2. Ruby

TWO

Iorder most everything I need online. It's habit now. Will's definition of ‘stay at home wife' meant that I could rarely leave the apartment in Springfield. Only when it was something he needed instantly, or that couldn't be delivered, did he give me permission to go out on my own. More often than not, he expected me to wait until he got off of work so he could join me, my ever-present fucking shadow, but on a few occasions, I was allowed out on my own.

I'm still getting used to doing that now. That if I want to run to the grocery store, Target, or grab something to eat without cooking it myself or waiting for delivery, I can. Merrill Grove isn't as big or populated as Springfield, but it's a cute little town where I thought I'd be safe.

And, thanks to an anonymous man known only as the Watcher, I think I am.

I don't know who he is. I'm only guessing when I think of him as a man, and maybe I'm making this all up in my head, too, because I haven't heard from him since he sent me Will's wedding ring. I still can't shake the feeling that I'm under a microscope, even when I look around and no one else is there—not even my dead husband.

But the message… the unsaid threat—or maybe promise—in the for now has me obsessing more and more over the Watcher. Is that why he targeted my husband? I thought it was because of me, but maybe not in the way I first believed.

Does he want to be my savior—or my next lover?

And why doesn't the idea that he killed Will to get to me scare me the way it should?

It should. I've never been brave; running is always my MO when I'm in trouble. And I've been in trouble more times than I can count.

Shit. What is it about me that I've always seemed to attract the most broken, the most controlling, the most possessive partners? Will wasn't the first, though his unruly mop of hair and the dimple in his cheek was enough to hide his darker side until he had me locked down as his wife.

I don't know what kind of man—if he is a man—the Watcher is. A secret hero or a hidden villain, there's no way for me to know, and since I've only heard from him once, I force myself to forget about him.

That goes about as well as me trying to banish the ghost of Will Burke. Since I had another nightmare about him last night, you can see what I mean.

But I'll try. I have to. Will's gone, the Watcher is a mystery, and Simone has to do what Simone needs to to survive.

Today that means going to the local grocery store to stock up my fridge and pantry.

That's the one delivery service I don't use. I don't know why, but the idea of someone going around the store, picking out my food for me when I could do it myself bothers me. I'm sure they can make sure they grab the right brand of cereal, but I'm pretty particular when it comes to my fruit, veggies, and the type of ice cream I like. Soda, too. It has to be a certain flavor, specific brand, and I don't want to be that picky customer who complains when it's wrong.

Besides, it's probably a good idea to get out of my house every now and then. Especially since I can't shake the feeling that Will's haunting the inside and some faceless man is watching the outside, I need a few moments to myself when I can pretend that I haven't lost my mind.

Because I have. I'm pretty sure I have, but honestly? I lost my mind when I lost Will, and that seems a pretty fair trade-off to me.

Luckily, I'm a pretty decent actress when I need to be, and when my next-door neighbor flags me down as I'm heading out to my car.

My prized possession is that thing. When I was a little girl, all I ever wanted was a pink convertible just like the Barbie dolls I played with. I had long blonde hair like Barbie did, plus an affinity for all things pink, and I promised myself I would have one.

Growing up, my family moved a lot. One of the reasons I've always been comfortable just up and leaving if I had to, I wasn't always happy when we did. I remember being a bitchy teen girl when my dad's job had us moving a state over in the middle of high school. As a bribe, basically, my parents promised to get me that pink convertible once I graduated if I'd stop complaining about switching schools.

We were comfortable, but by no means rich. Since I insisted on a certain color and type of car, my options were pretty limited and I ended up with a used 1999 Mazda Miata X5 in light pink, with a convertible top that they gave me the day I got my high school diploma.

I fucking love that car. Eleven years later and I baby the shit out of it. It's my trademark, and when I was first hiding out from Will, I kept it in the garage. Only after I received that note from the Watcher did I start leaving it in the driveway.

I'm a show-off. What can I say?

Today, the top's up since the forecast called for rain. It's nice now, though, and I'm thinking about lowering it during the drive over to the store when I hear a familiar whistle, followed by a cheery voice calling out, "Good morning, Simone."

It's not Will's judgy tone bouncing around my head. For that reason alone, I summon a small smile on my lips as I turn to look over my shoulder, my ponytail nearly slapping me in the ear with the force of my swivel.

It took me almost a year to get to know my neighbor in Springfield. Will and I lived in an apartment building, too, so you have to work to avoid someone living so close. He expected it, though, and it wasn't worth the argument to fight him on it.

In Merrill Grove, Ruby introduced herself to me the first time I popped my head out of the house after I moved in. A woman about two decades older than me, with dyed dark hair, slight wrinkles surrounding her hazel eyes, and a nose the perfect length for her to keep sticking it into everyone's business, she's friendly. Too friendly, I think sometimes, but if there's one thing Ruby's going to do, it's chit chat with everyone in the cul de sac.

"Morning." I wave at her, making sure she sees my keys so that she knows I'm on my way out. In my experience, that won't stop her. She was also on her way out for the day—she's wearing her scrubs so probably on the way to the hospital—but she still crosses the grass between our driveways so she doesn't have to call out to me again.

Like usual, her eyes dart to my left hand. She's never come out and asked me about it, but I met Ruby when I was still wearing my wedding ring. Add that to how she did ask me about the handsome man with the curly sand-colored hair who came to visit me, and I know she was peeking out her window when Will found me two months ago. I'm sure she's come to her own conclusions about my love life, but she's been good enough to keep them to herself.

I should've known better than to think that would last.

"Where you off to? It's gorgeous out. Got a morning date?"

Right. Because she's seen enough of my comings and goings to know that I don't work or, well, leave the house that much. I highly doubt she really thinks I'm meeting someone for breakfast, and when I shake my head and lightly tell her I'm going for groceries, she makes it clear that was just the opening she needed for her next imposing question.

"You're single, though, aren't you?"

Not that it's her business, but… "Yup. It's just me, Ruby. I'm not hiding a boyfriend or anything."

She laughs, taking it as the cheeky yet mild retort I intended it as. Now, if only she knew that I'm not hiding a boyfriend, but that I'm being haunted by the vision of my dead husband? Yeah. She wouldn't laugh then, would she?

"I didn't think you were, hon. But that's what has me popping over. What do you think about the McIntyre boy?"

Boy? "I'm sorry. Who?"

She jerks her thumb behind her, at a house about six down from mine, on the other side of the cul de sac. "Jake. He moved in a little after you did, taking over the Martins' rental through the summer. He came by yesterday to mow my yard for me since I had a double-shift. Seems sweet. Might be a good match for you, love."

A boy who's moving her lawn for her? "Um, thanks, Ruby, and I know I look kinda young"—thank you Dr. Pavil—"but I'm going to be twenty-eight, so?—"

Another laugh from Ruby. "Oh, Simone. Don't get the wrong idea. Jake's gotta be your age. Twenty-six, twenty-seven… I don't know. When you hit fifty like I did, everyone under thirty starts looking like a kid to you."

That makes me feel a little better about what she's suggesting before I realize just what she is suggesting.

Ruby Douglas, matchmaker, huh?

Consider yourself single… for now.

How would the mysterious Watcher like it if he knew my neighbor was trying to set me up with another guy?

A thrill runs through me that I quickly banish. I am single, and I'm pretty sure I've seen Jake around whenever I stood at my window, looking at the quiet neighborhood, wondering what kind of secrets are hidden behind the same white-painted doors…

I make a non-committal sound in the back of my throat. "Have a nice day at work, Ruby," I tell her, pressing the button on my key fob to unlock the doors, effectively ending the conversation.

She narrows her gaze for a moment, there and gone again, before she grins so widely, all I see are the apples of her cheeks. "Talk to you soon, hon. Yeah?"

Honestly? Not if I can help it.

I'm abouttwo miles down the road when I remember that I was going to lower the top of my car. It's nowhere near as busy in Merrill Grove as it is in Springfield, but I throw on my hazards anyway, then pull off to the side of the road.

Taking the top down on a Mazda requires parking the car and focusing on what I'm doing. It has handles on it that you grab after you release it from the anchor. That done, you help feed it toward the back of the car until it catches.

I've done it a million times. And every single time I have, the power windows go down, either on their own or with another help. Sometimes I have to open the door to get the mechanism working, but as I'm trying to take the top down now, the windows don't budge. Not even when I open the door or try killing the engine, then restarting the car.

That's weird.

I fiddle with it a few minutes more, growing more and more anxious when I can't get it to work. This car is so special to me. I've treated it well since I've had it, barely putting that many miles on it since Will didn't like me driving around on my own, but I've routinely gotten it serviced, starting it up frequently and taking a spin around the block even when I knew I'd get a lecture from my husband for doing so.

It's in pristine condition for one main reason: whenever something goes wrong, I don't try to figure it out myself. Will knew fuck-all about cars, and no matter what it cost me to make him happy, I got the money from him to bring my baby to the garage whenever I needed to.

Now? I don't need to beg my husband for any funds. I have a debit card with my married name on it that's linked straight to his account—and no selfish prick to tell me off for using it.

Groceries can wait. I need to get my car looked at.

And, thank fucking God, there's a garage nearby that I've passed every time I've gone this way to get to the grocery store.