“Can’t really blame her.”
“No. But girlfriend doesn’t know when to stop. Because she’s opening her mouth to keep arguing. And if that doesn’t work, she might even think about weaponizing her tears. Which is when snack bar lady says…‘don’t make me summon a higher authority.’”
Noah raises an eyebrow. “Do you mean her manager or God?”
“I was actually referring to the police. Indecent exposure, disorderly conduct…”
“Gotcha.”
“Though I’d be damn impressed if she managed to summon God.”
“That would be something,” he agrees.
Sure enough, the conversation winds down as the scolded couple climb back into their vehicle. This time, sitting a short distance apart. And just in time, since the small child in the car beside us has awoken and is back to licking the window.
“Thanks for doing this with me tonight,” I say.
“Anytime. I mean it, Sid.”
The couple in front of us start to kiss. Again.
“You’re kidding me,” drawls Noah.
“They sure are determined. Humanity is wild.” I steal a handful of popcorn from the box he’s holding. Then I probably go too far by saying, “Imagine if this had been our first date. That could have been us getting busted.”
But he just laughs. I think it’s my favorite sound in the whole wide world.
CHAPTER FIVE
Tuesday is grocery shopping day. Something I enjoy more than I probably should. It’s all of the choices in the cookie aisle. They excite me. But also, Hana is right. People need to get used to me. With this in mind, I don’t wear baggy clothing and a ball cap to hide amongst the masses. The navy-and-white-stripe tank midi dress with a pair of flat sandals is fine for running errands. I even went for a walk to the lake during daylight hours.
The thing is, it’s been years since I’ve been in the news or the main topic of discussion in this town. What are the odds most have moved on and no longer recognize me or care about me? It’s hit or miss, I think, as a woman in a hot-pink pantsuit recognizes me and gives me a reassuring smile in the cheese section. Which is nice.
Being watched isn’t anything new. And I was raised to believe women should take up space. That we can be loud and bright and whatever the hell we want. Grandma would be appalled if she’d known I’d strayed from this belief.
I am way overthinking the purchase of some apples when I feel a fresh set of eyes on me. Up close this time. Just on the other side of the display. And there stands my stalker. Her long blonde hair hangs like a silk curtain around her face. I’d honestly kill to know her hair care routine.
“I was wondering when I’d see you again,” I say. “What do you think, Honeycrisp or Gala? Do you have a preference?”
“Ryan says hello.” Her voice is pitched just perfectly, sweet and vaguely evil. This is all so extra. She hasn’t done anything to hurt me. Not yet anyway. It might not be smart to screw with her, but I’m so sick of being scared. Though if she pulls a gun outof her bag, she could definitely have the last laugh. “He didn’t want you to think he’d forgotten about you, Sidney.”
“That’s the message you were sent to deliver, huh?” I ask. “Laura, girl to girl, have you tried touching grass?”
The smile disappears.
“What do you get out of dating him? Or to use therapy speak, what need does being with him fulfill in you?” I cock my head. “I mean, I get that you know where he is and what he’s doing all the time and there’s a sense of safety in that. You’re totally in control. It’s not like he can cheat on you and there’s no chance of him hanging around messing up your house or getting physical with you either. And between you and me, that last one is kind of a biggie when it comes to him.”
Nothing from her.
“Or is it the infamy of being known as his better half? Are you hoping for some time in the spotlight? A little of that local fame?”
She just glares at me.
“You don’t strike me as having a savior complex. Thinking you’ll be the one to deliver him from this supposed injustice. But I’ve been wrong before. Or maybe you accept that he’s a murderous motherfucker and think your sweet love can change him. Stop him from being a monster and put him on the right path.”
“You don’t know a fucking thing.”
“I know that you can’t teach empathy,” I say. “You can’t make him care about other people. He just mimics emotions, turns on the charm, and uses coercive control to get what he wants.”
