Stalker

            Isabel had many rituals, one of which was to enjoy a view of the Pacific from a wooden bench with her twin brother Isaac. Nailed to the bench back was a gold plaque dedicating it to their mother, ‘Sylvania Eng, Devoted Wife and Mother’. The guardrail was a few yards away, beyond which was a steep drop down a craggy cliffside into the roiling waters of the Pacific.

Just three years ago, they’d stood at the rail with their father, at the very spot where their mother had once stood to enjoy the sunset, and they’d released her ashes and said their final goodbyes. To be one with the ocean, near the cabin where they’d gathered as a family, had been her dying wish.

Isaac slipped on a pair of aviator sunglasses and tilted his head back. His chest rose as he inhaled the cool ocean air. Isabel asked, “Do you ever feel guilty about not being married with kids? Because that’s what Mama wanted for us.”

“We’re only thirty-one,” Isaac said.

“Exactly. Mama would say that we’re getting older and we should get started before we’re too old to play with our grandchildren, even though she never got to do that herself.”

“Mama wanted us to be happy –”

“To fall in love and get married and have a family and be happy, just like she and Papa were.” Isabel repeated the words that had been seared into her mind since childhood.

“Yeah, well all that takes time.”

They walked back to the cabin. Framed photos of their family vacations hung on the walls of the living room and bedrooms. The place was still furnished with tables, sofas, and accessories their mother had bought in the late nineties. On the round kitchen table was a note. “Went to the Donut Shop. Papa.” The Donut Shop was the local social hub for gentlemen who were retirees or widowers. Most were both, like their father. They occupied half the tables and spent hours talking about current events or minor health ailments.

Isaac worked on his laptop at the table. He was a biochemist at a drug manufacturer and had multiple projects constantly requiring his attention. He was always working, always focused.

“I’m walking to the grocery store,” Isabel said. “Wanna come?”

            “No, thanks,” he mumbled, then glanced at her and said, “Could you pick up some chicken and breadcrumbs? I’ll make dinner tonight.”

“Sure thing.” She hefted her backpack, loaded with snacks and a thermos of coffee, and walked out the back door of the cabin.

She walked down the dirt trail that ran behind all the cabins. Most were squat and small, like her own family’s cabin. A line of trees obscured the ocean view on her left. The roar of the ocean energized her and kept her moving at a brisk pace. A mile later, she stopped at a grove of trees. A white, A-frame cabin with black shutters, larger and more imposing than the surrounding cabins, stood in the distance. From the grove, she had a clear view of the side of the home, the backyard, and driveway.

A member of the prominent and wealthy Wentry family had purchased the home, according to a couple of gossipy neighbors. WentryTech was one of the most powerful businesses in the Silicon Valley, and Isabel had assumed the new owners were Jeffrey and Melissa Wentry, but actually the new owners were their son Jon and his wife Sheryl.

            Isabel and Jon had dated in college. By their senior year, they’d believed that what they’d had was genuine, lasting love, and marriage was on the horizon. Jon had taken her home to meet his parents, known informally as Jeff and Missy. They’d been aloof. They’d asked off-putting questions about Isabel’s family’s “tiny stationery store business”. The highlight of their conversation, however, had occurred when Missy had casually stated her hope “that Jon will bring a nice girl home one day.” She’d had the nerve to add, “Someone who really suits him.”

            Isabel had been too flabbergasted to respond. Not that responding would’ve changed the woman’s opinion. Jon had been dismissive and insisted that his parents simply had a quirky way of expressing themselves. Isabel had left their home confused and dejected.

            She’d broken up with Jon weeks later. She’d been convinced that, had she become part of their family, she would’ve inevitably battled a prejudice she had never faced as a youth born and raised in America.

            She sat on the ground with her back against a tree trunk. A quick internet search had provided some interesting facts – Jon and Sheryl married a year ago at a resort on Kauai; Jon worked for his father at WentryTech, as expected, and Sheryl was an events planner at a posh hotel. Two years ago, in its quest to diversify and become the tech behemoth that it is today, WentryTech had acquired a graphics design firm owned by Sheryl’s parents.

            She ate a sugar cookie and drank warm coffee, sustenance for her furtive reconnaissance. Ten minutes later, a white Tesla pulled into the driveway. Jon was still as trim as he’d been in college, with the same full head of thick brown hair. Sheryl was pretty, blonde, and thin in white jeans and a puffy white down jacket. A pink stretchy headband encircled her head.

            Isabel ate another cookie, and she contemplated whether she’d made a rash decision when she’d broken up with him all those years ago. But then, who was she kidding? Jon’s parents had likely embraced Sheryl, while Isabel figured she would’ve stuck out as the odd, lone wolf, the waifish Asian gal among their sporty, blond-ish clan. Only she wasn’t so waifish any more. She’d gained twenty, maybe even thirty, pounds since college. She’d lost track. She took another cookie out of the package and drank more coffee. Food was solace.

            Jon and Sheryl walked into their home. Isabel stood, dusted off her jeans, and went to the grocery store.

            Dinner that evening consisted of breaded chicken cutlets, roasted carrots, and the requisite rice that her father had always insisted on having as a side dish for dinner. “We are Chinese. Of course, we like rice,” he’d once said.

            The food was delicious. For a guy who’d once ruined their mother’s pot while making ramen, Isaac had become a decent cook. He stared at his phone while he ate. Their father read one of the many issues of Chinese newspapers he’d toted around in a plastic bag, and Isabel skimmed the free local paper she’d picked up at the grocery store, although she could concentrate on nothing but Jon. They came to the cabin to spend time together as a family, but since her mother’s death, they habitually immersed themselves in their own private worlds. They were together but apart.

            “I’ll walk with you today,” Isaac said the next morning, after they’d returned from the wooden bench.

            Isabel was ambivalent. After all, the spying, snacking, and lurking in the shade of the grove had become another of her rituals, one that was rapidly becoming an obsession. They started off on the trail that they’d traversed countless times as kids during their family vacations. She led him to the grove of trees. “I’ve been coming here for the past few days,” she told him, then pointed at the A-frame cabin. That’s Jon’s house over there.

            Isaac frowned. “Jon? The guy you dated in college? WentryTech Jon?”

            “Yes. Please don’t judge.” She gestured at her usual spot on the patch of dried leaves at the base of her usual tree. “Sit.”

            He sat, and she sat beside him and unzipped her backpack. She handed him a granola bar and a bottle of water. For herself, she had an already-open bag of corn chips.

            “Hey, how come I don’t get those?” he whined, like an eight-year old.

            She sighed and handed him the bag. “Here, take it.”

            He took the bag and poured a few chips into his hand and handed the bag back to her. “So, tell me why you’re still stuck on this guy. If I remember, you said his parents weren’t so cool with you. And who knows how that would have worked out.”

            “We don’t know how anything will ever work out,” she said, parroting their mother’s words. “I’m just wondering if I made a mistake with Jon, breaking up with him. I can’t help thinking about it.”

            “You need to move on, Izzy. But --" he shrugged. “I’m guessing you already knew that.”

            Suddenly, the front door opened, and Jon walked out. He aimed a key fob at the car, and the trunk opened. Sheryl emerged and placed two canvas bags in the trunk. She wore black leggings, a puffy pink down jacket, and wore her hair in a high ponytail. Large, round sunglasses covered most of her narrow face. Even in casual garb, the woman exuded glamour.

            “She’s hot,” Isaac said, grinning.

            Isabel jabbed her brother in the ribs, rolling her eyes.

            He drew away and raised his hands. “What? Just an objective observation.”

            Jon backed the car out of the driveway, while Sheryl flipped the visor down and checked her lipstick in the mirror. The car reached the end of the block and disappeared around the corner.

            “Let’s go check out the house,” she said. She shoved empty wrappers into her backpack and stood and brushed leaves and dust off her jeans.

            “Are you nuts?” asked Isaac.

            “Maybe, but I’m more curious.” She picked up her backpack and walked across the field. She turned around. Isaac stood by the tree, hands shoved into his pockets. “Are you coming?” she asked.

            “Fine,” he grumbled and reluctantly followed.

            They stepped onto a slate patio outfitted with a built-in stone grill, fire pit, and teak furniture. She peeked through the French doors. A marble-topped island with a gas range anchored the kitchen. On the opposite side of the room were leather sofas and chairs. An impressively large TV hung on the wall. Isabel squinted but couldn’t discern the photos displayed on the credenza. Isaac stood beside her and looked into the home. “Nice place.”

            “Now you see what I missed out on?” she asked.

            “You missed out on his parents treating you like shit,” he stated plainly.

            A car pulled up. Doors slammed, followed by a woman’s playful giggle, and then Jon’s familiar low voice.

            “Let’s go,” Isaac hissed.

            They ran off the patio and across the field. Isabel’s backpack thumped against her back, and her heart was beating furiously from an odd mixture of the thrill and dread of having nearly been caught trespassing. They hurried toward the grove of trees and down the trail, the roar of the ocean adding an urgency to their escape.

            She couldn’t help but laugh. In that moment, they were kids again, guiltily scurrying away after being caught doing something they knew they weren’t supposed to do.

            The next morning, Isabel and Isaac sat on the wooden bench and enjoyed the placid vista of sky and ocean. A few surfers bobbed on the waves, looking like ants on water.

They didn’t have to say anything to know they were each thinking of their mother, and of how their family had been broken ever since her passing. They’d all come to the cabin with the tacit hope of discovering some sort of solution or cure to their heartsickness that ensued the death of a loved one, but instead they’d each retreated and shied away from what they’d collectively come to think of as an insurmountable undertaking.

            They returned to the cabin and found the same note their father had been using to inform them that he’d gone to the Donut Shop. Isaac worked on his laptop, and Isabel left for the trail, relieved that he wasn’t accompanying her. It was the last day of their vacation, and she preferred to have her final spying session for herself.

            When she arrived at the grove, Jon was standing beside her tree. She stopped in her step. She contended with the dueling urges to flee and to stay. She hadn’t been this physically close to him in ten years.

            “Isabel, what’re doing here?” Jon asked, and folded his arms.

            The question, as well as his stiff tone, irked her, but she decided to play it cool. “Well, hello to you too,” she said.

            Jon offered a conciliatory smile. “Sorry, how are you?”

            “Good. And my family has a cabin down that way.” She pitched a thumb over her shoulder and tittered. The sight of him still did that to her. Standing beside him had always made the rest of the world fade away, and still did. Had she never fallen out of love with this man?

            “You’ve got to stop hanging around here,” Jon said sternly. His smile faded.

            She bristled and raised her chin, defiant. “I’m not a psycho--"

            “I didn’t say you were.”

            “And I take this trail to the road that goes to the grocery store. The trail’s public. And so are the road and grocery store, last I checked.”

            “You were on our video footage from our security cameras. We got an alert when we got home yesterday. I recognized you, and I told Sheryl I’d talk to you.”

            Of course, they had security cameras, just like all the other cabin owners. Her family cabin had security cameras as well, although, in her spying fervor, she’d completely forgotten.

            “You’re married,” she said, in an effort to continue the conversation.

            He nodded. “Two years. We’re happy.”

            “Well, I never took the plunge myself,” she said, feigning pride. “But I’m good with it though.”

            “As long as you’re happy, Isabel.”

            She snickered, as she’d long ago given up on figuring out what made her happy. She’d found satisfaction sometimes, even contentment, in being carried along by the tide of daily life. Of course, at thirty-one, some would say that it was about time she took her life into the next phase, before she grew gray with no teeth and a dozen cats. She heard her mother’s gentle voice telling her to stop dawdling, to marry and start a family before it’s too late.

            “Tell me about your wife,” she said. “She’s beautiful.”

            “Yes, she is, but she’d be pretty upset if she knew I was still out here talking with you.”

            “Huh.” Isabel never would’ve guessed that a woman as attractive as Sheryl even possessed an ounce of jealousy.

            “You’ve really got to go,” Jon said. “Take care, Isabel.” He smiled briefly and turned around and walked back to his home.

            She stood there until he walked inside. He shut the door, and she wondered if they’d see each other again. She yearned for the good times, back when they’d been young, free, and on the precipice of what they’d called ‘real adult life’. Until today, she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed him. Until today, she’d been hopeful that they could have a friendship, at the very least.

            She returned to the cabin. Isaac was talking on his cell phone and typing on his laptop. As usual, he was always working, always focused. She needed to talk, although she was certain he’d tell her she was wasting her time going out there every day. She was being obsessive and crazy. This was one of those rare instances when she wished she had girlfriends.

            Isabel sat in her car across the street from an upscale restaurant with a glass-topped bar and tiny blue pendant lights. The least expensive entrée was a fifty-dollar salad niçoise, according to the menu she pulled up on her cell phone.

            Jon and Sheryl sat at a corner table near the plate-glass window. Jon had a beer, and Sheryl had white wine. So typical, but exciting to observe nonetheless. Jon looked sharp in a blue shirt and suit jacket. So handsome, so confident. Sheryl’s long blonde hair hung like a starched sheet down the back of her white cashmere shawl, worn over a soft pink sweater. Another similarly aged, well-heeled couple dropped by their table. Jon shook the man’s hand. Sheryl hugged the woman. They smiled, nodded, and chatted. All pretense and good cheer. Soon enough, they all decided to dine together and, with the hostess’ help, they all moved to a larger table.

            Isabel ate a potato chip, savored the salt and grease, and drank some orange juice. She had an inexplicable, perverse sense of pride that came with lurking in the shadows of an attractive and successful couple. Some would label her insane, insecure, and a veritable stalker. Maybe she was all those things but she preferred to think of this deviation, for lack of a better word, as an adventure. One day she would be different. She’d be someone one day who did not spend her spare time tailing an ex-boyfriend and his wife, but that day was not today.

            Her cell phone pinged with a text from Isaac. “Where are you? Papa wants to eat.”

            She quickly texted her reply, “Go ahead and start without me. Be there soon.”

            She slipped her phone into her bag. They were all seated at a large square table by the window. The man had ordered a beer, like Jon, and the woman had a glass of red wine she lifted daintily by the stem. They were enriching their lives with conversation, laughter, food, and drink. If only she could read lips, but for now, she settled for being a distant observer.

            This was her ritual, and, for now, it was all she wanted.