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"We still had more time. I just know we did!" Jer wriggles in Mama's grasp, blabbering on, his voice like a squeaky mouse in the calm air. "We hadn't made it to the Legos yet. Or added other cars to our tracks. Not even—"
"Shhh," Mama hushes him.
Noting me lagging behind, she grabs my hand, forcing me to keep up. Her heels clack against the driveway, piercing through the silence, as she guides us hand-in-hand down a row of cars, all neatly parked along the sidewalk. They're always here. Mama once said they all belong to Mr. Kingston, but I don't think I believe her.
Nonetheless, I run my fingertips across their shiny exteriors like always.
First, they glide along a car that gleams like snowy pearls, the surface so clean my reflection gazes curiously back at me. Until my fingers slip off into thin air... and connect with another shade. This time, a deep onyx with athletic grooves and chrome rims. Next up, a vibrant azure... then another midnight black. Specs of white offset the dark color perfectly, as if a masterful painter flicked her wrist in just the right ways, her brush emulating tiny diamonds...
Next is orange. But the tinge is... off, sporting random splotches. Somehow dull and dingy, yet offensively bright, all at the same time. Then there's the mismatched door—a cherry red. The whole thing's like the same painter did away with her careful strokes and opted for a brasher technique. Hasty, sloppy. Possibly discarding her brush altogether, using her hands to smear along the bottom side of the—
Oh. Oops.
My hand falls to my side.
That's our car.
"Mama's Trusty Steed," she often calls it. Or "The Rust Bucket," depending on her mood. I smirk at that, hearing her sassy voice recite the nickname in my head—until I hear Mama's actual voice. Frazzled and panting. My smile fades as she rummages through her tote frantically, retrieving a pair of keys.
A car door clicks open nearby.
"Shit," Mama breathes out, a rare curse slipping from her lips. And out walks Mr. Kingston from the beautiful vehicle parked directly in front of ours. He rises to his impressive height, clad in a navy suit, a phone pressed to his ear.
Our car beeps, its headlights flashing. "Get inside," Mama hisses, tossing us into the backseat. "And don't move."
"I'll call you right back," Mr. Kingston says in the distance, closing his door simultaneously with ours. Through the window, my gaze connects with Mama's. For a brief moment, the whites around her pupils widen like saucers. Then they blink slowly, exuding a shocking confidence. Plastering on a calm expression, Mama turns, facing Mr. Kingston.
My left pigtail jerks backwards.
"Ow!" I screech as Jer crawls over the top of me. Shifting in protest, I exhale sharply, as he steals the window seat. "What're you doing?! Mama said not to move."
"I'm not," he lies. "Don't you want to listen?"
Not waiting for my answer, he works the manual window crank, dropping the glass an inch. Just enough to pick up Mama's heels halting atop the driveway. Jer sucks in a breath at the same time I do, going deathly silent. Like one whisper might betray our eavesdropping as we shuffle closer, huddling against the window.
Mr. Kingston sinks his hands into his pants pockets, sporting a playful grin. "Where do you think you're running off to, baby? You still got another hour of watching Hayden."
Baby? Jer and I exchange a look. He never calls her that. I nibble on my lip, thinking. Well, I guess he did a few times. When he and Mama were playing earlier...
"Oh, uhm..." She shuffles, drawing her purse close to her side. "Didn't I tell you? We have to get home early tonight."
Cocking his head, he eyes her bag. "Do you now?"
"Yes. We have plans in the morning."
"Well, then, if it's so urgent, I'll drive you. Or"—he takes a step closer, hunger flashing in his eyes—"even better, you can stay the night here."
"Why, that's very kind of you, Mr. Kingston." Her tone is sweet, but his name sounds strained on her tongue, as she gestures toward us. Gasping, we duck low, just enough to still peek through the bottom of the glass. "But I've already got them buckled up. We'll manage just fine."
He doesn't look our way. Not even a glance, as his smile grows. "I know when you're lying, Amber."
She squirms under his scrutiny. "I'm not lying."
"Yes, you are." He takes another step, which prompts her to take one back. "You want to know why? Because you're terrible at it." Flicking his chin, he eyes her purse again. "Are you going to tell me what you got in there?"
She doesn't say a word.
"God, I love when you play hard to get." He wets his lips. "Does my little mistress need another round—so soon?"
