Page 13 of Letting Go

The final, cruel truth is that I'd missed half of Travis's life growing up. Laurel and Travis are the two I feel the most guilty about. Claire could survive on her own. She could survive anything. And Devon? She's a resilient, tough, coil of wire. She could be stretched and stretched and stretched and just snap back into shape. Her soul wouldn't change.

But Laurel's a tender little thing. Everything that went on in high school must have been so awful for her. Then Cory was born. To learn how to parent an autistic child… I can't even imagine. I don't like to think of her as heartbroken because I know Cory gives her such purpose, but I honestly don't know how she does what she does. To have to always be so measured in response, and stay in such emotional control, has turned her into a person I can only hope to become.

"So, you want something a note drier, then?" With a slight tilt to his chin Enzo pulls me out of my reverie. It’s clear he thinks I've made the wrong call and he's slightly annoyed.

"This is delicious, but maybe something lighter, a slight bubble, like a Pinot Grigio. A Sauvignon Blanc. Something crisp?"

I spread the menu for the week on a table.

"Aha," he says, "I know just the label."

It's at this moment, off to the side I start to see something. I'm not sure what it is. A movement? Someone is staring at me through the large store window. A man. The hair on the back of my neck stands up and a shiver goes down my left thigh, right to my heel. Instead of looking at whatever threat I've picked up on, instead of confronting him, I turn and follow Enzo. Although it seems like he's meandering, I'm right behind him. My steps grow shorter and shorter. There's fear. I can feel it. It's welling up, my heart starting to pound. I'm floating, aloft. Then I stop, turn around, but there's nobody there.

I breathe.

"How about this?" he says. The label has a bull and a butterfly.

"Perfect." My voice sounds normal. Flat. Transactional.

"You don’t want to try it?"

"No, it’s fine. I didn’t know you had this label. Great. Perfect. Perfect." Maybe repeating the word will stop the thudding in my chest.

Enzo looks doubtful.

"Really? No more tasting? You only … trois?"

Another glance toward the large window shows some traffic and a mother pushing a stroller across the street. I'm losing it. The guy I saw fleetingly was all in black. Did I make him up?

I've had just enough alcohol to take that flinty edge off my personality. Combined with the sudden drop in adrenaline, I can feel myself softening up.

The sun seems awfully bright.

Deciding I better go get a little caffeine, I let Enzo and Ben load the van while I duck next door to Mocha Moon's, another little mom and pop shop, or in this case, a mom and mom shop. I don't know the couple who runs it well, but Demi is nice and Alexi, efficient, and I need a little of both.

The day is beautiful: bright cerulean blue sky, cottony clouds, a gentle breeze, and when you are up away from the water, no hint of fog. The hot little espresso is a treat and, when no one looks, I dump the entire pitcher of cream into the half-empty demitasse cup. I lick my lips.

That's when I see him from across the street, the man in black jeans and a T-shirt, nearly jet-black hair, a little stubble, and dark, penetrating eyes, even from this distance. He's sitting at an outdoor café and when I glance at him, he turns away and reaches for something on the ground.

When I leave the coffee shop, he pushes up from his chair and though I don’t have eyes in the back of my head, I know he's following me. I've learned not to get giddy with freedom because I always have to be alert. I can never let my guard down.

Part of me just wants to turn around and get in the guy's face and tell him to piss off, but the realistic part of me, the part that wants to stay alive, knows I have to flee. Trying to be casual, I slip my purse over my shoulder, walking slowly back to my car as if I don't have a care in the world.

I've learned the hard way the trick is to act as though you don't know you've been spotted. You've got to repress that flight response.

It almost works.

I get into the van, my heart thudding behind my sternum. I set my purse down adjust my mirrors, catching him opening the door of a white Honda. I smear a little lip balm, smack my lips, look over my shoulder, and slowly back out of the parking spot.

I never see him climb into his car, but as soon as I turn the corner, I punch the gas pedal and shoot down the highway to the next right-hand turn I can make and dive down a residential street. I wait and a few seconds later his car zips by the intersection. With a shaky sigh, I shift into drive, pull slowly to the stop sign, make another right, and then a third until I'm right back where I started. A copper brown SUV pulls behind me on the two-lane road.

If I were in therapy, they would tell me this shaking, the clammy grip on the wheel, my heart pounding like a battering ram, is symptomatic of PTSD. I don't care what it is. I want it to go away so I can just go to town, buy a little wine and go home without having my life full of intrigue. I begin to think the copper brown SUV is tailing me too. I need to calm down.

It's not until I'm near the turn off for 131, that my heart stops beating hard, and I dare to use my signal light again. I slip into the left-hand turn lane behind an oil truck and wait for the light to change. When we get a green arrow the truck slowly begins its turn and I follow, but as the rig clears the intersection, the white Honda is sitting there, facing the opposite direction. For a moment, I lock eyes with the driver. I watch him throw an arm over the passenger seat, swiftly reverse, and pivot to the righthand lane so he can follow me. Instinct kicks in and I pass the truck, driving fast in the opposing lane, cranking the steering wheel hard to the left, and climbing up into the parking lot of the Knox historical home, Montpelier. Gravel spits as I spin behind the house and park, idling in the parking lot.

Hands sweating, I glance around, terrified this guy, whoever he is, will follow me up here. Be calm, be calm. There are people around, families, getting in and out of cars.

He wouldn't try anything here, in broad daylight.