Always Watching

statement, and they were assembling a forensics team to search for Willow at the old site. She was finally going home.
    I didn’t understand why none of the members, especially Lisa, had left the commune now that Aaron was under arrest. The sergeant told me that it was possible most of them didn’t know what had happened. They didn’t have phones, TV, or Internet access. Their only information came from the staff, and they were obviously keeping everything quiet until they were able to speak with Aaron.
    In the parking lot, I sat in my car for a moment, staring at the hospital through the thick wall of rain that had started thundering down, and thought about my conversation with my brother. It scared me, how close I had come to losing him—and his story about my earring. Everything on the other side of my window looked distorted now, flashes of colors and pale faces as bodies rushed by, but I couldn’t make out features, couldn’t bring their edges into focus. Aaron’s words came to mind. Just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it’s not there.
    The hospital was a gray blur, through my tears and the rain. I wondered which room was my brother’s, thinking how at peace he had seemed when he spoke about how he’d nearly died. Then I thought of Paul, of those last moments before he took his final breath and died in my arms, how serene his face had looked as he let go of me. Now I realized I was the one who had never really let go of him.
    *   *   *
    That evening I spent a lot of time thinking about my life—and how it had also nearly ended. Then I made some decisions. I arrived early to visit Robbie the next day, and after he fell back asleep, I made my way upstairs to Kevin’s office.
    At my knock, his voice rang out, “Come in.”
    I hesitated. Would he want anything to do with me after I’d been so aloof? I’d never know unless I tried. I took a breath and opened the door.
    He looked up in surprise, started to stand. “Nadine…”
    I motioned for him to stay seated and took the chair across from him.
    I met his gaze, thinking how handsome he looked as he brushed his hair back with one hand, his forearm muscles flexing. I said, “I owe you an apology.”
    He cocked his head, a small smile playing about his lips. “You’re just figuring this out?”
    “I’m a bit slow sometimes.” I stepped out on the edge of my emotions, stood teetering for a moment, jumped. “You’re right. I have been running away. I guess I’m scared … of this, of what it could mean.”
    “I’m scared too. That’s a good thing. I like the way you make me feel.”
    We held gazes again, a slow thrum of nervous excitement hitting right below my heart. But there was something I had to make clear.
    “My daughter, Lisa. She’s still in the commune, and she’s my number one priority right now—and forever.”
    He nodded. “Of course.”
    “That being said, if you’d like to spend some time together, I could use a friend.”
    He raised his brows. “A friend?”
    “A friendly friend. I’d like to see where this could go.” I raised my own brow, pleased to see his answering smile. “We could start by having dinner again?”
    “I’d like that.”
    “Maybe I’ll even audition for your band. I play a mean tambourine.”
    “Let’s not get carried away now.”
    We both laughed, then he reached across the desk and held my hand.
    This time there were no flashes of images, no guilt about Paul. But I remembered, when Paul was alive, how he’d try to steal moments like this at the clinic, catching my hand as I sped by, but I’d pull away, intent on my task.
    Death makes you wish you’d done everything differently, had been in less of a hurry. This time I would enjoy the journey.
    Life is for the living.

 
    CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
    I’d just gotten home from the hospital and was unlocking my door when a police car pulled in my driveway. A tall man, with gray hair, dark eyebrows, and a deeply lined face that made him look tired, got out and introduced himself as Sergeant Pallan. He then told me he was handling the commune investigation. His eyes were serious and sad when he took off his sunglasses. I searched his face, my breath increasing, my chest tight, sensing that he wasn’t there to ask me questions.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “We need to talk, and I think we should go inside.”
    It was bad. Whatever he wanted to tell me was really bad. The world distorted. My depth perception off, I stumbled