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The need to take care of her, of Audra, is clawing its way up my spine — has been since last night — and after the little scene with Cormac, I need some time to catch my breath and process the slew of emotions that this woman and her daughter bring out in me.
I stand, and brushing a hand over Audra’s soft hair, I say, “I’ve got to get back to the station. You can pick up the next tab, okay?” I have no intention of letting her pay for anything while she’s here — not while she’s in a tight spot — but I don’t say that.
She’s had the world perched on her shoulders long enough.
Chapter 14
Maisie
Dappled sunlight filters through the window over the kitchen sink facing the driveway Monday evening. I have chicken shredded and the sides prepped for fajitas and a stack of work to finish plowing through tonight.
I forgot how nice it is having a full kitchen to prepare meals in. Sure, the camper had a kitchen, and I adjusted to working in the much smaller space, but the open counter space and full oven make one of the more complicated meals I know how to make possible — and that? That makes me happy.
I shred chicken and cheese, dice tomatoes, mash avocados, chop and sauté bell peppers and toss pinches of salt on everything, getting lost in the rhythm of working.
Audra’s in her tabletop highchair, and we’re both singing along to the music playing on my Bluetooth speaker — well I’m singing, she’s garbling baby noises together — when the sound of tires on gravel filters through the open window.
But it’s not Harlan’s sheriff’s SUV coming up the drive. It’s a big silver pickup.
My heart jumps in my chest, and I speed walk to my purse and pull the canister of pepper spray from the inside pocket.
Calm down, Maisie. It’s probably not even for you. No one knows you’re in Everette.
The chances of whoever that is being here for me are slim to none, but better to be safe than sorry.
I press pause on the music and turn off the water, keeping my gaze glued to the approaching truck. Audra whines from her chair when the music stops, and I take a second to smile and calm her.
Silver Chevy Silverado. Idaho plates.
I memorize the plate number by whispering it under my breath and grab the knife I was using to chop lettuce off the cutting board.
Pepper spray and a dirty kitchen knife. Is this really what my life has become?
The earlier happiness at cooking dinner evaporates faster than water under direct unrelenting sunlight. The hand holding my pepper spray shakes lightly and a bubble of anger rolls through me.
I’m so fucking tired of being scared all the time.
The truck pulls to a stop in front of the garage. The angle that it’s parked, along with the slowing sinking sun, mean I can’t see who’s in the cab.
Probably wouldn’t recognize them anyway. I hear the truck door open before a jean-clad leg steps out followed by a flash of brown hair.
Oh God. It’s just Jem. Jesus Christ, Maisie.
I will my heartbeat to slow down and a relieved breath gusts out of me as Jem climbs all the way out of the cab. She reaches into the back of the truck and pulls out a large moving box.
Probably why she’s not in her car.
I toss the pepper spray back in my purse and put the knife back on the cutting board before skirting around the table to meet her at the door.
“Hey,” I say when I pull the door open. “Need help?” I ask as she muscles the large box up the stairs.
“Hey, girl. Nah. I got it.” Her brown hair shines in the sun, the light picking up some of the reds and blondes woven through the light waves.
I step back and hold the door open for her to pass me. After setting the box by the front door, I close the door and twist the deadbolt.
“Oh my god. Whatever you’re cooking smells amazing.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Oh, yeah, um that’s dinner. Chicken fajitas.”
