Knock three times, p.4
Knock Three Times, page 4
I wave goodbye anyway, just in case.
It still feels like she’s looking back in her rearview, watching me.
With my fingertips on the front doorknob, I take one last look after Nicole’s car disappearing behind the cedars, reappearing again, and then disappearing behind the trees that line the outskirts of the McCowns’ property.
Wind whistles in the darkness beyond. I need to turn on the porch lights. An odd, heavy sensation blankets itself over me—the feeling of being watched hasn’t gone away.
I turn back toward the house. From the corner of my eye, a figure strides across the front lawn. A man—emerging from the shadows of the cedars—advances toward me.
4
Panic flutters in my lungs, my chest aching for Nicole to come back.
I clutch the doorknob, slowly pulling it closed, keeping my eye on the man. He’s in a navy-blue uniform with a backpack over his shoulder. He doesn’t stop at the path. He crosses the driveway and jogs out of sight without even looking at me. Didn’t he notice me out here, or did he watch Nicole drive away and assume he was alone? To do what out here? I’m not waiting to find out.
I lock the door behind me and rush across the foyer. I march down the short hallway, into the kitchen, past the wooden table to the back sliding glass door straight ahead, and press the lock down. There’s no give—it was already locked.
I take a deep breath, keeping myself hidden behind the curtain pulled to the side of the door as he comes into view. He strides across the back lawn into the path of light from the kitchen, toward the patio by the sliding door. His dark features remind me of Logan’s. My heart races. But he’s not Logan. He’s coming for the door. Is he going to try to break in?
He catches my eye and stops in the middle of the patio, grabbing the strap of his backpack and pulling it off.
“I’m here to read the water meter,” he shouts, and removes a clipboard from his bag.
Oh.
I nod slowly, frowning. He takes a step backwards on the patio and scans the length of the back of the house. His eyes widen before his stare focuses on the opposite side of where he entered.
He nods to me and takes a few steps across the patio but stops. “I haven’t seen you here before, have I?”
I don’t say anything, and he doesn’t move.
“Your mom’s usually here,” he says, still looking at me. He points to his ear. “Sorry, can you hear me through there? I said your mom’s usually here.”
Does he want me to open the door? No way.
“Did you want me to get her?” I ask, instinctively pretending I’m not alone.
I’m a full-grown adult, and yet, I need to pretend there’s another adult in the house to feel safe. To appear protected. Is it crazy, or smart?
“Oh, no.” He waves me off, finally cracking a bright white smile. “Not necessary. Have a good one!”
He marches out of sight, and I pass between the kitchen island and back counter to the corner window Nicole looked out of minutes ago. He’s still slightly out of view, but I can see him shuffling from one foot to the other, staring at something at the side of the house.
Something tells me I need to watch him leave to make sure he’s gone. What kind of water meter reader works this late? It’s almost dark.
He takes a few steps back, and I lean over the sink to keep him in sight. He marks something down on his clipboard and shoves it in his backpack. Without looking in my direction, he starts for the front yard again.
Should I see where he goes next? Am I paranoid? I haven’t felt this vulnerable, this scared, since… Marlena.
I shake the thought from my mind and exit the kitchen, turning left down the long hallway toward the bright light emanating from my new bedroom for the time being.
Ducking into the bathroom, I pull my hair up into a smoother, higher ponytail and use one of my ribbons from the Bathroom #2 box to finish off the style. The burn on my hand hurts a little less, but my chest aches from the way things ended with Nicole after finding that letter. She was disappointed in me for not destroying it, but I hadn’t even had time to process it yet. She wanted me to go along with her, like I used to go along with Logan. When I don’t, I feel guilty. I’m surprised I didn’t hand it over to ease that feeling I knew would follow because of my decision. It’s always easier to swing with the momentum of the people I love.
I walk back into the bedroom, casting a glance at Logan’s letter and Nicole’s matchbook lying beside it. A McCown family photo catches my eye. Her mom, Theresa, sits in the middle, and both her daughters stand on either side of her. Nicole’s older sister, Arissa, shares the same freckles as Nicole, but hers are more pronounced. Their dad, Don, stands in the middle behind them, his chest puffed out proudly, his hands on each of his daughter’s shoulders.
It makes me miss my family and the support they offered while we lived nearer. Things would be different right now if my parents and little sister were close by. Kyla would’ve already invited me to stay with her. It has always been a dream of ours to live together again, and maybe we will someday. But for now, I’m so grateful for this opportunity at the McCowns’. Nicole smiles up at me from the picture as I walk away, back toward the bed.
I unplug my phone from the charger on the nightstand and check the screen, hoping to find a text from her, but there’s nothing.
If I don’t leave soon, I’ll be late for my date. I really wish we could have had a girls’ night instead. If Nicole hadn’t also had her night booked, I’d have suggested it. Maybe things would have been different. Maybe I’d be feeling safe and comfortable right now instead of jittery, having to put myself out there for the first time again on this date.
My purse sits on the arm of the chair in the corner, and as I go to grab it, I glance at Logan’s letter again. Just because I don’t want to go on this date, it doesn’t mean I’m not over him. I’m not getting back together with him. I don’t want to be with someone who’d leave me at a park on my own, crying. I don’t want to be with someone who makes me feel like I’m crazy. I don’t like this lonely feeling I’ve had since he left, but to get back together would be a step backwards, to where it’s familiar, instead of where I’m about to go—into the unknown.
The folded letter reminds me of my prescription I need filled. I duck back into the bathroom and grab it from the Bathroom #1 box, tucking it into my purse with my cell phone.
I turn to leave, but hesitate, looking back at the window. Did I lock it? Better check. I lean against the wall and push against the resistance of the latch. Locked.
Outside the small window, I peer around the dark backyard. What am I expecting to see? The meter reader, out there by the trees?
I sigh and push off the wall, turning off the bathroom light. On my way out of the bedroom, I cast one last glance at Logan’s note. I almost want to fold it up and put it in my purse, too. But why? To read it on my date?
Nicole is right. I need to let go.
I turn off the light, leaving the letter on the dresser.
5
“Do you have a reservation tonight?” The hostess in black dress pants and a black, collared dress shirt glances up from the screen with a welcoming smile.
The main dining room behind her is filled with light chatter, Sinatra heard just above it, and the smell of garlic and onion. Large, modern black chandeliers boast warm white lights at the end of each point, situated close to the ceiling down the middle of the dining room.
I nod. “My date made one. It should be under Mike…”
I realize I don’t know his last name as she checks her screen and grabs two menus. “Perfect. Right this way.”
She leads me down a long gap between alternating tables for two or four, each set with fresh white plates with burgundy napkins tucked to the right of them and a thick, white, three-wick candle lit in the middle.
She stops at an empty corner booth, and I’m relieved for the space and privacy. Three wicks from the same candle as the other tables flicker in the dim corner with our arrival. I stop at the far side of the booth and remove my gray peacoat, taking a seat on the deep-red material that matches the napkins. She places the menus on the table in the middle, closest to her, and takes a step back.
“Can I get you some water or a drink while you wait?” she asks.
“Water’s fine. Thanks so much.”
She smiles and leaves, weaving through the dining area.
It’s just a date. I’m going to relax and have fun.
If Nicole were here, she’d tell me to order something strong and check the menu to decide what to eat before my date arrives so I really can relax. Instead, I take my cell phone from my purse and use the black screen to check my reflection. My makeup is exactly as I last saw it. The purple case with painted lavender stems from Nic comforts me. Two men at the table closest to mine laugh together, and I tune in to what they’re saying.
“… so, if it happens again, give me the signal, and I’ll get us out of there,” one of them says.
“Oh, I will.” The other laughs as he speaks. “You should have warned me your mother’s boyfriend gets handsy.”
As they continue talking, I remember the signal I used to give Logan when I wanted to leave whatever social event we were at. I’d cross one of my hands over my chest and caress my neck until he noticed. My neck was his favourite part of my body, and the way he kissed it…
The same hostess approaches again, this time with a man trailing further behind her. So far behind, I almost don’t recognize it’s him.
I’m so used to seeing him on laundry day—in sweats and a hoodie, or at the most, jeans and a T-shirt. Tonight, Mike’s wearing a white dress shirt, fitted black dress pants, and a black topcoat that stops right below the knee. He glances at me from behind his signature thick, black-framed eyeglasses. A playful—or maybe nervous—smile grows on his lips.
The hostess steps aside when she reaches the booth, and he removes his topcoat, hanging it on the hook over mine. His face is freshly shaved, too. He cleans up well. I run my fingers down the length of my dark brown ponytail, suddenly aware of what I’m wearing, wondering what he’s thinking of me. Black tights and a long, satin blouse are dressy enough for the restaurant, but I’m not quite on his level if I compare our outfits.
“Thank you,” he tells the hostess, and she nods, stepping aside, her gaze lingering on Mike.
No, not on him. On the red rose in his hand that had been hidden behind her.
“Your server will be right with you,” she says to him before turning to me. “And your water is coming right up.”
“Thank you,” I say, looking at her but feeling Mike’s gaze hasn’t left me.
It feels like he’s drinking in the sight of me. She leaves, creating space between us, and the vulnerable feeling intensifies. He sidesteps toward me, his shiny dress shoes in perfect condition, and gives me a one-armed hug.
“Hey,” he says, his resonant voice beside my ear giving me goosebumps in the best, most unexpected way—a way I haven’t felt since Logan and I met. “You look amazing.”
I lean forward and wrap an arm over his, my black satin blouse skimming over the cotton of his shirt with ease. His hand slides gently to the middle of my back, sending shivers down my spine. He gives a squeeze around my side, the other toned arm at his side practically bulging out of the white dress shirt he’s wearing. As we part, notes of bergamot linger, as deep and rich as his voice. He extends his hand with the flower toward me—a total gentleman.
He grins down at me, and my cheeks grow hot. This is sweeter than I’ve ever imagined a first date to be.
“I hope this isn’t too cheesy…” he mutters, avoiding eye contact.
I take the smooth stem with a smile I can’t hide. “No, not at all. It’s very sweet. Thank you.”
I’ve never been given a flower on a first date before. I think he even had the thorns removed. The effort is impressive, but his lack of cockiness in the gesture keeps it from feeling too cliché. He’s staring at me with flushed cheeks.
I wonder if he’s as tense as I am about dating? Maybe he’s feeling apprehensive, too.
A warm confidence grows inside me, feeling less self-conscious at the thought, and I lean in closer to him. He’s endearing—disarming even.
I gesture for him to sit, and he scoots into the booth. I set the rose beside my folded napkin as he gets situated directly across from me, folding his hands together on the table before him.
I can’t believe he brought me a rose.
“How are you?” His voice cuts through the laughter coming from the men beside us.
“Hungry.” I laugh, but I’m serious. Suddenly, I’m hungry, and looking forward to our dinner.
A server brings us our waters and says he’ll be back to take our drink orders, and still, Mike hasn’t taken his focus off of me. I admit, I’ve always enjoyed his attention, but tonight feels different. I can tell how much thought he’s put into this.
“Want to know a secret?” Mike picks up his menu. “I was only going to pretend to read this while I waited for you, but since you got here first, I’ll confess. I scoped it out online before I came. Before I even asked you out, actually.”
I smile, opening my menu but maintaining eye contact.
“Oh, you’re one of those people,” I joke, raising a brow to give him a piercing stare before dropping the attitude. “Actually, I usually do it, too. I just haven’t had the chance. I moved the last of my things out of the apartment today.”
“Ah.” He nods, folding his hands together and leaning in toward the table. “You should have asked for help, Neighbour. I guess I can’t call you that anymore. Honestly, I’d have been happy to help you bring your things to your vehicle.”
We’d only run into each other at the apartment building once after we officially met and he’d asked me out. Of all the possible chance encounters to meet in elevators, the front foyer, or the parking lot, I only saw him those few times in the laundry room.
As fate would have it, I was in the laundry room one night after Logan moved out last week, and Mike came in, asking to borrow some change for the machine. It was the first time we’d spoken. Maybe it was an energy I gave off. All I know is, if he’d chosen to speak to me any time before then and asked for my number, I would have been with Logan, and I would have said no.
“I appreciate the offer to help, but it’s… it’s been a weird time. It’s unusual, moving from one place without really knowing where I’ll be next.”
I had nowhere else to put my things after the split, so the McCowns were gracious enough to let me store my boxes at their house until I find another place.
“The split.” He nods and takes a sip of water. “I get it. You’re still looking for a place?”
“I’m staying at my best friend’s parents’ place until they’re back from their trip to Calgary at the end of next month. Just house-sitting while I look for a place I can afford on my own. The cost to rent anywhere in the Greater Toronto Area is just ridiculous. I’ll be lucky if I find a one-bedroom for less than two grand.”
“It really is crazy out here. How do you like your best friend’s parents’ place?”
“It’s a beautiful house. They have a vegetable garden out back that I get to pick fresh food from anytime I want. It’s such a big change, from the apartment to a place with all their land and space. I’m lucky, too, because as a writer, I can work anywhere with Wi-Fi.”
He smiles and waits for me to continue. When I don’t, he rests his hands on his legs below the tabletop, straightening his posture. “Would you have stayed in the building if you could have afforded it? I mean, not in the same apartment you lived in if you didn’t want to, but another one?”
I shake my head no, but make no effort to explain my answer… and every effort to keep the image of Marlena’s body from my mind. Her bloody dress, draped over her leg, flashes before my eyes. Mike studies me as I try to ground myself in the present. He must have heard about Marlena’s murder. I wonder what he thought about it…
That’s what happens, Pink Coat had said so flippantly, but I read between the lines.
That’s what she gets.
Did Mike see it that way—as an expected occurrence? I couldn’t be with someone like that again.
My phone rings in my purse, and I ignore it, smiling apologetically at Mike until I remember my pact with Nicole. Always on standby for emergency phone calls until the fourth date.
“Sorry,” I mutter, and tilt the phone toward me in my purse.
Unknown Number.
Mike clears his throat. “Do you need to take that?”
“Oh, no. Sorry.” I pull my hand from my purse and grab the menu again. “Probably a telemarketer. It’s just, my best friend is on a date tonight too, so I’m keeping a lookout for her name. Just in case.”
We exchange a smile, his seeming to tell me he understands before I turn my attention back to the menu. But I don’t want to study the menu. I want to study his face and the way I’m seeing it—him—in a different light. Is it the effort he clearly put in? Am I that superficial that his handsome qualities are assuaging my trepidation about dating so soon again? Or maybe I really am ready for this—to be with someone else… To be with Mike? I can’t deny that chemistry I felt when he came in.
I fold my hands in front of me. “So, what do you do for work?”
“I run my own construction company.” He smiles modestly.
“Oh, wow. So you’re a CEO. Impressive.”
He waves his hand, dismissing the notion, and I laugh.
“I have to admit something pretty embarrassing,” he says, tapping his phone and turning the screen to face me.
I recognize our latest chain of text messages and frown, looking past the phone at him. I don’t get what I’m supposed to be seeing, and he isn’t pointing at anything.
“I’m sorry.” He laughs, his cheeks flushing. “I forgot to get it, and then, when I saw you again and asked for your number, I felt terrible for not knowing, so I didn’t mention it.”
