Chapter 5

Emma

The rest of the afternoon, I was haunted by Viktor. My conversation with Darcy had only added fuel to the fire. I wondered what my uncle would find out from his background check, that’s if his men could even get anything from just a phone number. I wondered how dangerous Viktor was, and why he turned me on, despite leaving me with the impression that I couldn’t trust him. And most of all, I wondered what his reaction would be if I really did call him and ask if he wanted to go out for coffee.

Had he ever been asked out by a woman? Would he be flattered? Scandalized? Interested? And what would I do if he actually said yes?

It was so out of character for me, wanting someone this badly but being this wary of him as well. It made it hard for me to focus. But my patients needed me, so I buckled down and did everything I could to put him out of my mind.

My two o’clock, Melanie, came in trying to hide a black eye with makeup. Her husband had finally shown his true colors. I helped her get a bed at an emergency shelter and sat holding her hand while she made her police report. The whole time, despite taking the steps needed to free herself, she shook and cried like a frightened young girl.

Fortunately, I didn’t have a three o’clock that day, because we ran over by several minutes just handling everything Melanie needed to get done. But afterward, trying to take a minute to decompress in my empty office, I found that I couldn’t relax.

Packing up hurriedly after finishing my paperwork, I was again struck by that feeling of being watched. My head whipped around, and I did a quick survey of the windows, but they were all covered with drapes and blinds. No one could have seen inside—I certainly couldn’t see out. But the sense of foreboding just wouldn’t go away.

What is this? Why does this keep happening?First this morning, and now this. And this time was even more inexplicable. What was my back brain worried about? Hidden cameras? Someone hacking into my open laptop remotely to spy on me through the camera?

No, that was ridiculous. My life was not a spy thriller.

Was it nerves from dealing with Melanie’s situation? Anxiety because it was growing close to that terrible anniversary that I hated thinking about? Wariness because of the Viktor situation? Or just my uncle’s paranoia, finally getting to me?

I hurriedly got everything together and got out of there, the back of my neck prickling with fear. After locking up and checking everything twice, I emerged into the bright afternoon sun and looked around. Nothing out of the ordinary. No sign of a fancy black coupe with tinted windows. No sign of anyone watching.

Maybe I’m just losing it,I thought tiredly as I headed for my car.

I was ten minutes late picking Nick up. He was more used to that than he should have been, it felt like a failing on my part. I apologized in the car on the way to the park, he forgave me in three seconds and started chattering about his day.

“So Jose brought a frog to school. He found one during the rain because he has a creek in his backyard. It was just a little one. He had it in a big jar with some mud and water and stuff. It stuck to the glass like a suction cup.” He was wiggling with excitement at the prospect of going to see the doggies. I smiled as I listened.

“What happened when he showed off his new friend?”

Nick giggled. “He thought the girls would get all scared because frogs are slimy, but they thought it was cute. So he showed it to Mrs. Hamilton, and she got all scared instead. She made him go down to the pond and set him free.”

“Well, I’m guessing that was pretty disappointing, but she’s right. Frogs want to be free, with their little froggy friends, not stuck in a jar.” I pulled into the park’s single strip of parking spaces and did a quick look around the playground for anyone who looked suspicious before turning off my engine.

“Don’t people have pet frogs, though?”

“They do, but those are special frogs. They grow up in terrariums and are usually bigger.” I didn’t know quite how to explain domestication to him yet. But he was already staring at the doggies in the dog park enclosure and starting to bounce in his seat.

“How come we can’t get a dog?” he asked, and I winced.

“I didn’t say we can’t get one, honey, I said that we have to puppy-proof the house first. Get the fence fixed. We have to get ready first, so the puppy can’t run away or get into something he shouldn’t.” It wasn’t the first time we’d had this conversation, but the little guy was five. I couldn’t expect him to remember every explanation.

“Oh. Okay. Um, so, when can we get the fence fixed?”

I got us out and the car locked up, checking our surroundings carefully before taking his hand and walking over to the dog park. “I should have enough to cover it in a few weeks. Meanwhile we can handle some smaller stuff inside.” Fortunately, I had already kid-proofed the place years ago, and that covered a lot of the needed changes. But Nick was still learning patience.

I spent an hour watching Nick throw balls for the dogs and talking to their owners. Most of those there were regulars, and more than happy to let Nick wear out his arms lobbing tennis balls as far as he could for their dogs.

I chatted with a friendly, athletic young blond guy whose golden retriever-mix puppy wagged fearlessly among the grown dogs as we kept an eye on the yard. The rest of my attention was split, my eyes roaming the area every minute or so, in a visual sweep like one of Uncle Charles’s security guards had taught me. No signs of any trouble, just the curious blond, who finally commented. “You look around a lot. You’re not hiding from an ex or something, are you?”

I laughed awkwardly. “No, I’m just a native. I know how LA can be.”

“Yeah.” He took out a cigarette, and almost had it between his lips before he remembered and tucked it away again. We were ten feet from the No Smoking sign and a couple of the regulars were Karens about it. I wasn’t exactly, but I was still glad. Nick didn’t need that in his lungs, and he always stuck fairly near when we were out together. “You thinking of getting your kid a dog?”

“We’re talking about it. I have to prepare first, you know, make sure there’s a solid fence around our yard.”

“He’s good with them,” he commented, a hint of an accent in his voice. “Not grabby, doesn’t get scared.”

“Yeah, he’s an amazing kid. I’ll be looking around for a best friend for him as soon as I handle the whole fence thing.” It was such a relief to talk about something normal after everything that had happened today.

“You should get a pittie. They’re good dogs and they love kids. Don’t let the reputation fool you.”

I nodded. “Half the world seems to think pit bulls are scary killers by nature, because of how they’ve being used as guard and fighting dogs a lot. But I like them.”

“Yeah, dogs get judged for their jobs just like people do,” he said distractedly. “What kind of dog does your boy like?” His pup came wiggling up, wagging her whole butt, one ear flopped inside out. He flipped her ear back over and gave her a scratch.

“Oh, that changes almost daily. I’m hoping he settles on one breed soon, because otherwise we’ll probably go with my preference.”

“What’s that?”

“Medium-sized pound mutt, or whatever pups are most in need of homes.” Which circled back to pit bulls.

“Always a good choice. I never understood the need for those places. Who the hell dumps a perfectly good dog?”

“You know, I work in psychology, and I still don’t understand that.” If I was honest about it, people did a lot of things that baffled me still. “But I don’t think doing things like that says anything good about a person.”

He flashed me an oddly guilty look and coughed into his fist. “Well, I’ve got to get going. Have a good evening.”

He scooped up the pup a little awkwardly and carried it to his car instead of attaching a leash. It seemed a little strange to me, but I shrugged it off because right now, I couldn’t trust my own emotions.

Everything seemed scary. I imagined I was being watched even when that wasn’t possible. My judgment, my instincts—they didn’t seem to make any sense today.

The hottest man I have ever met also scares me for reasons I can’t put my finger on. Some nice guy with his first dog suddenly makes me nervous out of nowhere because… why? Because he left his leash in the car? This is getting ridiculous.

Finally, my phone alarm beeped, the hour was up. I called out to Nick, who came over reluctantly. “Gotta get home if you want to get in some game time tonight,” I pointed out, and he brightened and took my hand.

I couldn’t stop myself from checking my rearview mirror way too often on the drive home. There was no evidence at all that I had been watched in the park, no evidence at all that anyone had followed us home. But if I hadn’t checked, and something had happened, I knew I would never have forgiven myself.

Better to look dumb and paranoid than to be dumb and have something happen I might have avoided. But it still bothered me that I couldn’t seem to pin down the real cause of these fleeting attacks of fear. That sense of being watched. My odd reactions to people.

Does the therapist need a therapist now? I had been to one for years, both because it was good praxis when you were in the business, and because of what had happened to my family. Maybe it’s time to go back?

***

In spite of my earlier worries and catastrophizing, we had a quiet night. No strange phone calls, no knocks on the door, nothing to disturb dinner, games, chores, reading time, or bath time. It was completely ordinary.

I still checked the locks on every door and window more times than I could count. And once, headed for bed in my nightie after turning off most of the lights, that sense of being watched returned, and froze me in my tracks.

I looked outside and couldn’t tell where it was coming from. The silhouettes of the bushes made man-shapes to paranoid eyes, but when the breeze hit the leaves, they broke up into ordinary shadows. My gaze flitted around to every dark spot in my side yard, in the neighbor’s side yard. Then, frustrated, I yanked the drapes closed.

I checked the locks one last time before I went to bed, and even then, sat up for a long time, listening hard for anything that would make my fear make sense.