“That was definitely my childhood and then some. My mother had very strict rules in place for what I could wear and what I couldn’t. That’s probably why I wear jeans all the time and little makeup now. She had a camera my father had given her for Christmas one year. It was the latest thing and all her friends had cameras. She didn’t use it, she liked to keep up with whatever they had.”
Stella couldn’t just sit at the long worktable. She had to get up and walk around. There were so many beautiful things in Harlow’s studio to see. Harlow was an extremely creative woman. It always amazed Stella how she could make such beautiful pottery and take exquisite photographs that looked as if they were so real you were right there too. Stella had one framed, a beautiful picture taken from above the lake, early morning just as the sun was coming up and the colors were extending out over the water. It was gorgeous. Stella wouldn’t give it up for any amount of money. She could never quite equate the creative side of Harlow with the pure practical side, the nurse who worked in the hospital and didn’t blink when sewing up wounds.
Harlow was a strong climber. Like Stella, she preferred bouldering, but she did trad climbing with her friends, which Stella could do but didn’t enjoy that much. Harlow’s dog, Misha, a beagle, lay curled up in a doggy bed beside the door leading to the yard that opened to the canal, where Harlow walked her every couple of hours. Misha seemed to know the schedule and didn’t let Harlow forget it. Right now, she watched Stella wandering around the studio.
“Misha and Bailey are good friends, Harlow, but she’s looking at me very suspiciously, like I might try to make off with one of your art pieces any minute,” Stella couldn’t help but point out. “No treats for you, Misha, thinking I might be an art thief.”
Misha wagged her tail, thumping it against her dog bed at the sound of her name and the word treats.
“Misha eyes everyone suspiciously in here,” Harlow agreed. “Her idea is to drive us out so she can do her favorite thing, which, as you know, rain or shine, is to go for a W.A.L.K. In her case, R.U.N.”
Stella laughed. “That dog is too smart. She’s going to learn how to spell.”
“She’s only smart when she wants to be. Stop stalling and tell me about the camera your mother had. She didn’t use it, but something happened to it.”
The smile faded from Stella’s mouth. Reliving old memories wasn’t fun. How had this serial killer brought so many things back? She hadn’t even thought of them in the months of therapy she’d gone through as a teen. Nor had she when she had gone to therapy while she’d been in college. Suddenly, now she was remembering her childhood, things she had deliberately put in a room and locked the door on. Some things should just stay that way, behind doors one barricaded.
“I’m remembering so many things I deliberately locked away, Harlow. I don’t want to remember these things about my mother, let alone my father. She started drinking too much as a way to compensate once I started telling her my nightmares. At first, she was just trying to cope with a child having terrible nightmares, but then she realized what they were. Maybe she suspected all along, I don’t know.”
Harlow stood up as well and crossed to the window. “We think in terms of our lives, the way we are now, but women weren’t nearly as independent. My mother reminded me it was a different time when our parents were young. Our mothers were raised differently and there wasn’t as much help for women as there is now. Some of their parents believed that if you brought children into the world, you had the right to do anything you wanted to them.”
Stella had to agree. “The camera always sat on her dresser. It was beautiful to me and one day I just couldn’t resist. I always sat in her room when she was getting ready to go out. I liked to watch her put on her makeup and jewelry. I asked her if I could take her picture.”
Harlow turned around very fast to face her. “Was this before your nightmares started or after, Stella?”
“I was so young.” Stella frowned, rubbing her forehead, trying to think back. She looked out the window toward the canal, wishing she was outside. She felt closed in. Felt as if someone was watching her again. She was driving herself crazy. “I don’t know. I remember being happy with my mother in her room when she was getting ready to go out with my father, at least some of the time. And then it wasn’t good anymore.”