Always Watching

last time I saw her, talking with Robbie at the forest’s edge, when the rest of us were leaving for our walk. I narrowed my focus, tried to think of her face. How did she look? I got an image of Willow seeming annoyed, her forehead pulled in a frown and her hand gesturing, an angry motion. That’s when Robbie had left. Then I flashed to the memory of Aaron watching her as she walked down to the river, the malevolent energy in the air, the sick tugging in the pit of my stomach, my body full of dread.
    I opened my eyes, stared up at the ceiling, a thought stopping my breath. Did Willow really leave the commune ? What if Aaron did something to her?
    I wanted to turn away from the question, at the impossibility of it, but then I began to consider the facts. He was the last person to see her, and her departure had been odd. She’d had many friends at the commune, and no reason to walk out without saying good-bye or explaining her decision. The only person she had a problem with was Aaron. There’d been lots of tension between them, especially the day before she left. He said they were okay after their talk, but what really happened that day? And why did he follow her down to the river?
    I sat up abruptly, my mind filled with terrifying images: Aaron and Willow in an argument, him striking her, or hitting her with a rock, maybe even strangling her. I tried to stop my runaway thoughts. Quit it , this is ridiculous. What would he have done with the body? She would have been found by now. Then again, would she have? That mountain was remote, the river wild, there were many spots that had probably still never been seen by human eyes. Unless a hiker or someone with a dog had come across her, she could’ve remained out there for years. I wondered if her body was in the woods somewhere, rotting alone in the leaves and dirt, animals carrying her bones off into the mountain.
    I thought about it until exhaustion finally took over and I fell asleep. Hours later, I woke, rain pounding on my roof, my heart racing, the scent of lavender in the air, and Willow’s husky voice in my head: Don’t let him follow me.

 
    CHAPTER ELEVEN
    Over the following week, Heather continued to improve, and we moved her to the floor below, where she would have more freedom. Noticing she had no visitors other than Daniel, I asked about her parents, and she said they still hadn’t gotten hold of them. I got the feeling they weren’t trying too hard and that she probably didn’t want them to know what had happened. I’d walked by her room one day when Daniel was visiting and heard them laughing. It made me hopeful that we would be able to stabilize her enough that she could go home and continue to improve on an outpatient basis. Daniel also seemed optimistic, and I told him if she continued to do well, she might be home in a couple of weeks.
    *   *   *
    On the weekend, I forced myself to take a break from everything and made plans with a friend. I hadn’t had more memories surface that week while working with Heather, but I was still struggling with the suspicion that something could’ve happened to Willow. I needed a distraction. I met up with a friend, a retired psychiatrist, to celebrate my birthday, though I wasn’t much in the mood. We decided to catch a romantic comedy at the movie theatre. Elizabeth’s also widowed, and we joked that it was the closest either of us had come to romance in years. But as I watched the characters fall in love, I had a little ache of loneliness, a remembrance of what it felt like. Then I flashed to Kevin and wondered if he was seeing anyone. That surprised me—was I interested in Kevin? I thought he was intelligent and always enjoyed our conversations. I’d also noticed that I’d started to scan the parking lot for his vehicle in the morning. So maybe I did find him attractive, but I quickly reminded myself, there was too much of an age difference.
    My thoughts drifted to Paul, how secure I’d always felt with him. Our relationship hadn’t had the intensity of the ones in my youth—men molded after my father, distant or dominating, usually drinkers—but the sweet comfort of being so connected to another human being you could coexist in harmony, supporting each other while still being your own person. Then I realized that as much as I missed Paul, I also missed being married and wondered if I ever would be again. I shook off the idea. That time was over, and though it was difficult to find