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Ernest’s daughter Delphine gives her friend a sympathetic look. “At least he didn’t try to stick his tongue down your throat like Tommy Rufford did to McKenna Fuller. Nowthatwas gross.”
“But Tommy’s cute!”
“You think every boy’s cute.”
“Except Chester. Which is why the universe made me kiss him! UGH! I have the worst luck with boys!”
Delphine stops midwalk. “Ash, you’re twelve.”
“Thirteen in three weeks.”
I almost chuckle at the eye roll Delphine gives her friend as the two begin walking once more. They stop again directly in front of the path leading to her house.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come in? My mom wouldn’t mind,” Delphine says, taking off her cat ears. “There’s probably plenty of food from dinner. You know my dad never really makes it and Marcel had a football game.”
“Nah, that’s okay. I should probably get home or my dad will freak out. I’m supposed to be grounded, remember? I snuck out for the spin-the-bottle party.”
Delphine shakes her head in more disbelief before wishing her friend goodnight.
I stand an arms length away as the twelve-year-old girl passes by me and walks up the path to her house.
More nefarious men would use the moment to force Ernest Adams’s hand. It would be so easy—the girl has no idea she is being closely watched as she wanders up to the door and fiddles far too long with her keys.
The door swings open first and Leontine engulfs her daughter in a welcoming hug. Both are so clueless to the potential danger lurking in their hedges.
…ifI wanted to cause harm.
Amazing that Ernest Adams would leave his wife and daughter exposed in this way. They have no clue of what danger could come to them at any moment.
…if I were a bad man. I am not a bad man. But if… it truly would be so easy…
Another hour passes before the next Adams arrives home.
This time in a flash of headlights and rowdy screams. A large sports utility vehicle pulls up full of college-aged individuals seemingly intoxicated. His son hops out clutching a football and wearing what Americans call a letterman’s jacket. He grins at his truck full of intoxicated friends and then jogs up the front path.
“Good one, Adams!” shouts one of the guys from the window. “You killed it tonight!”
I lurk, carefully observing Ernest’s only son. He greatly resembles him—the same tall, wide-shouldered build and smooth dark complexion.
Hewould pose a challenge.
If I were a bad man seeking to do bad things.
Admittedly, I am more tempted watching him than I was with Ernest’s wife and daughter. They would be too easy.
His son, however…
I decide against it. He has done no wrong to me and should not be held accountable for the actions of his father. The door closes after he disappears inside.
The night wears on. Several hours pass.
It is well past eleven p.m. when he finally comes home. I watch the man who has ignored every phone call of mine for months as he strolls in his suit and briefcase. Footsteps away from reaching his front door, I intercept him.
Revealing myself from the shadows, I step into view. “I have been trying to get a hold of you.”
He halts on the spot and barely contains his agitation from showing on his face. “Just what are you doing here?”
“I have spent the night waiting. Your wife and kids—they came home hours ago—”
