Mrs. Adair resurfaced in my thoughts throughout the rest of the day before locking up the store. There had been a big stir about 5 years ago when she married into the Adair family. At the time, I didn't understand why a rich family would be upset to have a lawyer marry into it. My parents would be thrilled if I brought home a lawyer.
I get my bag ready to go out again to take photos of the lake. As I slide the charged battery pack into the camera, my mind drifts. I think about what it must have been like for her. Suddenly marrying into an established family in a village she'd likely never even heard of. Not to mention, now owning the largest property and several of the local businesses in the town just to the north, also on the lakeshore. I've never lived anywhere but here, let alone travelled or worked outside of a 3 hour radius for camping one week every April with my family. I wonder about her own family and if this village feels haunted to her now.
Tonight as I slip out of my room, I hear no music blaring from down the hall, it's Tuesday when my sister has volleyball practice. I reach the empty living room, dad taking inventory at the store, my mom transporting Emily. I stop to make myself some sandwiches out of the contents of the fridge before I head outside.
I find myself walking distractedly. I think about the store, my role with it and my family. I'm the oldest but it isn't what I want for my future. Maybe some day I'll come back and realize I enjoy the repetitive nature of owning a convenience store. But for now I dream of travelling, photographing centuries old buildings, landscapes, and cultures. Before I know it, my feet have brought me to my usual look out, the Henderson's.
In the continuing warm air, the lake begins to take shape around the giant ice flow dominating the center. Small waves start to lap at the rock covered embankments that lead to the sandy beaches submerged below the water currently. Usually by the time the spring run off floods in, the water level has dipped low to reveal the shoreline. But for now, it sits nice and high.
I lay out the blanket I remembered to bring. Old denim sewn into squares on the bottom to provide stability by my grandmother, fleece on top. I sit and begin to eat my snack, I go over my camera, ensuring I swapped memory cards, leaving yesterday's in my laptop for editing. I finish eating as the moon peeks out from behind a small cloud. It illuminates the overgrown garden around me and causes the mansion next door to glow white in the Moon's reflection.
Embarrassment floods my cheeks as I catch myself staring at the Adair manor again. Something about the massive modern wall sized windows contrast with the medieval inspired twisted iron light fixtures almost works together. Almost. I look up at what I assume to be the third story, unsure what room might over look this garden and by extension the public beach. Just as I finish pondering, the balcony to the right of my gaze comes alight. Just as suddenly, the door opens and a figure steps out, stumbling. The figure catches themselves on the railing, again wrought iron and outdated.
I become mesmerized as she is illuminated from the porch light behind her and the moon above. She seems to be wearing a nightgown, perhaps even loose flowing shorts underneath. From here I can tell there are different fabrics, one shimmers in the wind and one that glows white as the house itself does. Her hair, which had been coifed into a neat French twist earlier, now hangs down and cascades around her shoulders in waves. I hadn't realized how long her hair is. I wonder what thought brought her outside tonight.
As my mind races, I think of calling out to her, or the thousands of questions that had crossed my mind earlier today. Instead, I raise the camera to my eye. I think of each question, mull it over in my mind, and snap the picture when I feel an answer in her posture. Seemingly longing, wistful, and melancholy all at once.
Lowering the camera, I slowly pack it into my bag and sit quietly in the still night air. The earlier warm breeze has now picked up again, gently shifting the folds of fabric surrounding Mrs. Adair. She is definitely younger than I'd always pictured, still had plenty of life left ahead of her and no one to share it with.
My sentimental romantic heart aches for her circumstances. Growing up I'd always pictured I would have a childhood best friend who might turn out to be my soul mate. But I'd never made that kind of connection here, even when my parents' life long friends came over with their kids. I never seemed to click with them. Of course, school hadn't been any better. My only friends were because we hated the same people, our mutual bullies.
My gaze drifts up again as I realize I've wrapped my arms around my knees on the blanket, which is glaringly visible from the her balcony if she turns this way. A flash of panic hits me in the stomach and I slowly try to lift the blanket as quietly as possible. Moving agonizingly slow, I begin retreating backwards before I realize in horror that I don't know the gardens well enough to do this. I feel my right hip bump into something solid, as I turn in horror to investigate, I watch a large empty ceramic planter teetering away, threatening to crash over the railing it sits upon. Catch or run, NOW. A glance to my right and I see I can dive into the shadow of the building and take my chances to avoid being seen.
The loud crash behind me muffles my own impact with the ground. I had managed to cradle my camera against my chest as I flung myself sideways, landing on my shoulder and hip. Distantly I hear a gasp, but I scramble to away and dare not look back. As I slip through the rotted out fence, I am already stowing my camera and eagerly thinking about when I can review the photos I took of her on her balcony. Curious to see which part of the evening was all in my head or if she actually did seem despondent. The adrenaline thumps in my ears and I realize how out of shape I've become and I resolve to start jogging again now that the ice has melted off the roads. Might as well start tonight. I realize and turn around, heading north to go past the mansion. I'm less likely to get caught if I don't realize there's been a commotion, right? I hear myself trying to unsuccessfully convince me of why I turned around, I know with certainty that intrigue is starting to cloud my judgement and all sense of reason. I've never felt so much empathy for someone as much as I do about Mrs. Adair. I ignore the itch in my hands to pull my camera back out to examine the photos I took of her just as I begin passing her estate. The lights are still all shut off except for the security flood lamps around the perimeter wall.
I panic for an illogical moment as I consider why she hadn't call the police before realizing she likely did and just hadn't made her way downstairs and turned on the lights to alert whoever had been next door. After all, she had been utterly silent in her moonlit balcony, I likely wouldn't have noticed her presence if I hadn't been staring and thinking of her in that exact moment. I shudder with the realization that she'd likely seen me using the Henderson's terrace over the past year, when she was in town that is.
I turn at the municipal boundary and make my way away from the lake, crossing the train tracks before turning south again. I resolve to stop going to the Henderson's, evidently I have become reckless in trying to learn more about Mrs. Adair.