Page 11 of Moved
I sat up in bed, heart hammering. A dream. I hadn’t dreamt of my mom in a long time. She’d died before I’d turned six. Had it not been for Chuck’s cameo, it would have made my week to recall her in such vivid detail. I’d forgotten how dark her hair had been compared to mine. I rubbed my face and glanced at the clock. Three a.m. Too early to get up, but how could I go back to sleep after that.
Flinging back the covers, I got out of bed. A snack might help. I made my way toward the kitchen and opened the fridge, but nothing looked good. I checked the cupboards, listlessly studying the contents. A jar of baby dills caught my eye. Why my father had purchased them, I had no idea. But they looked good so I pulled them out. The lid didn’t budge when I tried to open it. I gave it my best effort. Even grunted a little and threw in a cuss.
“Give up already,” I mumbled, trying once more. If nothing else, I’d be tired by the time I got the thing open.
My apartment door burst open without warning. I froze. The jar of pickles was under my left arm and my right hand rested limp on the lid as I stared at Racer. What the hell was he doing up here in the middle of the night? Jeez, I was in my pajama shirt. Thankfully, it fell to just above my knees.
His eyes scanned the apartment then me. “What’s wrong?”
“Well, for starters, I think my door needs a lock.”
“I thought I heard a struggle.” His eyes fell on the jar under my arm.
A struggle? I racked my brain, going over in my head what I’d been doing. Nope, I’d been quiet. I was sure of it. Even my cussing had been quiet.
He stepped into the kitchen and closed the door behind him. He moved toward me, stopping inches away, and held out his hand. I handed over the jar, embarrassed it had defeated me. He popped it open easily and handed it back, never taking his eyes from my face. Oh sure, he had no problem opening it. I’d loosened it for him.
I reached in, picked a pickle, and popped it in my mouth. The salty tang should have tasted like sweet victory. Instead, it filled my mouth with confused speculation. I picked out another one and offered it to him. Wearing an exasperated expression, he reached for it with a shake of his head.
“So what exactly did you hear?”
“‘Give up already’ and some swearing and grunting.”
I crunched on another pickle then closed the jar as I studied him. He took the jar from me and put it in the fridge. His expression grew slightly uncomfortable as I continued to stare.
“The walls are thin,” he mumbled.
No, but the explanation was, and it almost made me smile. Maybe I wouldn’t need to ask questions to get the answers I wanted.
He must have noticed a change in my speculative expression because he started backing toward the door.
“See you in the morning,” he said quickly and let himself out.
I went to bed thinking of how he’d burst in. He’d been rumpled as if he’d just gotten out of bed. The t-shirt had been on inside out.
****
In the morning, I was up at seven, showered and dressed. I was bored and wanted to go somewhere. My choices were limited. Should I walk around with Racer following me, or beg him to take me somewhere and have him follow me around in public? Neither choice appealed to me, so I aimlessly wandered around the apartment.
“This isn’t going to work,” I whispered to myself.
As much as I wanted to find out the truth behind my mom’s letter, I didn’t want to spend any more time wallowing in boredom. I either needed to find something I enjoyed doing or figure out how to get out without Racer knowing. He heard me every time I set foot on the stairs. How else could I leave? There were no trees near the windows. At least, nothing I could use for climbing. I’d checked. Maybe there was something on the outside of the house, a drainpipe, lattice, or something, that I couldn’t see from the inside.
I glanced at the kitchen door. Up to this point, I’d been mostly pacing in the living room. Not lightly. I walked back to the bedroom and flopped on my bed. Then, with care, I eased off the mattress and slowly tiptoed to the door. Taking my time, I made my way quietly down the steps. As soon as I hit the bottom step, his door opened.
Racer casually leaned a shoulder against the jam and folded his arms across his chest.
“Going somewhere?”
Drat the man. Just how good was his hearing? It didn’t really matter this time. I didn’t mean to try to escape right away. I wanted to see if there was another way out of the apartment.
“Yep,” I chirped and slid my feet into my shoes. As I bent to tie them, I noted he was in his socks. Good. He might just stay inside, then.
“Where?”
“Just walking around the house. Exploring the yard and getting some fresh air.” I opened the door. Free at last.
“I’ll throw on my shoes and be right out.”
