Tool Belt Defender

Watching Alex work should become a national pastime, she thought as she watched him pick up a hole digger and hand it to Buck.

She turned away, deciding she needed to stop watching Alex and find something more constructive to do. She’d been meaning to clean out her closet since moving back into the house. She’d lost about fifteen pounds while being held by The Professional and intended to donate a lot of the clothes that were now too big for her to charity.

She kept her mind blank as she worked, knowing that if she gave it free rein it always went back to the filthy cell where she’d been held, counting the days, the very minutes to death.

It was just after three when she heard a knock on her back door and hurried to answer. Once again a rivulet of warmth wiggled through her as she saw Alex.

“We’re knocking off for the day,” he said when she opened the door. “We’ve got the posts up but they need to set. Since tomorrow is Saturday we’ll give them the weekend and we’ll be here bright and early on Monday morning.”

“Sounds good,” she replied. “Then I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Have a good weekend,” he said and then he was gone.

She hadn’t realized how much the sound of the male voices coming from the backyard throughout the afternoon had comforted her.

Now she found the silence slightly oppressive. She moved the box of oversize clothing she’d packed next to the front door and then called a local charity for a pickup the next day.

Sitting down on the sofa, she punched the remote control to turn on the television, just wanting the noise to fill the emptiness of the otherwise silent house.

For almost three months she’d been alone in the shed, with only the sound of The Professional’s voice to occasionally break the silence with his taunts and threats. She’d discovered that now she didn’t do silence well.

Her thoughts instantly drifted back to Alex. There was no question that she felt a visceral physical pull toward him. And why shouldn’t she? He was definitely attractive and she was definitely lonely.

She only left the house for grocery shopping and then only when it was absolutely necessary. She told herself it wasn’t fear that kept her inside but rather the stares and whispers that followed her anywhere she went.

A couple of the friends she’d had before being kidnapped had contacted her after her rescue, but she’d realized they seemed more interested in finding out the grisly details of the crime than her well-being.

Although she was happy that her brothers had all found love while she’d been gone, the fact that they were now building lives with loved ones and had a place where they belonged only made her loneliness deeper. She didn’t know where she belonged anymore.

The late afternoon and evening crept by. She fixed herself a salad for dinner, then watched some more TV. Finally at nine o’clock she went into her bedroom and got ready for bed.

She’d just turned out the light and closed her eyes when her phone rang. Fumbling on the nightstand, she turned on the lamp next to the bed and looked at the caller ID on the phone.

Anonymous caller.

She frowned and sat up. Probably a sales call or some stupid survey, she thought as she grabbed the receiver.

“Hello?”

Nobody replied, although she knew somebody was on the other end. She could hear the soft sound of breathing. “Hello?” she repeated, this time more firmly. “Who is this?”

Still nobody answered, but the breathing grew louder and she was suddenly cast back in time, back to when The Professional would breathe a little harder, a little faster as he talked about the party of death he intended.

Trapped in a moment of sheer terror, her heart beat frantically and she couldn’t catch her breath. Frozen with fear she heard nothing but the sound of the caller breathing … and waiting.

She finally managed to crash the receiver back into the cradle.

She drew several deep breaths and then released a shaky laugh. The Professional was dead. She was safe and a prank phone call had nothing to do with the man who had once planned her death.

The phone call, along with the balloon, had been nothing more than coincidences that had triggered bad memories. There was absolutely no reason for her to be afraid, yet she couldn’t stop shaking and she couldn’t quiet the dreadful sense of foreboding that slithered through her.

It took a very long time for her heart to finally return to a normal rhythm and even longer before she was ready to turn out the light.

Alex spent much of Saturday working in the yard with Emily. He cut the grass while she raked and bagged the clippings and then they went to the local nursery and picked out flowers to plant along the walk leading from the street to the house.

As they worked Emily kept up a string of chatter, asking him if there were flowers in Heaven, what kinds of flowers they were planting and anything else that entered her brilliant little mind.

It was after dinner and cleanup that he announced he thought a trip to Izzy’s was in order to reward them for all their hard work during the day.

At just after seven they left the house and headed down the sidewalk toward Main Street. It was a beautiful spring evening, unusually warm and with the scent of newly bloomed flowers hanging in the air.

Emily alternated between hopping and skipping next to him. She was a child that rarely just walked. She oozed energy and an exuberant happiness that filled Alex’s soul. In the weeks immediately following Linda’s death he’d feared that his daughter would never know real happiness again, but she was a testimony to the resilience of the human spirit.

“I’m thinking strawberry,” she said thoughtfully as she jumped over a crack in the sidewalk.

“Really?” he replied with amusement. They had this conversation each time they walked to Izzy’s. She professed to be thinking about eating some flavor of ice cream but always opted for chocolate ice cream with sprinkles when they got there.

“What are you thinking, Daddy?” she asked.

This was also part of the tradition that had been established in their walks to Izzy’s. Alex frowned in mock thoughtfulness. “I’m thinking maybe worm-flavored ice cream.”

He was rewarded by her infectious giggles. “Daddy, that’s so gross,” she exclaimed.

As they walked in front of Brittany’s house he was surprised to see her sitting on her porch. “Wait up, Emily,” he said. He jogged up the walk to her porch. “Good evening, Ms. Grayson.”

“Good evening to you, Mr. Crawford.”

Her smile warmed him as Emily came running to join him. “Emily, this is Ms. Grayson,” he said. “My daughter, Emily.”

“Hi, Emily. You can call me Brittany,” she replied.

“We’re going to get ice cream at Izzy’s. Want to come with us?” Emily asked.

“Oh, I don’t think so. I don’t go into town much,” Brittany replied, but Alex thought he saw a touch of wistfulness momentarily flit across her beautiful dark eyes.

“Emily, why don’t you show Brittany how you can do a cartwheel in the grass?” Alex said.

Emily’s face lit up. There was nothing she loved more than showing off her gymnastic skills. “Okay.” As she raced off the porch Alex turned back to Brittany.

“And why don’t you go into town much?” he asked.

“Watch this, Brittany,” Emily yelled from the yard.

She focused her attention on Emily. “You’ve probably heard about what happened to me.”

“I’ve heard a little bit about it,” he admitted.

“That’s super, Emily,” she called out as Emily performed two perfectly executed cartwheels. “People stare and whisper,” she said softly. “It makes me uncomfortable so I just don’t go out much.”