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“No, Melissa. We are getting the fuck out of here. No one threatens my family. I should have never gotten involved with such dangerous men, but the money was so good.”
“Blood money usually is,” I grumble low, but not low enough for them not to hear me.
“You watch your mouth, young lady. Your father did what he had to. He supported us.”
I roll my eyes because he didn’t get involved with the mafia for us; he did it for his own good. He wanted more money.
My father peeks into the rearview mirror to look at me, then does a quick double-take, narrowing his eyes.
“What?” I ask, rubbing my cheek. “Is there something on my face? Is there a spider?” I yelp, brushing my shoulders off to make sure it isn’t on me.
“No, that car behind us. It’s been following us for a while.”
“Sweetie, you’re paranoid. We are on the highway now. All of us are going in the same direction. Cars are going to seem like they are following us.”
“You’re right,” my father says, letting out a deep breath. “You’re right.”
I turn to peer out the back window, ignoring how the seatbelt is cutting into my arm, to see what car he is talking about. It’s a black SUV, nothing special, so I shrug my shoulders and flip open the book I’m reading.
“Just in case,” my father says, turning on the blinker to take the next exit.
I twist again and notice the SUV following us. “Dad,” I whisper when my breath catches.
“It’s okay. Everything will be fine. Let’s not panic.”
But I hear the panic in his voice.
He is worried.
The car lurches forward as he presses on the gas, and he turns the wheel at the last second to miss a vehicle. The momentum throws me and I smack against the door.
The car takes a sharp left down another road. I look out the window again, not seeing anything, and I take a deep breath, wiping the sweat from the back of my neck from the anxiety this paranoia has caused me.
My father takes another turn, this time a right down a back road, and he begins to laugh. “Wow, he got in my head. I’m sorry,” he says, taking my mom’s hand and kissing her knuckles.
I peek out the back window again and swallow when I see headlights. “Dad…” I whisper, watching the SUV speed closer to us.
“Fuck! I knew it. Hold on.” The car flies forward, and before we get momentum, he slams on the brakes again when another SUV is at the end of the road.
We’re blocked in.
The one behind us stops driving, and both SUVs are idling as if waiting for something to happen.
“Holden, what do we do?”
“I don’t know….”
My father barely gets the words out before my mother yells. “You better figure it out! We have two—”
“I know that!” he shouts, turning around and checking to ensure the SUV is actually there. “I know,” he repeats, sitting forward in his seat. “Mable, I want you to listen to me.”
“Dad,” my voice breaks when I hear that tone. He only talks like that when something bad is about to happen.
“I love you. Okay? I love you, and I’m sorry. Hold on tight. Just hold on, okay? Will you do that for me?”
Our eyes meet in the rearview mirror, and his blue eyes seem brighter as they fill with tears.
I nod, reaching for the gray handle above me with a shaking hand.
