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“You saw them?” I ask. “When?”
He sort of shrugs and keeps scanning my items. For a moment, I can’t figure out whether he saw them or he’s speaking hypothetically. His voice is very matter of fact, almost robotic. He doesn’t really look me in the eye. I’m aware that he is affected by a learning or mental disability, and a thought passes: His job must be difficult having to deal with the public every day.
“With my husband, you saw them? In the park?”
He only shrugs again. This time he refuses to make eye contact. He stares at the monitor.
I wonder if maybe it was him who had offered the girls candy. Maybe Greg had been right. Maybe it wasn’t Mooney.
“Well, thank you anyway,” I say. “For keeping an eye on them. You are exactly right. It is not the same world out there that we grew up in. That’s why it’s very important we watch out for our neighbors, you know what I mean?”
He doesn’t say anything in response. There’s a shift in his eyes, but he makes no move to show that he’s even heard me. It causes me to laugh uncomfortably and do that thing I do when I get nervous. I keep talking. “It takes a village.”
He perks up a little as he finishes scanning my items.
He doesn’t speak to me again. He slowly and methodically assists the bagger.
Finally, he frowns. “Ma’am, your card has been declined.”
“That’s weird,” I say. “Let me try again.”
He repositions the screen, so it’s only facing me. “Declined,” he says, pointing to the screen.
“I’ll have to call the bank,” I tell him with a smile. Then I grab another card from my wallet, the one that is reserved for emergencies.
Chapter Fifteen
I have an appointment to show a house this afternoon. Being that it’s the day before Thanksgiving, the buyer’s agent is out of town. Since it’s my listing, she asks if I would be willing to show the home to her client.
A favor done is a favor earned, and so I agree. That and I need this house to sell. A peek at our bank account has left me feeling more off-kilter and a little down. I haven’t yet spoken to Greg about the situation. I had assumed that he would have consulted me about making a transfer that large from our personal account to his business account. Had he done so, I could have transferred what was left in my business account and my card wouldn’t have been declined while shopping for our Thanksgiving dinner.
I’m not ready to ruin the holiday by bringing up the topic, although it is evidently more dire than I realized. Letting go is a gradual process, I realize, and hard as it may be, I have to be patient. At the same time, I cannot allow Greg’s business venture to bankrupt us, which is why I’m working instead of prepping for tomorrow as I’d planned.
The other thing I didn’t see coming was the possibility that the agent’s buyer would be Jack Mooney, so I am not prepared when he comes skipping up the walk with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.
“Now, this is more like it,” he says, holding his palms toward the sky. “I can really see myself settling in here,” he says with a smile. “Can’t you?”
His thick blond lashes frame his eyes, making their color more intense. His appearance is almost friendly, his demeanor nonchalant in a way that gets under my skin.
I am not in the mood—not for Mooney, not for his games. Not for any of this. One look at his smug face, and everything in me shifts. It feels like my I-don’t-give-a-fuck valve has been released. I could easily lunge at him, claw his face, rip his eyeballs out with my bare hands. I almost do.
Thankfully, I saved myself from spending Thanksgiving in the slammer by bringing Greg along. Now he can see for himself what I’m up against. With a wave, I call him over. He can make Jack Mooney go away once and for all.
I glance toward the car, where his laptop is perched precariously on the console, and his cell phone stuck to his ear. I will him to look up. He’s supposed to keep an eye out, and he is, except that I don’t think he immediately registers that it’s Mooney standing beside me. Turning on my heel, I tell Jack to go fuck himself and then I stride to the car, open the passenger door, and slide in.
“Drive,” I say curtly to Greg. He lowers the phone from his ear and glances over at me with concern. I pull his laptop from the dash and flip it closed. “Now!”
“It’s Mooney,” he says, glancing toward the house as the situation fully registers. “Huh.” He makes a clucking sound with his tongue. “He looks different than he did in the photos.”
My husband doesn’t put the car in gear. He doesn’t drive. He opens his door and strides up the walk.
My heart races. Greg and his optimism. He does not understand what he’s doing. He has no idea what he’s up against. It’s not like the two of them are going to be friends. It’s not like with a bit of logic and reasoning he’s going to make Jack Mooney leave our family alone. In fact, I’m certain by his expression, this is exactly what he wants. He is drawing us into his web, and we’re too naive not to get caught.
I don’t know what Greg says to Mooney, or what Mooney says back, but when I reach the two of them, the air in the proverbial room is thick. “It’s too bad you can’t see it,” Mooney says to me. “You’re way too good for—” He motions toward Greg with exaggerated movements. “For this.”
“You need to leave us alone,” I reply, widening my stance, placing my hands on my hips. Dana taught us this. It’s a power position, and it’s important to take up as much space as possible. “Stop following me. Stop staging encounters. I’ve already gone to the police and—”
“And what?” He shakes his head. “What do you think they’re going to do?”
