Only the Beginning (Complete)

“Always know that we love you so much. We always will. You are going to be remembered in this world. You will be someone special,” her mother and father said before her first day of school. They said it often, every night almost. But she remembers that morning specifically. She plays it back in her head over and over again.

She sits in the coffee shop sipping tea, gazing out the window without really looking at anything in particular. Every morning, she orders her tea, sits down in the remote corner booth, and looks out the large window toward the street. She never comes with anyone, rarely says anything, but still, everyday she comes. She just sits and listens to the stories of the people surrounding her. The laughs, the cries, the fights, the professions of love, and sometimes nothing in particular- just two people enjoying each other's company in silence. The silence is her favorite.

       She seems to be an ordinary woman that just happens to spend twelve hours a day in the same coffee shop in the same neighborhood on the same street everyday. The baristas don't bother her much. They never make her leave. She is good business and never fails to leave a good tip. The baristas come to the booth occasionally, more out of necessity than desire, to ask if she needs another cup of tea. She turns and nods and returns to staring. Her focus jumps from the shady trees, to the birds, to the people strolling along the streets talking on their cell phones or walking their dogs. She sees the same people everyday like clockwork. The same woman walks past every morning on her way to work. The same man jogs past everyday at noon in a green tracksuit. A group of children walking home from school pass at around three fifteen. The world goes on everyday without her, while she sits, staring out the window onto the street.

Sometimes she gets too attached to the passersby. She creates stories for them- lives she imagines they live outside the thirty second increments she sees them. How old they are, why they are rushing, where they are going, why they have frustrated looks on their faces as they pass, what they giggle about with their friends. The teenager passing is Laura. She’s sixteen. Laura is on her way to the ice cream parlor to order a large scoop of chocolate on a sugar cone because she doesn’t care that the other girls thinks she eats too much. The woman makes up their stories while sipping her tea, looking out the window onto the street-- the street where her parents died.

She was very little when her parents died in the neighborhood the coffee shop is in, on the street it’s on. Her parents were on their way to get coffee at the same shop she’s been sitting in everyday for the past few years. She kissed and hugged them goodbye before she boarded the school bus and she gazed out the window in the back to wave to them until they disappeared from view. She was at school when her aunt came to get her and told her that mommy and daddy weren’t coming home that night. After several nights, she stopped questioning. She never really asked what happened. She knew they were gone forever. She moved with her aunt to a city far away from home. Her aunt said the man that did it was let out of jail, but she had to see for herself. She’s been back for a few years- living in her parents house.

He stills lives across from the coffee shop on the street it happened. She watches him take his children to school, walk with his wife, play with the dog in the front yard. She watches him live a life that was taken away from her parents. She watches him do the things her parents never got to do with her. She watches the man that murdered her parents be happy and live after he took the lives of the only people she loves.

"Would you like another tea?" the barista with the wavy dark brown hair asked in her too-bubbly voice, interrupting the woman’s thoughts.

"No. No thank you," said the woman before adding, "But I will take the check."

"Sure, no problem." The barista set the check down on the table and walked away. The woman looked at the clock, saw it was noon, put a fifty dollar bill on the table, and got up, taking her slouchy leather bag with her.

She walked across the street and stood in front of the man’s house. She stared at the blue window shutters and the oak doors. It was a lovely home with a large front yard and a swing set in the back. She knew it had an security system that safely allowed her to stand fifty feet away on the sidewalk for an extended period of time without setting off any alarms. She knew because she watched it get installed from her booth in the corner.

“Are you a friend of mommy's?” she heard a voice say, breaking her daydream. The woman looked down to find two little children, a young boy and a slightly older girl. They were wearing school uniforms and had large, colorful backpacks.

“No, I’m not a friend,” said the woman.

“Why are you looking at my house?” said the girl.

“I was just looking sweety,” the woman said.

“Do you want to see my bedroom?” the boy said eagerly.

“Ummmmm I don’t think your parents would like it is a stranger was in your house,” she said.

“It’s okay. Mommy says I can have friends over,” said the boy. “Is it okay?” he said directed towards his sister.

“I guess,” the sister said shrugging.

“Do you want to be my friend? Please, please, please,” said the boy. “You can see my stuffed animal collection.” Before she could answer, the kids ran into the house leaving the door opened behind them. The woman looked down the street and hesitated before walking up the path and into the house, shutting the door behind her.

The home really was lovely on the inside. It had a natural feel, with wooden beams and light hardwood floors. The children ran up the oak staircase and into their bedrooms, the boy giggling while the girl authoritatively tried to catch him. The woman lingered in the family room where rows of staggered picture frames stood on the mantel and were mounted on the wall. There were enchanting photos of the family outside in the fall, playing in the spring, building snowmen in the winter, and swimming at the beach in the summer. The classic school portraits were hung in order by grade. Her parents never got the chance to hang up all her school photos. They didn’t see her graduate from kindergarten or eighth grade or high school.

“Are you coming up to see my toys?” the boy said, interrupting her thoughts.

“I really think I should go now,” said the woman. “I’m not even supposed to be here. Should a babysitter come to get you or stay with you until your mom and dad come home?”

“No, mom will be home in a few minutes,” the girl said.

“You guys aren’t really old enough to be home alone. I’ll stay, but only until your mom comes home. Now, what were you mentioning about a stuffed animal collection?” The boy grinned and raced up the stairs and down the hall to his room.

“Wow this is quite the collection,” said the woman as she opened the door to the boy’s room, revealing more than fifty stuffed bears, pigs, ducks, and monkeys. “Where did you get all of these?”

“Daddy buys them for me,” the boy said. “He goes out of town a lot and every single time, he comes home with a stuffed animal.” Of course, the woman already knew that from monitoring the family. According to the patterns and her knowledge of his flight information, he would be arriving home in about an hour. The boy proceeded by rattling off the names of the toys.

“I’m home kids!” the woman heard someone shout from downstairs.

“Mommy, mommy, I made a new friend today,” said the boy and he ran down the stairs to greet his mother. The woman followed the boy, looking as if she belonged in the scene of someone else’s home.

“What new friend?” the mom said before looking up to see the woman. “Oh you must be here about the nanny position. Good, good the kids let you in. Were they behaving? Sorry I couldn’t be here when you arrived. My work schedule is crazy and my husband is away on business.” She was one of those people that said a lot at one time and asked questions without pausing, never allowing a person to answer. Of course, the woman already knew about the mom’s hectic work schedule as well. The mom was a doctor at the hospital in the area. “So, I suppose you already met the children. Would you like to stay for dinner? My husband will be home in about a half hour.”

“I couldn’t possibly impose on you like that.”

“Oh it wouldn’t be imposing at all. Besides, I would able to get to know you better and see if you get the job. I’m making pasta with red sauce,” the mom said with a smile, directing the woman to a seat in the dining room. “So tell me about yourself.”

“Well, I don’t really do that much. I grew up in the area, moved away, and then moved back here a few years ago. Still trying to settle in and make it what it used to be. Still trying to make it feel like home. The coffee shop across the street helps. It’s where I spend most of my time. It’s the only place that was here back when I was.”

“Well that’s nice,” the woman said with an insincere smile.

“So, when is your husband coming home?” the woman said as the mom cooked the noodles and the children ran around in between the chairs playing tag.

“Ummmm, in about a half hour.” More like twenty minutes the woman thought. It only takes him twenty minutes from the airport to here. The ladies continued to chat, laugh, and make small talk about work and the children until the man arrived.

“Hi honey. Hey kids!” the man yelled as her came in through the back door. “How was your day?”

“Good daddy. I made a new friend,” said the girl. The man looked over at the woman, then at his wife. He recognized the woman at once. She had the same face and features as her mother and the same complexion and hair as her father.

“I think you should take the kids down to the basement to play,” the man said to his wife.

“Why?” the wife said.

“Let me show you the fort we made yesterday,” said the boy, dragging his mother downstairs.

“Why are you here?” the man said after her knew his wife and children were out of the range of hearing.

“I had to come back. To see if life after the thing that you did to my parents was possible. Seems to me that you turned out just fine.” The man said nothing. “Please, explain to me how you turned out just fine with your perfect family and your perfect life.” Another long pause with no answer from the man. “Because you did murder my parents. Why, am I somehow the one that ended up so damaged?” The woman pulled out a gun from her bag. “I bought this awhile ago, when I first moved back here, and I have no idea how to use it, but I figured that you’d be the person to test it on. My dad never got to teach me. He never got to take me hunting or fishing...or anything.”

Before the man could react, the woman pulled the trigger of the gun and shot the man in the abdomen on her first try, taking him down but leaving him conscious. She went over to the basement door and locked it. She ignored the pounding and questioning coming from the other side.

“Tell me why you did it,” the woman said, hovering over the man. “Tell me,” she said again, pointing the gun to his stomach. Minutes passed and nothing was said. The wife was becoming restless and worried in the basement. The woman shot again. The second shot made the man weaker, pale, and he began to bleed a lot.

“Tell me. Please.”

“It wasn’t only me you know,” said the man weakly as he spit up blood. “It wasn’t only me. I did help kill your parents, but you have to know…I wasn’t the only one involved.”

“What?” said the woman, but the man was already unconscious. “What? Tell me. Tell me. Tell me,” she sobbed over his body. She knew what she had to do now. She had to find the other man. It was the only way to get the justice and peace of mind she needed. As the sirens grew closer, she vowed she wouldn’t rest until her parents’ death was avenged. She grabbed her gun and ran out the back door, running and not once stopping to look back.

“Always know that we love you so much. We always will. You are going to be remembered in this world. You will be someone special.” She heard the quote in her mother’s voice and kept repeating it in her head until it overpowered the actual nearing sirens. She always knew it was true. She knew she would be remembered. She’d always imagined it would be because she’d be an amazing athlete or a doctor or a writer. She never imagined she’d be remembered for this.