Phantom

April 4, 1944

There’s a strange man outside my window.

He wears a black fedora and a trench coat, and he shields his face from me.

My hand trembles as I repeat the words in ink, forever ingrained in my journal.

This isn’t the first time I’ve seen him, and I’m convinced he’s here for John.

For two weeks now, my husband’s been working on getting our money back. Each night, it’s a different story. He wins some only to go belly-up.

He was out late playing poker last night, and it’s likely he didn’t make back enough to pay his dues. Maybe this man is here to collect on a debt he’s owed. Or to hurt me.

Whatever the case, I’m terrified.

I had hoped he was no more than an apparition when I first saw him, but now I can see there is nothing ghostly about this man. He is as real as the heavy beat of my heart, and his presence as potent as the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

Yet I’m also intrigued. Even through the glass, I swear I can feel his burning stare. It’s caressing my face, down the column of my throat, and over my breasts.

An undeniable burn has settled low in my stomach—something I haven’t experienced in years. Not since John and I first began courting.

I’m unsure why this mysterious man is causing such a visceral reaction. Or why I’m allowing it to continue.

I should call the authorities. Call for help and plead for John to come home straightaway.

Still I do nothing—say nothing.

I’m home alone and terrified.

But I’m also intrigued.

April 6, 1944

“Is there something out there that I’m missing?”

Frank’s sudden voice jolts me out of my daydream, startling me and nearly sending my heart flying out of my throat.

Hand over my chest, I stare up at him with widened eyes. His brow is furrowed, and his blue-green eyes are filled with concern. Despite his charming smile, he has strong features with his sharp jaw, cleft chin, and pointed nose. He has the type of face that instills fear when he gets a certain look in his eyes.

I suppose that’s what makes him such a good detective.

“You startled me,” I breathe.

Frank grins, then pointedly stares out of the bay window beside me. “Are you looking for something?”

My shadow.

“No one, of course. Don’t be silly,” I answer, chuckling nervously.

My visitor came back earlier this morning, again standing in the tree line. Just watching me, as he has been for the past couple weeks. I was too afraid to confront him, so I sat in my chair and watched him back. Hoping and praying that he didn’t dare to break into my home. He left after an hour, yet my heart has refused to settle.

Frank scrutinizes me carefully while he pulls out his tobacco pipe from his coat pocket. “John tells me you’ve been bustin’ his chops lately.”

I huff, fluttering my hands over my dress only to give them something to do.

Frank Williams and John have been the best of friends since I met my husband. Frank’s around nearly as much as John and knows me just as well, too.

“It seems you have enabled these new habits, haven’t you?” I accuse, sending a cross look in his direction.

He takes a few moments to suck on his pipe, little ringlets of smoke releasing past his lips.

“Of course, I haven’t. I go along to ensure his safety, but I don’t partake.”

“Why haven’t you stopped him?” I snip.

He guffaws. “Have you tried to change his mind, dear? He’s as stubborn as a bull.”

I shake my head, so incredibly disappointed. For a long while, I was completely taken with my husband. I loved him thoroughly. And now . . . I don’t know anymore.

I haven’t known for years, truthfully.

“I’ve offered to help,” Frank announces.

That draws my focus back to him, surprise flashing through me.

“Help? Help how?”

“The mortgage payment was late, and I paid it so you and Sera wouldn’t be without a home,” he says, flashing a suave smile my way.

Instantly, embarrassment stains my cheeks red. It’s almost unheard of to pay for another man’s bills. Just as quickly, I’m stricken with concern. John is in debt to his best friend, and that makes me deeply uncomfortable.

And while there is a tinge of relief that Sera and I won’t be on the streets as of yet, there’s a pit in my stomach, eating away at my insides.

For the first time, I’m grateful John and I didn’t have a huge family like we had initially planned. My pregnancy with Sera was extremely complicated, and I nearly died giving birth to her.

I awoke in a hospital bed with my uterus removed from an emergency surgery and a healthy newborn baby. It was devastating for John and me that we would never be able to have another, but the two of us were eternally grateful for the one we did have.

Sera is more than enough for us, but there’s always been a residual pain on the back side of my heart, grieving the children I’d never have.

But now? Now, I am grateful. I’m so beside myself trying to figure out how we’ll support Sera, I couldn’t imagine having multiple kids to worry about.

Frank crouches in front of me, the tobacco pipe tucked in his pocket again. He rests his palms on my lap. Heat sinks into my knees and deepens the cavernous pit beneath my ribs.

“I will always take care of you, Gigi. You should know that.”

“That’s not your duty, Frank,” I snap.

“Maybe not,” he concedes. “But I am happy to provide for you when your husband cannot. You and Sera are family to me, and I love you both dearly. I would never allow anything to happen to you two.”

While Frank has expressed his love for us on many occasions, something about this proclamation feels different. Maybe because he only speaks of Sera and me rather than John and us as a family.

It’s unsettling, to say the least. And in the back of my mind, I worry that now I am indebted to Frank, too.

Clearing my throat, I say, “It’s greatly appreciated, but I’m sure this won’t happen again.” Yet we both know that’s a false hope. John isn’t getting any better—he’s getting worse.

Deliberately, I remove his hands from my lap and stand, shuffling toward the kitchen where I can breathe.

“Gigi, you know he’s in far worse debt than just a mortgage payment,” he tells me. Irritation pricks at my nerves, and tension gathers in my shoulders.

“You don’t think I know that?” I snap, whirling to face him. “He’s drained all our money! Worse yet, he’s been coming home sauced every night, slurring about how he’s being cheated. We have nothing, Frank, and I will not allow you to continue to pay for his mistakes, either. We may have a roof over our heads for another month, but we will be in no better a position if he doesn’t figure out a way to fix this.”

He takes a step toward me. “I will do everything in my power to ensure that doesn’t happen.”

I exhale heavily and turn away once more. “Just help him kick this habit. That’s all I need from you, Frank.”

“I will, Gigi. I’d do anything for you.” He said that already, yet I don’t feel any less hopeless—or uncomfortable.

April 4, 1944

There’s a strange man outside my window.

I do not know who he is or what he wants from me. But I think he knows me. He watches me through the windows when John’s not home. He wears a fedora on his head, concealing his face from me.

I haven’t told John yet. I cannot fathom why, but something keeps me from opening my mouth and admitting that a man is watching me from the shadows. John wouldn’t handle it well. He’d go out with his shotgun and try to find him.

I must admit, I’m more afraid of what would happen to my visitor should my husband succeed.

I’m very afraid of this strange man.

But my God, am I also intrigued.