I climbed from the draining water and toweled my body.
The room was too steamy for my liking. I’d get dressed in my room. I gathered my things and headed that way.
Wait. I stopped dead in the hallway. Something seemed odd. No one was there. Nothing looked out of place on the path from the bathroom to my bedroom. Maybe…oh, that's it. My bedroom door stood cracked open. Unlocked. I sighed. Gretta had been in there.
How had she gotten into my room? Where had she gotten a key to the deadbolt? And more importantly, what did she want in my room? This wasn't acceptable at all.
I nudged the door open a bit more then looked behind it in case she was hiding. Nobody there. I opened the door the rest of the way and stepped inside. Nothing looked disturbed. What had Gretta done and why didn’t she even bother to hide her invasion?
I stepped over toward my armoire and draped my dirty clothes over the chair back. The hamper was full. I turned in a full circle, searching every inch of my room.
And then I saw it. A laptop computer. On my bed. In my room. Why?
Not that I hadn’t been considering buying one, but why had Gretta made the decision for me? I hadn’t been in any rush to catch up with the times. I hadn’t jumped on the computer bandwagon to that point, why did she think today was the day? And what made it her decision?
It was my money. If I had wanted a computer, I could've had one sitting on the desk for the past ten years like Gretta had—some kind of plastic monstrosity for playing a card game.
It had been thirty years since the big home makeover when the new refrigerator, washing machine, and dishwasher descended upon my home—and I still wasn’t used to all of it. If I'd wanted a computer, I could've gotten one when Gretta had in 1998. Now, granted, the new computers did hold more appeal now with the Internet and all the conveniences it afforded, but that was my choice to make, not Gretta’s.
And, I couldn’t forget that she’d entered my room. She’d have had to get through two different kinds of locks to make it in. How could she have done that? Was she just toying with me?
I sighed. Somehow I had to free myself of Gretta. I had to stop her.
Regardless, Mr. Jenkins, it was the year 2008 and I was now online.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
2013
I stood and dusted my hands on my dungarees. Oh, wait. They didn’t call them that anymore. My jeans. “Jeans.” I tried the word out to see how it felt. Strange, it felt like most trendy words were just slurred speech. They changed so fast I could barely keep up—another reason I avoided townspeople.
It's a wonder I risked myself with Pepper, the mail delivery girl—er, person. Somewhere over the years it became wrong to call someone who was a girl, a girl. People sure have strange ideas about things, about what was important and what wasn't. It was all silly.
I dropped my spade into the empty row beside the green beans. It was almost time for Pepper's arrival. I'd chat with her for a moment then return to my gardening or my writing. I glanced at the brewing storm clouds. The weather would decide which.
I set off down the winding lane from the house to the mailbox. It had been, what—three days?—since I'd made my last long trek down the driveway. Pepper probably assumed I was sick. I never got sick, but she didn't know that.
I'd best make an appearance with Pepper, lest she worry and call someone for help. I smirked to myself. Even I knew that was just an excuse. I needed the human contact more than anything. Especially since I’d been holed up in my room writing to Mr. Jenkins lately.
Pepper was the closest thing to a friend I'd had in years. Since Suzette died. Girlfriends these days spent time shopping at the mall or getting fancy, frothy coffee drinks and chatting for hours. I would never have those luxuries, but a few minutes by the mailbox couldn't hurt me. Could it?
I walked down the long drive, looking at the ground and kicking a rock when I saw one. The flowers were beautiful, and the trees were in bloom, but I didn't take much notice of them. My mind was in the past, far away. Somehow my writings, my searchings, had to bring some kind of reconciliation between the past and the future. It had to help me make sense of my purpose. Otherwise, it all felt meaningless.
I leaned against the mailbox and scanned the road for Pepper’s car. My eyes landed on a man standing on the hillside—the same man I’d seen the other day.
Why was he there again? He must be watching me, which meant he knew something about me. Maybe it had to do with Gretta and the man in the wheelchair.
“Hey, you!” I cupped my hands around my mouth as I shouted.
He didn't wave back or even blink in response. He just stood there and ignored me. How rude. I needed to find out who this man was. Tomorrow, I’d get up early and go to that hillside before he arrived. I’d hide there and find out. His spying was going to end.