain—these tears certainly do a number on mascara. I rummage through my purse and grab a tissue to get rid of the smeared makeup on my face. After texting my parents to ask them to pick up my sons at school and come over right away, I muster the courage to work my way through the rain and get ready to confront this threat, head on, as I quickly dial 911.

  Thankfully, Barney is fine. I hurry to double check the locks on every door and window on the first floor as Barney follows close behind, his collar jingling with each step. I know they’re locked, but being paranoid is part of who I am these days. It never hurts to double check. The boys’ beds are a rumpled mess with clumps of dirty shirts and underwear on the floor. The master bath still has a little puddle on the marble in front of the shower door. My wet loafers squeak on the polished surface as I grab a towel and dab the spot, then toss the towel in the hamper in the corner. I hurry down the stairs and onto the dark hardwood floors. I wobble-jog past the hall table and through the kitchen to double-check the latch on the door to the back patio, then pivot and proceed to greet the police officers as the doorbell rings.

  The officers in front of me are wearing their official uniforms with shiny badges, telling me they’re Officers Flaggler and Wilson. The guns holstered on their hips, not to mention the lack of wrinkles and gray hair, distract me.

  After a brief greeting, Office Flaggler, the young male officer, asks, “Ma’am, when did you notice the first note?”

  “Last night.”

  “What time?”

  “It was after I walked my dog. I don’t know. Why does the exact time matter?”

  “Ma’am, I’m just doing my job.”

  My cheeks fill with pink as I reply, “I’m sorry. It was after dinner, so I’m guessing between seven and eight last night.”

  He doesn’t look up as he writes down each and every word.

  “… and you say you received a second note today at your doctor’s office?

  “Yes. It was left on the counter, so they didn’t see who left it.”

  “Do you know anyone who would want to threaten you like this?” he asks.

  “No, not really, except—”

  “Not really, or no?”

  I shoot him a sideways glance and answer, “No.” Who’s on trial here? “My son told me he saw a man across the street, the other night. He just told me about it this morning. I didn’t think the person he saw was related to the first note because it was delivered last night. Honestly, I thought my son may have just seen our neighbor, Mr. Swanson. However, after receiving a second note today, it appears they may be related. I know I should’ve called you about it first thing this morning, but I didn’t take it as seriously as I should have.”

  Office Flaggler nods. “I’ve added it to your file, so don’t worry about that right now. We’ve searched the perimeter of your yard, around the patio and grill area, and along the doors and windows and didn’t see any signs of forced entry.” He reads from his notepad, then looks down, raising his eyebrows, “Did your son get a good look at the man?”

  “He only said the man was big. He said the man was across the street—he couldn’t get a good look at him.”

  “Have you noticed anything disrupted around your home or property?”

  “Like I told you, I found the note taped to my side door, that’s it. We always keep our gates locked. There hasn’t been any damage that I can see.”

  “Perhaps the person has a key, or they hopped your fence to put the note there?”

  Good point! Inhaling through my nose and forcefully pushing it out again, I squish my eyebrows and respond, “What else can I do?” I didn’t want him to think I was rude, but this whole ordeal was really frustrating for me.

  “We’ll file a report and keep it open just in case something else comes up.”

  “What would come up?”

  The female officer chim
es in. “What he’s saying is, until we establish more clues or catch the person, we will continue to work on it from our end. If you figure out the identity of the stalker, then you must come in to the station and fill out a formal stalker no contact order. This is an official form filed to identify who is stalking you. That way we’ll have it on record. If we don’t have an identity, we can’t proceed with legal action.”

  My clenched fists release. “Will you offer me security guards around my home?”

  Officer Wilson shakes her head. “Mrs. Ryan, we don’t have the manpower in this district to offer that type of exclusive protection, but rest assured, we will have more squad cars roaming the area. That should deter any future notes from being placed on your property.” She puts her hand on my shoulder and gives it a little squeeze.

  The warmth in her hand and the use of my name dispel any unsure thoughts I had about her age earlier, reinforcing my love for this small town. “Thanks. I’ll contact you if anything else happens.”

  Officer Flaggler hands me a business card and says, “Here’s our contact information. Call anytime.” He flashes the first grin I’ve seen on him since he arrived, signaling to me that he’s satisfied with the report. I hope they make some headway and catch this stalker.

  Swinging the door shut, I ask Barney, “Well, buddy, what do you think? They did exactly what I expected they’d do. Not much.”

  My dog stands next to me, looking up, and lets out a half-groan, half-bark as if he’s yelling at me. My running about and anxiety he’s witnessed today must be quite a lot to handle for a sensitive dog like him.

  Now that I’ve reported this crime, I’m hoping my nerves will calm down a bit so I can sit and relax for five minutes. I find relief in the form of my safe and comfy leather chair in the corner of our family room. Leaning back on the soft throw pillows, I wait for the microwave to complete its task of warming the water for my tea. I grab my leg above the ankle and place it on the opposite knee, giving my hip a good stretch. It’s amazing where stress hides in the human body.

  When my parents come in with the boys, Barney sits at attention by my feet while the baby is jolting my rib. I fiddle with the fringe on a pillow, making a tiny braid as I glance over at my mom, who’s watching my sons place their backpacks on the hooks in the mudroom. My dad is close behind, ushering them into the other room to “do homework,” while telling Morgan how awesome he is since learning to write his ABCs in kindergarten. I imagine another little blue or pink backpack hanging on a third hook soon.

  A warm sensation comes over me as I realize Barney is trying to get my attention. A thought comes to mind: He’ll always protect me. I lower my eyes to meet his as he intently stares back. He wags his stub of a tail, rhythmically knocking it on the floor, as he pulls his mouth into a dog smile. I return the smile and reach down to scratch behind his ears.

  The microwave’s beeeep rouses me from my warm seat in the living room to retrieve my mug and add my favorite medicinal brew. Herbal tea has always soothed and centered me, and I’m hoping today it does the trick to steady my shaking hands.

  I consider my next words to Mom as I wait for the tea to steep. I flick my eyes to her. She’s sitting on the overstuffed couch, thumbing through a magazine. Her soft, gray hair almost blends in with the painting hanging on the wall behind her of a calm lake, reflecting smoky clouds and a deep teal mountain ridge. We’re waiting for the kids to leave the room so I can tell her what’s going on.

  I swallow before speaking. “Here’s the deal. Last night, I received a threatening note from someone I may or may not know, something about how I’m being watched.” I see her eyes widen as the weight of this incident rests on her heart. “And then another arrived this afternoon—at my doctor’s office. Before you and Dad brought the boys home, the police arrived to check on the house and take my statement.”

  “Good heavens, Betsy.” My mother gasps, causing the weathered skin on her forehead to crease. “Are you okay? I knew something was up when you texted us. What did the authorities say?”

  “After they took my statement, they also snapped pictures of the notes, looked inside and around the house, and even through the bushes in the yard. They told me to call if I spot the stalker or receive another threat. That’s about it. Since I saw no one, the notes were the only evidence—not much else to go on. They told me that once I have the identity of the stalker I should go in and file a stalker no contact order. Then they can zero in on my case.”

  After throwing the saturated tea bag into the sink, I join Mom on the couch, next to where Barney is sitting on the floor, to continue our conversation. This is one of many private discussions he’s been privy to over the years—without regard, aside from his chuffing and woofing.

  Mom’s taut shoulders give her frame an uneven look as she smiles and says in her most comforting voice, “Well, at least they came and have it on record that the incident happened. I guess they’re doing the best they can. We should spend more time together and keep our eyes open until Steven gets back in town. Have you spoken to him since your most recent disagreement?”

  “Yeah, I agree. I expected more from the authorities.” I sigh. “As far as Steven goes, when he left the other day, we agreed to discuss the possible move and his late-night meetings when he returns. He’s been traveling back and forth from the West Coast for work a lot this month while his company finalizes the corporate merger, and it’s beginning to bother the boys.”

  “How is it bothering them? Did they say something?”

  Repositioning myself on the couch, I reply, “This morning, Kyle told me about a man he saw across the street the other night, but I assumed it was just the neighbor. I know he witnessed the disagreement me and Steven had, so I’m sure the two things combined are concerning him.”

  My mother’s eyebrows raise, and her eyes widen again as she shoots me a look, one I haven’t seen since the attack years ago. “What man, Betsy? This is serious. We can talk about your marital bumps later.”

  I push my tongue to the roof of my mouth to refrain from snapping at her. “Kyle told me that the other night he got up to go to the bathroom and he heard a strange noise outside. At the window, he saw a man in the shadows next to the neighbor’s house, looking up at him.” I pause and shift in my seat again to lean in closer to Mom so I can lower my voice. “He asked me if the stranger was a bad guy. I told him he wasn’t because I didn’t want to scare the wits out of him… but now I’m not so sure. I told the police, and they have it in the report. The problem is, we don’t have a good description of the person, except that it was a ‘big man,’ according to Kyle.”

  Mom takes a deep breath, and her voice softens as she says, “It’s good you told police about him, but I wish you had a better description.”

  “I know! Just that he was big. That’s all I could get from a seven-year-old boy. I didn’t want to press Kyle when he told me because I feared he would get even more frightened.”

  “Oh heavens, you must be so scared. The last couple of days I’ve noticed that he’s been more reserved than usual and always looking over at you to make sure you’re here. This man that he saw explains his behavior.”

  Her eyes meet mine as a tear rolls down my cheek. My innocent son shouldn’t be running to the windows and reacting to scary, crashing sounds in his own home.

  “When Kyle asked if I was mad about him not telling me right away, I told him, ‘I’m not mad. It was just the neighbor from next door, coming back late from work.’ What if it was the jerk from the city or some other crazy person? I can’t see how he would have figured out my address this many years later. I never found out if he was the one who stole my ID badge, but since the police never caught him, I just don’t know.”

  I visualize myself, a petite mom, going toe-to-toe with a psychopathic stalker. The result would be cuts, bruises, and screaming, just like my last attack—but this time I’d fight to the death to save my baby. Maybe I need a gun?

  “You have a very stron
g sense of intuition, Betsy. You always have. Your son must follow suit.” Mom leans in and wraps her arm around me, the same way she has a thousand times before.

  Kyle’s little blond crew cut and pale blue eyes are like his father’s, yet I see a sweet, young boy, a person who’s just beginning his life. He does, however, share my habit of looking over his shoulder and double-checking the door locks and windows. Something he inherited from me. His only concern should be playing, learning, and being a kid.

  The tightness in my neck and upper back loosens up after talking with Mom. I get up and circle my kitchen island, dragging my left hand along the putty-colored granite, cradling the teacup with my right. I glance around the room, embracing the warmth of my home, accented with muted gray pillows, subtle teal textures on the couch, and soothing brown carpeting and hardwood. The plants in the corner by the patio door are thriving in the flood of light throughout the day.

  “Mom, I love living here… in Westin Heights, in this neighborhood, and in this house. But I’m feeling unsafe. Just like I felt in the city after the attack.”

  “Honey, you have always been fearful since that man assaulted you. I think we should treat this threat as seriously as we did that one. We should tell your father about the letters,” she says, her voice nearly a whisper. “And the man.”

  “What man?” my dad chimes in as he walks in the room cradling a small pile of brown gunk in his hand. Morgan is trailing close behind him.

  “I’ll fill you in when you-know-who leaves the room.” I stick out my tongue and scrunch up my nose. “But, eeewwww. What is that?”

  “It’s Morgan’s fake puppy poop, my dear.” My dad chuckles with his signature belly laugh while shooting me a wink. “We got it from the joke shop in the mall. I’m here to admit that I’m exposing your son to my world of sick humor.” He smiles at Morgan, who’s already grinning from ear to ear, minus a front tooth.