I make an effort to shrug casually as I turn on the burner. “Free trials are pretty common in business, though, aren’t they?” I say, my voice light, my tone genial.
Tori snorts. “Yeah, but then you’re only going to charge her fifteen an hour. And don’t try to lie. I heard you.”
Lie?
When was the last time I lied to her? Seventh grade? Tori knows — she has to know — how important honesty is to me. So this swipe draws blood. I can’t bring myself to say anything as I move to the fridge for minced garlic and ginger. We’re making coconut curry over cauliflower rice, and it’s going to be amazing — if I don’t lose my appetite first.
“I mean, fifteen dollars an hour? Why bother?”
Maybe I could try a change of subject. My mind grabs the first straw within reach. The handsome stranger who was talking to Mrs. Vivian.
“It looks like Mrs. Vivian is having a party out there.”
Toritsks.“You know why, don’t you?” Her disapproving tone catches me off-guard, but at least she’s dropped the topic of my yoga lessons.
“No. Why?”
“Because.” Tori coughs in disgust. “Her criminal grandson got out of prison today. And he’s going to be living with her!” Indignation swells in her voice, and she looks at me, clearly expecting me to share her outrage. I can only frown.
“Grandson? Mrs. Vivian had a grandson in prison?” Mrs. Vivian Quincy is one of the most vibrant souls I know. She’s been a widow for about as long as I can remember, but she’s never seemed sad. This piece of news makes me sad for her.
“You didn’t know that?” I look over my shoulder to find Tori wrinkling her nose at me. I shake my head, almost afraid of what she’ll say next. “Oh my God, it was all over the news. This grandson and another grandson — I think they were brothers — broke into a house in Bendel Gardens. Apparently, they thought it was empty, but the guy who owned it was home, and he, like, charged in with his gun and shot one of the robbers.”
My eyes bug. “One of Mrs. Vivian’s grandsons? Was he okay?”
Tori’s forehead screws into a frown. “No,” she sneers, eyeing me like I’m crazy. “He died, like, right there.”
This news lands in my middle like a sucker punch. Poor Mrs. Vivian.
I think about the man I saw talking to her. I didn’t recognize him. The other adults there had familiar faces I’d glimpsed over the fence enough times throughout the years.
His is not one I know.
I wonder if he’s the one who has been in prison. I close my eyes and remember his image. He was tall. Toned and fit. Healthy looking. Nothing about his appearance would give away his past.
Except maybe the shadows around his eyes. I remember the troubled look he wore when he was talking to Mrs. Vivian and the piercing stare he gave me before I glanced away.
If he had smiled, I would have smiled back and waved. But I’d looked away because he’d eyed me with suspicion. I had felt like I was intruding.
And now, all I can think is,That man watched his brother die.
“So now this low-life is going to be our neighbor,” Tori snipes, jarring me from my thoughts.
I can’t explain why, but my reaction is knee-jerk. “Maybe he’s not a low-life. Maybe he just made a mistake.”
Tori’s mouth falls open. “You mean to tell me you’re okay with a violent criminal living practically in our back yard?”
Dammit.I’ve done it again. Fallen into her trap. I may as well have stepped into a bayberry bush. No way out of this without a few scrapes.
I put on a curious frown and take the cutting board of sliced onions from my sister.“Isbreaking and entering considered a violent crime?” I muse aloud. I really have no idea, but it doesn’t seem like it to me.
My sister scowls at me. “Well, it’s afelony, and itsoundsviolent.”
I resist the urge to point out — with no small amount of sarcasm — how very logical she sounds. Instead, I pull out my phone and Google it, but all I get are a bunch of ads for law offices and a definition of the various degrees of burglary.
“What are youdoing?”
I shrug. “I’m looking it up, but I’m not finding anything helpful. My guess is it’s not a violent crime.”
