I turned on the radio instead, frowning at the hiss and crackle of the static, but was still able to make out the DJ talking about the coming storm. With a breathless voice, he warned the listeners to stay put. No shit. He should have told people that a couple hours ago.
Turning on the stove, I tossed several strips of bacon on a skillet and left it to do its thing while I took the few steps to joggle the mouse of my computer. All three forty-inch monitors lit up, and I tapped the security icon, toggling through the images on the screen.
Snow.
Snow.
More snow.
Even more snow.
There. I got to the camera capturing the lower east side of my property, which also happened to include part of my neighbor’s cabin. I squinted at the screen. Good. The Jeep still wasn’t in the driveway. She’d left early, so she probably got down the mountain way before all this shit hit us.
The goddess was gone.
The sense of loneliness that thought evoked was something I didn’t like. I also didn’t like the idea that I’d miss her mere presence. I’d done enough missing in my life without adding a complete stranger to the list.
Not that she was a stranger.
Well, she officially was, but it didn’t feel that way to me.
While I didn’t know her name, I knew her routine. I knew the kinds of clothes she wore and that she liked doing yoga on the back deck. She also tapped incessantly on a laptop there. When it got too cool, she’d wrap up in a blanket or sit just inside the large glass windows. Like me, it seemed she needed to see nature.
Like me, she seemed content with her own company.
Like me…
No, she wasn’t like me at all.
Unlike me, she smiled often, usually while her fingers flew over the keyboard of her laptop. She also smiled at the birds. The squirrels. Smiled when she took pictures of the always present wildlife. She smiled when she did her yoga or simply sat back and watched the trees.
It wasn’t always like that.
Back when I was first alerted to a stranger’s arrival a month and a half ago, she didn’t smile at all. That was what intrigued me the most about her. Why I continued to watch her. Even worry about her. I needed to know that she would be all right.
I hadn’t meant for the camera I installed to capture my neighbor’s property, but two damn squirrels had used it as a jungle gym one day and cocked it to the side. The next day, the goddess arrived. She’d sit on the deck and cry, her thin shoulders shaking under the weight of her sorrow. Sometimes she’d scream. Not that I could hear her — the cameras didn’t pick up sound and our cabins were too far apart — but I could almost feel pain vibrate from her to me.
I often wondered why. Had she lost someone she loved? Either through death or a break up? I’d decided it must have been death because no man in his right mind would let such an angelic creature go.
Unbidden, I tapped the folder marked “Goddess.” I told myself a hundred times that I’d delete this folder, purge it from my system. But each time I dragged it to the trash icon, something held me back.
With another click, my favorite image of her appeared.
It was a simple black and white of the goddess standing by the rail of her deck. A mug of tea was in her hands, the steam curling up and around her face like mist. The wind had caught her hair, blowing the long strands behind her. Her eyes were closed as she lifted her face to the sun that dappled her with its rays through the branches above.
She was dressed in her favorite sleeping attire, flowing cotton pants and a strappy tank top. Over it was a robe that had also caught the wind, fluttering behind her.
I stared. Not at the beautiful body. Sure, she was even more perfect than any actress or model, but that wasn’t what drew me to this image.
It was her smile.
I’d screenshot the picture a couple weeks after her arrival, the first time I’d seen her look content. No, not just that. She actually looked happy. Radiant.
I’d almost gone to her then.
My shoes had been on my feet, keys in my hand, and Maggie had already hopped onto the passenger seat of my truck when I came to my senses. And I’d come to my senses with the knowledge that, for a variety of reasons, I needed to leave her alone. I needed to stop watching her. I needed to… what?
Continue to mourn?
Continue to be faithful to my wife’s memory?
Our unborn child’s?
How did a person move on after such a loss? How did you just turn your back on all the good memories and create a life with someone else?
I didn’t know.
I scoffed, running a hand down my thick beard. And what would I even say to her if I did knock on her door? Hi, I’ve been secretly watching you for a few weeks now and thought you might like to break some bread?
That would earn me a slap on the face at the least, a kick to the balls at the worst.
Besides, she would probably be gone soon, just like the others who had come and gone from the small cabin below me. Some stayed one week, or maybe two. None had stayed as long as the goddess, but I didn’t imagine her residency there was permanent.
My email pinged the arrival of a new message, breaking the spell her photo had cast over me. Disgusted with myself, I clicked the picture closed, and went to my email, knowing it would only be from one of two people… my attorney or my accountant.
It was the former, letting me know the UK government had signed the contract for Eagle-I, the security software I created a year ago. Six hundred million wasn’t a bad day’s work. Within five minutes, I’d approved the sale. Daniel would do the rest. He’d scramble and manage the software staff I contracted for installation and training. Nothing else was needed or expected from me, which was exactly the way I liked it.
When I was done, I tossed the mouse aside, and went back to my bacon, flipping it to sizzle and pop. Grabbing a carton of eggs from the fridge, I cracked three open and whipped the hell out of the yolks before cutting up some spinach, mushrooms, tomatoes, and peppers.
The goddess liked omelets too. She ate a much smaller version of the one I was currently making several days a week. God, I sounded like a creeper. When the storm was over, I’d go down the mountain and turn the camera until no part of my neighbor’s property was visible. Now that I knew she wasn’t going to hurt herself, I had no more reason to watch over her.
Why did the thought make me incredibly sad?
I shoved away the troubling thought as I removed the bacon and poured the eggs and vegetables into the pan, tossing a good-sized handful of shredded cheese on top, and waited for the magic moment to fold it.
Jessica had taught me that. Taught me how to cook. How to love. As my wife, she taught me how to look forward, instead of backwards at my miserable childhood. How to find peace. Happiness. Genuine contentment.
The cooking lessons had stuck after she was gone. The other lessons, not so much.
Not when she wasn’t here to make the future seem worth living.