Protector of One

The sound of the front doorbell replaced silence with cheerful promise. She and her friends observed an “open-door” policy. Nobody needed an invitation or to make a phone call before dropping in.

But when she opened the door, she found not one of her friends, but instead Adrian Goddard. The sight so startled her that she didn’t greet him immediately.

“Sorry to drop by like this,” he said. “Do you have a minute to talk?”

“Sure,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. Stepping back, she allowed him to come inside, along with a gust of cold air.

“Winter’s not far away,” he remarked with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“No, but this is my favorite time of year. Autumn is special. Would you like coffee or something?”

“No thanks. I don’t want to impose. Just a brief chat.”

She nodded and led him to the living room, wincing as she saw her solitary, hardly touched meal still sitting on the coffee table. Talk about revealing!

He settled on one end of the couch at her invitation, and she took the rocking chair that faced him kitty-corner. She reached for the remote and then shut off the TV.

“This isn’t official or anything,” he told her. In fact, she thought he looked awkward. “I was thinking as I was getting ready to drive home. How hard this must have been for you. What you saw, and having to tell us, then our reaction to it. I just wanted to make sure you’re all right.”

“All right?” She looked at the table with the microwave tray on it, at the glass of milk beside it, at the TV remote she had reached for because tonight she needed some kind of companionship. She could have called a friend, but that would have meant discussing this morning, the last thing she felt like doing. Then the conversation she wanted to avoid had walked through her door anyway. “I guess.”

“You guess? That doesn’t sound good.”

She shook her head. “No, that’s not what I meant. I just found myself wondering what all right is. I mean…I’ve been coming home to this house for eight years, every night. I make myself a dinner, something usually better than this. Friends drop by. Sometimes I cook for all of us or go over to their places. But tonight nothing feels the same. I’m not sure anything is all right anymore.”

He nodded slowly. “Life does things like that. Without warning, everything’s off-center. It’s like you have to reinvent yourself.”

“That’s a good description.” She looked at him, taking in his attractive features. A little flutter reminded her she was a woman. “Tonight I feel like a stranger to myself.”

“I know that feeling. That’s why I stopped by. I could tell earlier you were having as much trouble with having had the vision as you were with what was in it.”

She nodded, leaning back. “I sure wouldn’t tell anyone else about it.”

“That’s what I wanted to suggest. Keep it quiet.”

She didn’t know if she liked that. Frowning, she asked, “Why? Because everyone will think I’m crazy? Because you think I’m crazy?”

He shook his head quickly, leaning forward. “I don’t think you’re crazy at all. Which is not to say I believe in psychics, but I’ve got an open mind and you obviously picked up on something. But you’re certainly not crazy.”

“Then why?”

“Because, if word gets around, it might put you in jeopardy with the killers.”

Gut-punched. She couldn’t even breathe. Stunned, she tried to absorb his words. Wings of panic started fluttering around the dark edges of her mind. Finally she said, “But I didn’t identify anyone! I couldn’t!”

“Do they know that?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? “Are you trying to scare me?”

“I’m trying to protect you.”

She couldn’t doubt his sincerity. She’d heard that he’d been with the Department of Criminal Investigation before coming here to ranch. Gage apparently trusted him enough to ask for his help in the murder case. But even without that, something in his gaze seemed to reach out reassuringly. “I wasn’t planning to tell anyone. Not even my friends. I keep these things to myself when they happen. Although it’s usually nothing like this. Usually it’s just a quick glimpse of something right before it happens.”

He nodded and appeared to relax.

“I only told Emma because I couldn’t hold it in anymore, and I trust her. She never gossips. Ever. But I couldn’t bring myself to come in alone and tell Gage.”

“Yet you felt you should.”

She nodded. “It was like a pressure. Like something was pushing me, and it wouldn’t leave me alone. Almost like someone was right at my shoulder, refusing to go away until I told you.” She shuddered even now at the memory of that psychic push.

That caught his attention. “I take it you believe in the afterlife?”

Where did that come from? she wondered. “Most people do.”

“I’m more of an agnostic. I don’t know. But…you experienced it?”

She hesitated. Unlike some people, she didn’t tell the story often, but rather hugged it to herself. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “How could I? It’s called a near-death experience, or NDE for short, because those of us who have it come back. The debate is about whether we experienced death at all, or just oxygen deprivation. There are widely separated camps on this.”

“I would imagine so. But you must have made your own decision.”

She bit her lower lip, searching his face, deciding she saw only genuine interest there. “Whatever I experienced, I have no doubt it was real, maybe more real than this chair I’m sitting in right now. I have no doubt that I had a glimpse of something so beautiful that there’s no way I could describe it to you. It changed me. It certainly rid me of any fear of death.”

He nodded, absorbing what she said, not immediately leaping forward with questions or conversation. She liked his thoughtful manner. She liked that he gave things time to settle as he took them in.

“I’m not so sure that’s a good thing,” he said presently.

“What?”

“Not being afraid of death.”

At that she couldn’t repress a smile. “I’m not jumping from airplanes without a parachute, if that’s what you mean. I take reasonable precautions like everyone else. I’m just not afraid of the inevitable outcome of every life.”

A smile creased his face in return. “Good point.”

“We all get there sooner or later. The problem comes when we spend too much of our time and efforts trying to avoid it. I pity people who are obsessively afraid of dying.”

“Anything can take over your life,” he agreed. “That’s a common obsession. Others of us have different ones.”

She nodded, wondering if he was taking this conversation somewhere. At the same time, she didn’t want him to leave. Earlier the house had felt empty and oppressive. Now it felt as home should. Normal sounds, warmth, friendliness. And she was feeling a kind of attraction she hadn’t felt in quite a while. Was he married?

“Let me get you a coffee,” she said. “And a slice of cheesecake. I imagine you spent most of the day outside.” She paused, filled with the need to know. “Unless you need to get home to your family?”

This time he didn’t decline. “No family,” he said. “And coffee sounds really good now. It’s getting cold out there.”

So no family. That pleased her more than it probably should have. As she rose from the rocker, she took her congealing dinner tray to the kitchen, deciding she might as well have some cheesecake, too. Sometimes she needed comfort food, and tonight was a good night for it.

The wind blew some dead leaves against the kitchen window, rattling them as they passed. She stared out into the darkness, but saw only her own reflection in the glass. A lingering whiff of burned bacon wafted past her nose, barely detectable, and soon disappeared in the aromas of fresh coffee and chocolate-caramel cheesecake.