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“Yeah, I’ve thought of it. But public school is terrible, and it doesn’t fit with our life,” I answer unable to stop the sharp tone of my words.
“Living in an RV,” he says.
“Running the business that keeps food on our table,” I snap. “What is she going to gain from public school that she wouldn’t get from actually visiting places, spending time in nature, learning with her whole heart, using her hands instead of memorizing things from a fucking book.”
“Friends?” he responds without hesitation and it feels like a slap to the face. Every defense I have is running in high gear, but my lungs are stalled. No air, no words, no response.
After a few moments of silence battle, I spin on my heel and huff around the yard getting my own work gloves and using my frustration to fuel me as I haul lengths of wood to Jet’s truck.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket and I answer it with an irritated hello, not bothering to check who it is. There’s nothing but loud breathing on the other end.
“Hello?” I say again, lowering my phone to check the number. It’s unknown.
Shit. Not this again. I already changed my number twice.
“Listen, Asshole. I wasn’t interested then, and I’m not interested now. Stop calling me.” I stab the end button with my finger and almost immediately the phone rings again.
“What do you want from me,” I say and there’s a pause on the other end.
“Um, hi, Briggs. It’s me.” The voice of my virtual assistant puts me at ease and the tense muscles in my body all loosen at the same time.
“Leslie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even look at the number.”
“Is he calling you again?” she asks without hesitation.
“I think so,” I reply. The last time I changed my number was a few weeks before I came to Raston, right after the break in.
“You sure do attract the crazies,” Leslie laughs, her voice shrill and I sigh because it’s true. My choice to keep my face unattached to my business is both the best and worst thing I’ve done. People make it a point to hunt me down. Or to point out all my perceived flaws in the comment box of a phone app. But this phone breather wasn’t a fan of my jewelry, he’s a guy I met in Arizona who wanted to take me out and after two dates I knew without a doubt that there was no way I could see him again.
He didn’t take kindly to the rejection.
I think about the words painted on my truck. The fact that I’m hiding out in my father’s house, living a lie. Acting like I have it all together. Acting like I don’t have a stalker that keeps tracking me down.
Shudders ripple along my skin and I shake the thought.
“Did you need something from me?” I ask reverting back to business. Leslie often wants to chit chat like we’re buddies and not like I’m paying her a lot of money to do certain tasks for me.
“I was wondering if you were working on a new line? People are asking and commenting about you not posting. Usually you post every day. It’s been a few days now.”
“I am,” I lie because I know I should be. I’m always good about posting new lines every month and trickling the products out through social media. I only create a small amount of each piece and they sell out minutes after I post. “It’s taking me longer to source this time.”
I haven’t told Leslie I’m hiding out at my childhood home. She thinks I’m still on the road, still looking for small pieces of nature.
“Well, maybe to keep people happy you should host some sort of giveaway or something that people need to enter over the next few days. Buy you some time.”
“You are a genius, Leslie.” I’m distracted by Xan watching at me, questioning what I’m doing on the phone with his sexy judge-y gaze. “Thanks.”
“Are you okay? You seem off?” Leslie asks and I shake my head even though she can’t see me.
“I’m good—thrown a little by the call is all. I thought that was all over and done.”
“Yeah, me too.” Leslie trails off into silence before she clicks her tongue and inhale sharply. “Well, I’ll let you go and get back to your sourcing. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
I thank her and hung up the phone, tucking it in my back pocket. Jet is still on the porch with Millie who is furiously writing something in her book, her tongue clenched in her teeth. Xan stops in front of me with a stack of broken two by twos on his shoulder.
“Everything okay?”
“Yup,” I say clipped as I squinted into the sun. “Just some business to deal with.”
