Page 9 of Trust

I’m gambling.

As I board, I already scan the rows until I spot her: the sleepiest passenger on the train. Her head is tipped against the window, a travel pillow wedged under her neck, already halfway gone.

No small talk. Awesome.

After wrestling my bag into the overhead storage, I settle into the seat beside her and flash her a smile when she cracks an eye open. She gives the tiniest nod, yawns, and drifts off. Her hand droops against her lap, fingers curled around what might be a ticket. Even better.

The train rolls out of the station, and I plant my eyes on the entrance, waiting. My leg bounces, jittering the seat. I clamp down on it, locking every muscle in place. The car is nearly full. That either means too many witnesses, or just enough camouflage. I can’t say.

Time inches forward unbearably slowly.

At last, the door does rattle open. A sturdy man in a blue uniform steps through, belly straining his shirt, holding a ticket scanner.

My right hand creeps toward the ticket in my neighbor’s slack grip as carefully as I can manage. My heart’s in my throat. One twitch of her fingers and I’m screwed, but the paper slides free without causing her to stir.

The inspector’s scanner beeps with every seat he passes. My chest thunders harder with every sound. When his eyes finally cut to me from only a few passengers away, I give him a guilty stare and peel myself out of my seat so as not to disturb the sleeping form next to me.

He’s already on his way, taking the bait. I bolt for the back, forcing myself not to turn around and face him. I duck into the restroom and slam the lock the second he barks, “Miss!”

My reflection in the mirror is all black eyeliner and wild hair. Not ideal. I scrub my eyes, smooth my hair, practice a friendly smile. Someone else stares back at me, someone approachable.

When I step out, he’s waiting, arms crossed. “Ticket.”

My hand remains firm when I pass it over. Please, let this work.

His scanner blinks green. Relief floods me so fast I almost laugh.

“Have a nice day,” I chirp, sliding past him.

He continues to the next car and doesn’t follow me back to mine. If anyone there doesn’t have a ticket, I’ve bought them a free ride. You’re welcome.

Back in my seat, Sleeping Beauty stirs. Before she can blink awake, I duck down, pretend to pick something up from the floor, and pop up presenting her ticket.

“Think you lost this,” I say nonchalantly.

She yawns, takes it without suspicion. “Thanks.” Then she’s out again.

Confidence blooms into a grin as I finally relax and enjoy the rest of the ride.

At my stop, I’m in a better mood than I’ve been all day. I flag a cab by the station, tell the driver the address, and spend the entire drive glancing out the back window. Every bend, every darkened corner hides someone trailing behind. I can’t see them, but the back of my neck tingles with warning.

I hand over the last of my cash, glad it was enough to get me here. The grim look I receive for not tipping burns right through me. I can’t use my card. Trackable payments would only feed the paranoia that’s already driving me crazy.

It’s already evening when I finally lift the lion-shaped door knocker and let it fall with a loud clang. The sound makes me smile in spite of myself. Mom used to hold me up so I could reach and drop it, and I’d giggle at the noise. Must be one of those unshakable core memories.

“Honey!” Grandma squeals the second the door opens and pulls me into a hug. “What a surprise! Why didn’t you call?”

I fumble. “Then it wouldn’t have been a surprise, right?”

Her warmth falters into suspicion. “Are you all right? Does your father know you’re here?”

I dodge. “Can we talk?”

“Of course, honey.” Her smile warms my heart. “Walt! Get down here, Sara’s visiting!” she calls over her shoulder.

Grandpa limps into view a second later, leaning on his cane, the brightness on his face lighting up the room.

It doesn’t last.