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Jason: Back in business baby
Jason: Dinner tomorrow night??
Jason: That’s a request but also a demand ;)
Jason: You in?
Jason: Hello?
35
Kenzi
There’s an intruder in the beach house.
This is the first thought that enters my mind as soon as my eyes fly open.
I can hear the intruder clanging around downstairs.
I’m in bed, Otto beside me—all of his limbs flailing in every direction. For such a short kid, he somehow manages to take up three-quarters of a queen-size bed.
My jet lag has me feeling like I drank a bottle of wine on an empty stomach. But the fear that grips my heart at the knowledge that someone is in our house wakes me up pretty fucking fast.
I ease out of bed and, gently, put my feet on the ground. Our luggage is stuffed in the corner of the room—both of us too tired to unpack last night. The floor is carpeted, at least, so my feet don’t make a sound as I shuffle to the bedroom door and crack it open.
A definite clang from downstairs. Sounds like it’s coming from the kitchen?
“Mum?” Otto groans. “Is it time to get up already?”
“Go back to bed,” I tell him.
I strain to listen. It sounds like two voices downstairs—a man and a woman. A chill runs through me.
“Otto, go to the bathroom and lock the door. Don’t come out until I tell you.”
His blue eyes flash. “Is something wrong?”
“Now, Otto.”
Fun mom is over. Stern mom has arrived.
He gets up and goes into the bathroom. I wait until I hear the door lock. Then, I unplug the bedside lamp, hold it by the neck, and wind the cord around my opposite fist.
I’m going to handle this my own damn self.
Quietly, I creep down the stairs, brandishing my lamp. I see the man first. He’s a young guy—in his twenties, maybe—standing in the foyer. And he’s struggling with…a tree?
“Hey!” I snap at him, the way you might yell loudly at a bear to seem bigger than you are.
The guy swerves, sees me, and shouts, tumbling backward, the fir nearly falling on top of him. I find myself matching his scream, jumping away.
“What is this, an episode of Cops?” My mother steps in from the kitchen. She’s wearing a ruby-red fur-lined coat and holding a mug of coffee, casually stirring creamer into it as if her being here is the most natural thing in the world. She narrows her eyes at my lamp. “For the love of God, Aileen Wuornos, put that down.”
I lower the lamp, reluctantly, too stunned to speak.
“Where’s my Otto?” Pearl asks, glancing around.
“Grandma!”
