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“Unless they took a cab,” she said.
“Shit.”
“Go look.”
Again, I raced toward the bedroom at the front of the house. This time, Tracy was right behind me.
“Shit,” she said, her chin on my shoulder as we stared out the window at the street below.
A taxi was indeed sitting in front of the house, its rear passenger door open. A man was bent over, helping the remaining passenger out of the car. We couldn’t see his face.
And then he straightened up. And turned around. And looked directly up at our bedroom window.
Immediately, Tracy and I ducked to the floor.
“Was it Dad? Did he see us?”
“I don’t know,” I said, answering both questions at once.
“Shit. He’s gonna be so pissed. You and your dumb ideas.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Okay, okay.Ourdumb idea. It doesn’t matter. What matters is what we do now. Do you think we have time to make it out the back way?”
Another door slammed shut. Seconds later, we heard the taxi drive off down the street.
“It’s too late,” I said, standing up straight, resigning myself to my fate. I was already in our father’s bad books. How much worse could it get?
I should have known.
It can always get worse.
