Page 53 of Bad Intentions

“Pray to god we won’t need it tonight,” I said.

“You never know. He has one. I brought one for protection.”

Steve pulled up beside us in his truck. “I drove past his house. No one seems to be home. So we have to wait.”

I had plenty of time to spare. The busiest weeks at the bar were behind us, and it was time to clean up the streets.

Donna and I got into Steve’s truck, and we drove to the next block and parked under a tree several houses away from Derek’s.

Not even half an hour went by before Derek’s car pulled up to his house. My hands balled into fists as we watched his shadowy figure get out of the car and walk to the house. In a moment, the lights inside came on. The curtains closed. There was no way to see what he was doing.

“Ready?” Steve asked.

My mobile rang. Alysha’s name lit up the screen. It was almost three o’clock in the morning, and she was calling. Not a good sign. She never called my mobile.

I showed the screen to Donna.

“Let me get this real quick,” I said and answered the call.

For years afterward, I wondered if things would’ve worked out differently if we’d done this the night before. Or hadn’t gathered outside Derek’s house at all. Or gone straight home.

Because when I picked up the mobile, Alysha was crying hysterically.

“M-Mom, s-something t-terrible happened,” she sobbed.

I closed my eyes, knowing deep down that we were too late.

31

JOSIE

“Grams, I’m sorry for flipping out yesterday,” I say right away, shedding my coat.

Somehow, the most important conversations in this house always happen at the kitchen table. It has always been like this, since I was a child.

I was mad yesterday. Slamming the door in my grandma’s face and leaving was a crappy move on my part. Now I feel bad, seeing Grandma dressed in the same clothes from yesterday. I don’t know how long she’s been up, or if she ever went to bed.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude,” I repeat, trying to set a comfortable mood between us. I busy myself putting away the clean dishes and utensils. I notice a piece of broken glass from a coffee cup—another of Grandma’s little mishaps. There’s a knife missing from the butcher block, and I don’t see it around. Worry stirs inside me. The little things that slip Grandma’s mind lately, whether they are objects or thoughts, are getting more frequent.

The tension between us still lingers in the air, and I can’t have that, not now, not with however long she has left. I have plenty of time in the future for my anger. Now is not it.

I pour myself a cup of coffee, not bothering with creamer or sugar. I need an extra zap.

“Coffee?” I offer.

Grandma shakes her head, and I sit down across from her at the table. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right.” A soft smile pulls at her thin lips. “I was already in bed when you stopped by the house yesterday.”

“Yesterday?”

“I heard you. But I wanted to give you space.”

I didn’t stop by yesterday, but I don’t correct her. This. Again. She’s slipping more. I hope she doesn’t hurt herself. I just can’t lose my mind either. I have to be strong for her.

“So you and Mrs. Snickett are talking again,” I say, stating the obvious.

“Donna and I used to be best friends.”