Page 30 of The Liar I Married

TWENTY-SIX

The feeling of being followed refuses to leave me.

I’m constantly on my guard, doing what comes close to rituals before I leave the house.

I walk through each room and peer through the windows to check no one is outside.

My neck prickles as the garage door slides open.

He’s out there, I can feel eyes on me. I hide behind my sunglasses to scan the blacktop both ways before driving out of my garage.

I know I’m not imagining things when the same truck pulls away from the curb and follows, keeping a few vehicles behind.

Who is this person and why are they following me?

Acutely aware of my tail, I park outside the local bookstore.

I’m enjoying reading Alex’s series and head inside to browse the shelves.

I love the shop, it has the scent of aged paper and coffee.

The owner has a little coffee corner and sells sweet buns and barista coffee.

Most people in the store are like I am, scanning the shelves or making purchases, but then I feel eyes on me.

The intuition is so strong it’s almost like a touch.

I don’t want to look over my shoulder, so I peer into the reflection in the store window.

A man is standing a few aisles away, pretending to flip through a magazine, but his attention is fixed on me.

Men look at me from time to time and I want to brush it off but, as I move to the counter, I see him readying himself to follow me.

I’m trembling as I take my credit card from my purse.

The bell above the door chimes and I glance up to see the man leaving the shop, taking in every detail of his appearance.

Should I report him to the cops—no, I have no proof that he is actually following me. I haven’t even got his license plate.

Maybe I’m just imagining it? They say stress does strange things and with all that’s going on in my life right now, it’s not surprising part of me would break sooner or later.

I wish I could discuss my fears with John that some time ago I heard something or someone moving in the house.

It always seemed to happen when John was away.

He’d come home and I’d tell him. He’d walk around and check the windows and doors and tell me I was imagining things.

When I insisted, he looked me straight in the eye and told me if I didn’t pull myself together, he’d hire someone to care for the children, because he didn’t trust me alone with them.

The noises continued and it wasn’t until I mentioned it to a friend at the tennis club and she recommended a pest control guy, that I discovered I had a racoon living in my roof.

I wasn’t imagining the noises then and the feeling of being watched is still there.

It’s like a rash crawling over me. As I pull out from the curb, I check the rearview mirror.

The truck is back. My heart misses a beat and I’m hyperventilating.

I need to know, one way or another, and go through my usual routine.

I drive erratically, turning left and right, and racing through red lights.

I check my mirror and he’s not behind me.

I turn back onto Main and head home. I take another look in the mirror.

Fear grips my belly, and my hands tighten on the steering wheel.

He’s back.

Dare I tell John? Will he figure I’m delusional or will he believe me this time? I shake my head. He won’t believe me, I know it. I have nothing, no proof this is happening to me. The thing is, the man following me is a different type of pest. This one I can see.

I’m now dashing from place to place and making sure I’m never alone. My nerves are in shreds and I only feel safe in the art studio. I join a morning session, glad to see Alex at his easel. “You’re almost finished. Will you start another?”

“Yeah, this place is a goldmine for my mental brainstorming.” Alex flicks his brush over the canvas.

“My book is with my publisher and I’m researching the next one.

Being here a few times a week is beneficial in more ways than one.

I’m actually selling my paintings.” He gives me a wide grin.

“I feel like celebrating, how about lunch at the new bistro?” He pulled out his phone.

“I’ll book a table. Around one okay for you? ”

I smile back. “Congratulations, and yes, I’d love to come. I’ll dash home and change and meet you there.”

I finish up early and I’m excited as I hurry to my vehicle.

My heart sinks at the sight of a white truck parked alongside the road.

I look at the distinctive grill and make a mental note of the small blue sticker on the front bumper.

I swallow hard. Is it the same truck? How can I be sure?

My palms are sweaty as I grip the steering wheel, now too afraid to peer into the rearview mirror in case he’s there.

Panic shivers through me as I take a peek.

The truck is there, same as before, two vehicles back.

I park in the garage and lock the door behind me.

I need to be back with people. No one would attack me in a public place, would they?

I rush to dress and then drive way too fast to the bistro, leave my SUV in the parking lot, and then head inside.

I turn before I push open the door and see the truck slipping into a bay a few vehicles away from my red SUV.

It sits among the other vehicles like a red thumb.

I couldn’t hide if I wanted to. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window.

I look terrified and try to calm my expression before I walk inside.

The new place has a lovely homey atmosphere, with a variety of exotic dishes.

I inhale air infused with the aroma of spices.

I see Alex at once and he rises as I join him.

We peruse the menu, discussing the dishes and deciding to get a few to share.

I give the server my order and freeze as she walks away.

The man from the bookstore is sitting in the corner with his gaze on me.

Chills run down my spine at the sight of him.

I turn to look at Alex and smile. “I know you’re going to think I’m crazy but see that guy sitting in the corner?

I believe he’s been following me for the last couple of weeks. ” I describe the truck.

“Is it every time you go out or only when you meet me?” Alex tore open a bread roll and added butter from a dish on the table.

I think for a beat. “Both…well, I think so, anyway. I was heading for the art studio this morning and before that he was watching me at the bookstore.” I meet his gaze. “He’s just sitting there, staring at me. It’s unnerving.”

“It might be a coincidence.” Alex smiles. “Surely you’re used to men looking at you?”

I shrug. “No not really. I’m just a mom.”

“Well, forgive me for saying but you’re beautiful.” He holds up both hands. “And I’m not hitting on you. I’m just stating a fact. The other thing, the truck you described, let’s face it, there are hundreds of them here.”

I sigh and stare at the plate of delicious food the server places before me. “You’re probably right.” I indicate to the door. “He just left.”

A wave of relief washes over me. Perhaps I’m a victim of an overactive imagination. I guess time will tell.