For a second she continued toward the porch, then slowed as the man’s appearance settled into her mind’s eye.
She stopped and stared at him.
He stared back.
One of his hands came up and his fingers waggled at her.
Clare changed directions and crossed the lawn, striding up the sidewalk before she could stop herself. “Hey, who are you?” she asked, coming closer to the man.
He smiled, teeth shockingly white and straight. “Me? I’m passing through.”
She glanced down at the bag he carried, something bulky within. “What were you doing on my porch last night?”
He cocked his head, adding to the already extreme angle so that his face was nearly perpendicular to his body. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I saw you. You were on our porch and walked around the side of the house.” The man simply watched her, smile unbroken.
Clare shot a look toward the other homes across the street. Each yard was empty and no one gazed out any of the windows. Nobody to help her if she needed it. The man was a statue, watching her with eyes that danced with internal delight. She slowly turned and moved toward her lawn, keeping the vagrant in her peripheral line of sight. When she was almost to the front steps, he spoke, his voice quiet and airy but carrying across the distance between them.
“Home is a beautiful thing, but only if it’s filled with family.” He turned, heading toward the far end of the street where it curved back on itself. A whistled tune drifted over his shoulder, and she caught only a few notes before it was gone, but that was enough.
Clare bumped into the porch stairs and stumbled up them, fumbling with her keys before managing to unlock the door. A loud beeping echoed through the house as she stepped inside and she bit back a scream. The security system. Eric had armed it before he left.
It took two aborted tries to get the code in correctly and silence the touchpad. But then the quiet of the house was almost worse. She rearmed the system and double-checked the locks, peering out through the door’s side window to see where the homeless man was now.
The end of the cul-de-sac was vacant save for a striped cat hunting in the grass of the empty lot on the far side. He was gone.
His absence was alarming rather than reassuring and she took the stairs two at a time to their bedroom. The electronic safe in her bedside table sprang open with the number combo she punched in. She drew out the Ruger, checking its load even though she’d gone through the weapon that morning.
Her breathing came in dry rasps, heart rate skipping along like a flat stone across water. She knew to anyone else she’d look psychotic, standing there, gun in hand. But the things she’d noticed and hadn’t fully processed about the “homeless” man continued to cascade through her mind.
She and Eric had volunteered several times at Capeside’s small soup kitchen in the last year and she’d seen the local homeless community up close. Yes, they were unwashed. Yes, their clothing was torn and patched and oily from constant wear. Yes, many of them were in the advanced stages of substance abuse. But for the most part they were peaceful, polite, and quiet. The man she’d just encountered was none of those things.
His clothing had been dirty, but not tattered. In fact, it had appeared relatively new. The bag he’d had wasn’t very dirty or frayed. There was no sense of neglect about him. And his eyes were the most telling. The way he’d looked at her had been threatening with a hint of something else she wasn’t sure she was ready to confront quite yet.
Recognition.
It was like he had known her.
But beyond all else the thing that had sent her scrambling inside to clutch the gun in her hand now was the tune he’d begun whistling as he walked away.
To her it had sounded very much like one of the hymns her father had written when she was a little girl.
When Eric’s truck rolled to a stop in its accustomed space late that afternoon she disarmed the alarm for the second time.
Clare had spent the hours after arriving home replaying the day’s events, trying to reason her way through everything, find a flaw in the coalescing fear tightening around her like a full-body noose. But each time she began to calm herself she would hear the off-kilter tune whistled through the puckered lips of the man and her resolve would collapse. She’d taken a shower to warm herself and tried to eat, but nothing in the fridge had seemed appetizing. Afterward she’d turned on the gas fireplace and settled into the couch, letting her gaze unfocus as she watched the flames dance.
Now, as Eric bustled in through the door, her eyes fell to the coin on the countertop where she’d laid it earlier. She stood in the living room, far enough away that the small disc looked innocuous in the early evening light.
“Hey, I’m home,” Eric called. “Oh, you’re right there,” he said, noticing her in the next room. “So, you’re going to love me. I got fresh cilantro and organic pork along with some green onions. Pork ramen and vino, how does that sound?” He busied himself with the grocery bags while she waited, not saying anything. After a moment he glanced up, concern creasing his features. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Eric crossed the room to her, took her hands. “What is it?”
She fought to keep the tremble from voice. “I saw a man in the street this afternoon. I think he was the one who was on our porch last night.”
“What? How do you know?”
“He had the same shape and he . . . I don’t know, he talked to me like he knew me.”
Eric frowned. “Here, let’s sit down. Tell me exactly what happened.” They settled onto the couch and she relayed the incident, trying to recall any further details as she relived the encounter once again. When she was finished Eric went to the kitchen windows and surveyed the street. “You haven’t seen him since?”
“No,” she said, wringing her hands in her lap. She wrestled with whether or not to tell him about the intrusive memory at the beach, but if she went into that she’d have to explain the wooden coin as well, and she wasn’t sure she could do that right now. The twisted man’s whistled tune wove through her mind like a cold breeze nudging wind chimes.
Eric returned holding two brimming glasses of wine and handed her one. “I’ll put a call in to the police department, say someone’s been prowling around the house at night and give them this guy’s description.”
She nodded, sipping gratefully at the wine. “Okay. It wouldn’t hurt to have a patrol come through the neighborhood.”
He smiled and squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll make us some food. Once your belly is full of ramen you’ll feel better.”
She watched him go to the kitchen and busy himself among the dinner supplies. In that moment she wasn’t sure if she’d ever loved anyone or anything more. Maybe all of this was coincidence, maybe the man was just a drifter passing through and she’d misheard the tune he’d been whistling. Her thoughts slid back to Lia’s earlier insight. Perhaps the knowledge of Eric’s proposal was affecting her more than she knew.
Eric said something as a pan clattered in the kitchen, drawing her back to reality. “What did you say?” she asked.
“I said what’s with the old button?”