Page 32 of Pete and His Precious

“Come back anytime,” I say, hoping she knows I mean her, and not the busload of kids that are with her. Although, they weren’t that terrible. As long as Zoe was there, I guess I could try to handle a busload of kids again. I wouldn’t want them without her. But I definitely want to see her. I can’t wait until Monday.

Chapter 10

Pete

I’m dreading the meal today. Church isn’t quite over, but I left a little early so I could make it on time. My church gets out half an hour after Zoe’s church, and maybe I was kind of hoping to see her, but their parking lot was pretty much deserted by the time I stepped out.

That is just as well. I have that dinner to attend with my new charge. I know they called it casual, but they want me to have dinner with their family so I can be introduced to everyone. When I start guarding this girl, Baxley, I think her name is, I’ll know who everyone is.

Like I said, I’m not looking forward to it, but it’s part of my job, and I get in my car and punch the address in the GPS on my phone.

It’s fifteen minutes away, and my GPS is right on.

There are a whole bunch of cars outside, at least four. How many relatives does this kid have?

It seems like she has a ton, but maybe they just have a lot of vehicles. They’re rich, and I don’t know what else they might spend their money on.

I parked my truck, which looks a little out of place next to the two BMWs. One is an SUV. I didn’t even know BMW made SUVs.

Shows what I know.

I’m not sure what door to go to. The front? No one ever uses the front door. That’s where guests go. I guess I’m a guest, though, so that’s where I head, even though there really isn’t a walk from the driveway, where I parked outside the garage, to the front door. It’s one of those front doors that I’m pretty sure are just for show.

Regardless, I would feel awkward going to the back door, so I ring the doorbell and wait. My hands sweat and I shift from side to side.

An older lady answers the door; she has on a black dress with a white collar. Is she the hired help? I guess I’m not used to going to rich people’s homes, because I kinda think she might be.

“Mr. Pete McKinley?” she says.

“Yes,” I say, because it appeared to be a question.

“We’re expecting you. Come on in.”

We. Does that mean she’s part of the family? Or is she saying we, as in the people I work for?

“Follow me,” she says, leading me through a living room, and then through another room, and down the hall, until I finally get to what must be the formal dining room. I feel like I need a map of the place, because I’m already a little bit dizzy and lost. How am I ever going to keep track of a kid in here, when I can’t keep track of where I am myself? If the house caught on fire and I had to get out fast, I think I’d break a window, because I am not sure I could take all the turns to get back out.

“Mrs. Unger, Mr. McKinley,” the lady says, does a little curtsy type thing, and then leaves. Definitely hired help. Well, now I know. Except, I don’t know her name. And it seems to me that I would be more on her level than I am on the level of the people who sit around the table and stare at me.

They haven’t started to eat yet, so they must have been waiting on me? Either that or I have impeccable timing.

I think it’s probably the first. I’ve never been known for my impeccable timing.

“Mr. McKinley,” an older lady says.

“Call me Pete,” I say. I do not want to be called Mr. McKinley for the next month. I get Officer Pete, and sometimes I get Policeman Pete, and once in a while someone will get really fancy and call me Peter, but I never get Mr. McKinley, althoughsome of the officers do go by their last name. Pretty much everyone in town grew up with me, and it would just be weird for say, my kindergarten teacher, to call me Officer McKinley.

I don’t know who would be more embarrassed about that. Me or her.

“I’m Bara Fowels,” the older lady says, as she stands up from her chair. “And this is my daughter, Kylie Unger.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say. I’m still standing at the doorway, because no one has told me I could come in. This seems like the kind of house where you need to be invited. As I think that, my gaze skims around the table, and I almost lose my cool. Sitting at the table is none other than Zoe.

Lord, again?

What is this like the fifth time this week?

I keep running into her, in the oddest places. Places I would never have expected to see her before.

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