Page 9 of Ruinous Need
So I am still being watched. He’s still here, somewhere. I peer out into the night, but there’s no sign of him or the car.
My phone buzzes again. “Now.”
I take shaky steps up the stairs to the front door.
I’m surprised to find the lights on in the dining room. Mom is a school teacher and Dad works at the factory, meaning they’re hardly ever awake past ten at night. Sammy, my little brother, is still too young to want to stay up late.
Normally when I get home, the house is quiet and I have to wait until the morning to see my favorite people.
Not tonight.
I watch through the window for a second, confused at what I’m seeing. This entire night has been disorienting.
Mom’s face is streaked with tears while Dad talks on the phone, rubbing his mustache repeatedly with his hand. His face is drawn and he’s speaking rapidly. They’re sitting close together, bathed in the soft light of the kitchen.
I’ve only ever seen them like this twice before.
When Mom got the diagnosis and the medical bills that went with it. And then, when my life came crashing down around me.
Fate is catching up with me.
First the men following me. Now my parents looking like someone’s died. I know what it means.
“Mom? Dad?” I call out when I enter.
Mom opens the door to the dining room, doing her best to paste a smile onto her tear-stained face. As though I can’t see her watery blue eyes.
“Lisette.” She pulls me into a warm hug. Her hands shake as she pulls back to cradle my face. “How was teaching today? Do you want dinner?”
She doesn’t ask me why I’m home so late. The time doesn’t seem to have occurred to her.
“It’s happening, isn’t it?”
The smile falls from her face so rapidly that I wonder whether it was ever there.
“What do you mean?” Her voice cracks.
“You know what I mean, Mom.”
I push past her into the kitchen and stand across the table from my father. “Dad. Don’t lie to me.”
He raises a finger to his lips and gestures to the landline phone which is practically glued to his ear.
“I know, I know,” he sighs to whoever is on the other end. “But couldn’t it wait until—?”
His face goes white at whatever the person says.
“Let me talk to them.” He flaps his hand at me and continues pleading. I hate to see him like this.
“Let me talk to them,” I repeat, my teeth coming together as I emphasize each word.
“No, please, she’s not ready,” he’s saying to the person on the other end.
I rip the phone from his hands.
Dad looks at me in shock. I’m not normally like this, but adrenaline is coursing through my veins right now and mixing dangerously with rage. I feel overconfident. I feel invincible.
“Was it you? That sent those men after me?” I spit the words into the phone. I feel like I could crush the receiver in my hand until it cracked.
