She nodded toward the space beside her. “Bad luck. That one’s taken. Around here, claiming a stall is a war.”
My hopes sank, and I slipped the change into my pocket. “Oh.”
“Someone booked last week,” she added. “But sometimes people lie. Who books a space and doesn’t show up right away? You could check the office, but it’s closed today.”
A flicker of hope surged through me. “So it’s possible?”
“Come tomorrow, first thing in the morning. You might get lucky.”
“Really? Then I’ll come tomorrow.”
Another customer approached, and the lady smiled at me, turning her attention to the customer. “Okay, dear. See you tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” I said, turning to leave. If I got that space, it would mean a lot.
I hurried through the crowded streets. Rain started falling before I arrived home, and I was already soaked.
Cole sprawled on the floor where I left him, books scattered around like fallen leaves. He pushed himself upright and grabbed the bag of fish I brought.
“I smell fish,” he said.
“Wash your hands first.” I shrugged the bag off my shoulder. “And what sort of research are you doing here, anyway?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow once I have the answer.” He ran to the bathroom to clean up.
Cole and I spent most evenings like this, lost in stories and arguments over characters and plots. He would talk, and I would listen, never tiring of his little critiques. I offered him my attention freely, knowing that homeschooling stole time from socializing. If things went well, I would get him into a proper school.
My phone rang in the middle of his lecture on why a villain’s plan made no sense. I rolled my eyes at him and answered the phone without waiting.
“Hello,” I said, eyes flicking to Cole as he muttered to himself, flipping through the worn pages of his book.
No one spoke. The silence yanked me back to reality. My heart did little flips as I pulled the phone from my ear to check the number. Unknown. I wanted to hang up, but I knew too well that ever since Dad disappeared, I’d been waiting for his call. Sometimes I even answered scam calls, hoping it would be him.
“Who is this?” I asked.
“Your husband.” A deep voice said.
Great. Just a man reckless and arrogant enough not to check his wife’s number before calling.
“Wrong number.” I almost hung up, but froze when he spokeagain.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “Inna Grace Anderson.”
My heart skipped a beat. The way he said all three names snapped every nerve in my body to attention. No one outside my family knew all three.
“Who…how did you know…” My words stumbled, refusing to form a proper sentence.
“You have something that belongs to me,” he said, and the weight behind his voice made my skin crawl.
I got up and stumbled toward the bathroom, away from Cole. I couldn’t let him see I was panicking.
“Who are you? No,” my words wavered. “You have the wrong person. I…I don’t know who you are.”
“Nice try.” He sounded almost amused, and it unraveled me. “Now, don’t you think I should meet my son, as I also meet this lady who, surprisingly, is my wife?”
Those words hit me hard. He had found me. The lie caught up.
“Tomorrow, 7 p.m. Don’t be late. I’ll send the location. And don’t forget to bring my son.”
