Nobody has called me that in years. I stand in the porch light, my hands shaking, and I open it, because not knowing is worse. One piece of paper inside.
Miss you, Lilabelle. You look good. So does she.
The paper goes into my pocket instead of the trash because some old animal part of me is already thinking about evidence. I hate that I know exactly what to do next, because I've done it before.
I go to the hall closet. Behind the winter coats, on the floor, sits the duffel bag I’ve never fully unpacked. I look at it for a long time. Down the hall, Rosie giggles in her sleep. In the kitchen, the cherry-print dress hangs half-pinned on the form, waiting for me to finish it. That dress and this house carry my hopes and dreams for the future, a quieter life.
Then I pull the bag out, and I start to pack.
Chapter Four
WRENCH
Lila’s kitchen light burned for most of the night.
I parked the shop truck up the block with a thermos and a view of the whole of Strawberry Street. Waffles and I sat there through the dark hours watching her place. The green dot on my phone sat quiet at the Carlton Motel out by the highway the whole time, where Savage is currently parked in his own truck, texting me updates I didn't ask for. Savage keeps offering to go inside and ‘take care of the problem’; he’s bored if he’s not fighting or eating. The man in the red car ordered two whole large pizzas to himself, apparently. No beer. He’s staying sharp, and I don't like that either.
Waffles snored through most of my shift. Some soldier.
As dawn streaks the sky orange, Lila’s front door opens, and there she is with a duffel bag over her shoulder, moving quietly down her porch steps so the boards don't creak.
Even now, sneaking out of her own life, she moves so easy on her feet, hitting the ground to the beat of some song playing in her head. I've clocked that about her at the diner; how she works a Saturday rush at tempo, spins on a heel with five plates up, never a wasted step. Takes one to know one. Mamá raised six kids in a house with one unbreakable rule: everybody dances. Icould salsa before I could ride a bicycle. My tía Marta swears I could dance before I could talk, and given how talking's gone for me so far, she may have a point.
A woman who moves like that shouldn’t be running and afraid. She should be adored and cherished. By me, and only me.
Lila loads the bag in the trunk, eases it shut with two hands, gets in, and turns the key.
The grinding sound is worse than yesterday. The engine catches, splutters and dies. She tries again. Nothing. Starter's finished, and some traitor part of me wants to congratulate it on its timing.
I'm out of the truck and crossing the street before she's done with the third try. Waffles hits the pavement behind me and takes a stance guarding her porch without being told, sitting facing the road. On duty.
Lila erupts out of that car.
“You.” She keeps her voice down, one eye on the house, and gets right up in my space, a whole five-foot-and-change of fury in her floral sundress. “You're watching my house.”
“Yeah.”
“All night?”
“Mostly.”
“You can't just…” Her hands come up, then drop to her sides. She has to crane her neck to look into my eyes. “You can't just do that.”
“I'll leave when you tell me who's in the red car.”
She sighs and drops her gaze. “Nobody. It's nobody.”
“I know that’s a lie.” I keep my voice gentle. “You're good at it, but I can see what it costs you. I hate that you have to lie to keep yourself safe. Let me in, Lila.”
Her chin comes up and her mouth opens, ready to push me away. Then all the fight drains out of her at once. She wrapsboth arms around herself, like she’s trying to stop herself from breaking, and meets my eyes.
“His name is Shawn.” Her voice is subdued. “We were together for a year when Rosie was a toddler. Couldn’t accept it was over, I had to move away a few times, but he kept following. He went away, to prison, and now he's out, and last night there was a note in my mailbox from him. Wrench, I’m scared.”
She digs the paper out of her pocket and puts it in my hand.
Miss you, Lilabelle. You look good. So does she.
I read it twice. Somewhere down deep, in the engine room, everything goes over into the red and stays there, needles buried.
