Burying Water (Burying Water #1)(29)

“Okay . . . So she’s a bit territorial.”

“And paranoid. And frugal. You also won’t find a television or phone anywhere in her house. She disconnected all the lines after her father died.”

I walk over to study the television on the dresser with a curious frown.

“That was her father’s,” Meredith confirms. “She noticed that you liked having a television in the hospital room, so she dragged it out of her storage cellar. Apparently all of her parents’ things are stowed in there. Ginny’s a bit of a pack rat. An extremely tidy and organized one.”

“But . . . does it work?” I turn the knob on the top right. Gray static fills the tiny screen.

Meredith shakes her head. “She’s making an extraordinary effort for you, believe me. But that’s as far as she got. We can see about getting you a newer one.”

I smile at the thought of the old woman setting this up here. For me.

“Gabe arranged for a cable company on Monday morning to install a line for you. You may want to be on the lookout. Ginny’s liable to change her mind and chase them away with her broom. Amber has a cell phone and an old laptop for you that she’ll bring over. You’ll be able to pick up our wireless router signal from here. Just keep it out of Ginny’s sight so you won’t have to deal with her grumbling.”

“Okay. Thanks. That’s . . . great.” Not that I have anyone to phone. And will I know how to use a computer? I saw plenty of them at the hospital, but I never actually sat down in front of one to see how much of a “learned behavior” it is for me.

She sighs. “Well, I’ve got to get ready for work. Are you okay here alone?”

“Of course.” I’ve been completely alone for three months now.

“Like I said, Amber will be over soon. I’m sure you two will be spending a lot of time together.” A warm smile stretches across her face as she squeezes my shoulders. “Open some windows and enjoy the fresh air. Everything will be just fine. You were meant to survive. I firmly believe that.”

With those final words, she strolls out the door, pulling it shut behind her. And I frown at the peephole, the two deadbolts, and the latch lock that can’t possibly be necessary out here, in the middle of nowhere.

Unless you’re the victim of a rape that still haunts you almost fifty years later.

I close my eyes against the rising panic. Will this be me one day? Will I find comfort in the locks and chains, will I wish for bars across my windows?

I told Dr. Weimer about my talk with Ginny and the growing fears that sprouted from it. She didn’t make any sugarcoated promises or predictions. It will be difficult, she said. You will wish you didn’t remember that part, she said. You may never remember that part, depending on how lucid you were at the time, she also said. I found myself praying for that possibility. I’d like to know who did this to me, but I don’t need to relive it. It’s not like I’ll ever forget that it happened. All I have to do is look in the mirror to be reminded that it did.

But Dr. Weimer also reiterated that I am not alone and I do not have to live like I am.

I can choose not to live like Ginny.

I survey my space again. There are two dormer windows facing the driveway and one overlooking the side of the property, and a glass door at the other end of the long room. I slide it open and step outside. For an apartment this long and spacious, the wooden balcony is tiny. More a perch than anything. A green-and-blue woven lawn chair that has seen better days sits in the corner. There isn’t room for much else.

I rest my hands on the wobbly railing and take in the smell of clean, crisp air; the vista of land and trees and the three peaks beyond. It’s a view more beautiful than . . . well, I don’t know if I’ve seen anything like this before. And, except for the occasional chirp of a bird, I hear nothing but the creak of the wood under my weight and my own pounding heartbeat.

A blue canopy hangs over me, the clouds fleecy and white. I imagine that it’s a dome, enclosing me in this peace, separating me from my turmoil, which continues to swirl outside.

Motion in the grass catches my attention. A black-and-white cat creeps along the green expanse, its attention zoned in on something unseen, its body hovering low to the ground, its ears flat. I assume that’s Felix, out to earn her reputation. A string of frisky kittens in varying mixtures of all black, all white, and everything in between come bounding up behind her, oblivious to their mother’s endeavors. Whatever Felix was hunting must have been scared away, because the cat eases into a stand and shoots what I surmise is an annoyed glare the kittens’ way.

I can’t help myself. I burst out laughing. It’s a low, uncontrollable sound that begins in my belly and sails from my lips with abandon.

And I realize that it’s the first time I’ve ever heard my laugh that I can remember.

Was I a person who laughed a lot? Did I laugh at myself? At others?

I make a silent promise to learn how to laugh freely because that little burst felt like a release.

But the sound must have startled the kittens because they have scattered, two bolting under the fence between Ginny’s and the Welleses’ properties. From this vantage point, I have a perfect view of the Welleses’ garage that sits to my left and farther back—a long structure that matches in color scheme the house, with a steep roof that allows for that room above, and a double garage door. It’s open, and the tail end of a shiny black car sticks out.