The Watchers (41 page)

“Only you didn’t have you for comfort,” I
said, realizing how much support I really had.

“I did have me. That was part of the
problem,” he said.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes. If I’d had you, I would have…” he
trailed off, his eyes wistful.

I reached over and took his
hand.
You have me
now
.

He squeezed my hand then released it, so he
could push the button on his visor. Through the windshield, I saw
we were at the black gates to his house. The tires of the car
crunched into the gravel as we circled up to the house and parked
near the broad front stairs. He helped me out of the car, and we
walked up the stairs together. When he shoved the front door open,
I got chills.

“Why do you look like we’re stepping into a
house laced with explosives?”

“It’s too quiet. Where is everyone?” I tugged
at my dress nervously.

“I asked them to leave for a couple of hours,
so we could have some privacy.”

“For the surprise?”

“Yes.” His eyes danced with laughter, the
seriousness of our prior conversation gone or suppressed.

He pulled me to the stairs to get me walking.
We made our way along the stone steps and through another hall,
past the library, the home theater on the second floor, and up two
more floors of his massive house. Why did this surprise entail
climbing all the way to the top of the house? He finally stopped at
the bottom of a small set of metal stairs which spiraled up.

“This is my room,” he said. “I want you to
shut your eyes.”

“How will I walk up the stairs with my eyes
shut?” I said warily. I was hedging a bit, wondering why he was
acting so secretive.

“I’ll carry you. Just shut your eyes.”

I clamped my hand over my eyes as
verification that I wasn’t peeking. He picked me up and threw me
over his shoulder. I was laughing by the time he set me back
down.

“Okay. Just one more second.” He checked my
hand was still in place.

I heard movement and something being set
down. “Can I open them now?”

“Yes.”

I took my hand away. Daniel’s room was
circular, the walls made out of glass. I felt, as I turned a
complete 360 degrees, like I was in a tower; a tower that was half
tree house. The furniture was simple and light, designed for
comfort rather than show. I could see Daniel staying up here,
finding solace in a life that I knew was full of danger. I could
see him reading for hours in the chair by the small fireplace, his
strong hands turning the pages as the light danced on his face.
Looking at the worn places where books had sat, I knew he had
cleaned specifically for this moment. I wished he hadn’t. I’d have
liked to see it without the changes.

“This is beautiful,” I said.

“Thanks.” He made an odd throat clearing
noise and I turned to face him. That’s when I noticed what he was
standing next to. I felt my stomach fill with butterflies. Surely,
he hadn’t? “Do you remember saying that you wanted me to have a sap
story about the first guitar I bought?”

Oh God…he had.

He reached out and stroked the mahogany
guitar I had fallen in love with so many weeks ago. It made a
pristine sound as his fingers strummed across the strings. “I
figured there couldn’t be anything more sap ridden than the story
I’m about to tell…I bought this guitar after running into a very
beautiful, amazing woman in a music store. Admittedly, I ran into
that woman after searching for her all over town, because I wanted
to talk to her again. I bought this the next day, thinking that if
I did I could have a part of her near whenever I couldn’t be around
her. But I couldn’t play it. I knew I couldn’t keep it to
myself.”

He picked up the guitar and held it out for
me to take. I stared at him, a dozen reasons for not taking it
formed in my mind. The first reason was the most obvious one. “Do
you have any idea what this cost?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” He stepped
closer and forced the guitar into my hands. “When someone who loves
you buys you something, it’s not an obligation, Clare. It’s an
extension of that love. Besides, I bought it for me originally.
You’re getting it secondhand.”

I started laughing. “You knew you would get
me with that sap story, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Was it real?”

“Absolutely. I bought it from Martha the
morning of our first car lesson.”

“Don’t tell me, you have a tattoo on your
wrist as well,” I joked.

Daniel unbuttoned his white dress shirt and
held up his wrist. He showed me a small track of writing. “I got
this after my first…death. A reminder. It’s his name in
Arabic.”

“Why Arabic?”

“Because that was the language he spoke.”

“Oh.”

I looked down at the guitar as an idea
formed. “Sit down,” I told him.

He crossed his arms, stuck out his jaw, and
did his best impersonation of me. “I don’t like to be bossed
around.”

“Oh, hush. Just do as you’re told.”

He bowed extravagantly then went and sat in
the comfortable chair near the fire, the one I had imagined him in.
Pulling the chair across from him closer, I sat as well. Running
through my memory bank of memorized songs, I settled on one he had
told me he liked. I started playing, “Tears in Heaven,” by Eric
Clapton. My fingers were uncertain at first, but they gained
confidence as the notes flowed out the way they were intended. I
started to sing along as my confidence grew. His expression
transformed from surprise to awe. I smiled around my singing, glad
I hadn’t disappointed him.

I realized something as I played. I wouldn’t
be a victim again. I would learn to control what was happening to
me. I would find answers. I would fight back.

Because what I had was worth fighting
for.