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“Feeling sorry for yourself isn’t going to help,” Greg says, reading my mind, or more likely my body language.
“How am I supposed to feel?” I shift in my seat until I’m facing him. “What a brilliant idea. Yes. Please. Tell me what I should be feeling.”
“Whoa.” He holds his hands off the wheel, palms toward the dash. “Hold on a sec…before you attack… look, I know you’re upset.” He glances over at me. “But let’s not forget—we’re in this together.”
“I’m not upset. I’m pissed. Just a few days ago—” I toss my hands up, gesturing wildly. “A few days ago, we were like everyone else. Happy-go-lucky. Now—”
“We’ve never been like everyone else.”
My husband’s blind optimism almost makes me smile. It definitely causes me to pause. “This is supposed to be a happy time,” I sigh. “Our first Thanksgiving at home in forever. It feels like that is being stolen from us.”
“Only if you let it.” He frowns as though he doesn’t understand how I could possibly have any other opinion. “That man doesn’t hold all the cards, Amy. No matter what it may look like.”
His comment takes me back. I picture Jack Mooney in the defendant’s chair. I remember how he had looked from that jury box, like a cornered animal. Vicious, glowering, savage. And powerful. The way he’d scan the courtroom, challenging anyone who dared meet his eye. The way he looked at people was unnerving, as though it would be his greatest privilege to snuff them out, to annihilate them.
But when he looked my way, which was often, there was something different in his demeanor. Pity, maybe. Whatever it was, it was evident he was thoroughly enjoying himself. His gaze made me feel naked, stripped bare. I felt completely and utterly exposed, as though he could see right through me. “He’s not in his right mind.”
Greg’s fingers grip the steering wheel. They flex and grip, grip and flex. “It worries me,” I say. “It’s almost like he’s detached from reality, and yet at the same time, he knows exactly what he’s doing.”
“Maybe he has nothing better to do. Maybe we need to dig up some dirt on him. Turn the tables a bit.”
“I agree.”
He looks over at me, hopeful. “I mean…there are still so many things we don’t know. Like—where is he staying? Where does he work? I think you’re right. It couldn’t hurt to understand more about what makes him tick. We need to figure out his weak spots.”
“He sure seems to know ours.”
It’s nice that Greg has come around to my way of thinking, and that I have led him there seamlessly. Maybe it’s not the strong stance I wanted, but it’s better than nothing. I pull out my phone and text Lucy to check in. She sends back a p
icture of the kids snuggled on the couch. It makes me want to teleport home, to scoop them up, take them in my arms, and smother them with kisses. I love them so much; sometimes it feels like my heart might burst. I reply asking Lucy to double-check the doors and to make sure the alarm is set. She responds instantly. Already done.
“Maybe we should just turn back,” I say to Greg. “Call the police—or we could drive to the station. Make them file a report.”
“That’s exactly what he wants, you see. He acts—he expects a reaction. What if we do nothing? What if we wait him out, let him make the next move, and then we pounce?”
“We should get a gun. I think we should learn how to shoot.”
“There are easier ways, love.”
My brow rises. “Did you not see how offended he got when you offered him the money?”
“I saw. But I think it was a ruse.”
For a second, I wonder whether my husband and I reside on different planets. I wonder how two people could witness the same thing and yet experience it entirely differently.
“I think he’s holding out. He wants more.”
“How much more?” I scoff. “What kind of more?”
“Look,” he urges. “I need you to hear me, Amy—really hear me. It’s not that I think we should do nothing. I know what you’re thinking…and I’m not suggesting sitting back on our laurels. It’s just very important that any action we take should come from a place of strength. Not fear.”
“I hear you, but—”
“So we go to the police—we get a restraining order. What then? You know how those usually turn out.”
I sigh heavily. “At least it gives us some leverage.”
“I’m going to contact the cop again. See what he thinks.”
