Milly – I wouldn’t say chased, exactly, but certainly I feel at times as though I am being watched. And not during odd or strange or salacious times, like when I am having a shower or getting ready for bed, but ordinary times, such as when I am cutting up vegetables or reading. I can feel eyes on me, funny how that is possible, as though a gaze has weight somehow, when really it’s the lightest thing imaginable, it has no weight at all. But I feel it, and I stop what I am doing, and, and nothing. There’s no-one there. There’s never anyone there. But I can’t shake it. At least if it happened when I was bathing I could put it down to shame or something.
John – I don’t know how to respond to all of that. I’m sorry but lately I just cannot connect –
Milly – No, it’s fine. You don’t have to. Just listen. It’s not about what you say. I can’t expect too much from you.
John – But I should be better.
Milly – You do fine. I talk to much. I’m not sure why. When I was younger I used to take up all of the space at the dinner table with my ideas and observations and commentaries. I couldn’t help it. Sarah was always so quiet. I wasn’t.
John – I miss her.
Milly – I do, too. I shouldn’t have mentioned her. I’m sorry. I suppose I can. Look. No, really, look! What’s that? What is that?
John – Again? I thought –
Part of the Railroad Perfection series