But he does. And he brings garlic bread, which makes him an instant hero to my little brother and sister. Had I known Vince was going to give me a twenty at the register, I would’ve maybe agreed to the garlic bread, but they didn’t understand that. Where possible, I try to keep our money problems from them. I haven’t always, but one day when Mom and I were trying to figure out how to pay a utility bill in front of them, I noticed my brother listening, his little face anxious.
Since then, I don’t mention money problems until they’re in bed.
I’m attending the pasta on the stove when I feel him come up behind me. Fear is definitely present, but I try to mask it. He’s not going to hurt me, he’s just… stalking me.
Sure, that sounds right.
Clearing my throat, I ask, “How’d you know they wanted garlic bread?”
“Gotta have garlic bread with spaghetti,” he says, leaning against the counter so he can look at me. “Plus, the boy asked for it on the way to the register.”
I don’t remember that, but I’d been pretty sidetracked by him. Automatically preheating the oven, I let my mind wander. If he’s following me to the store, that means he followed me to the preschool to pick up Casey first, then the elementary school to get Allan. He couldn’t have, right? I would have noticed.
I hadn’t been looking though. I thought—hoped—that we resolved the matter the night before.
“What’s on your mind?” he asks.
I realize I’m being oddly quiet, lost in my own thoughts, but… well, it seems warranted. “You followed me?”
He doesn’t confirm or deny, folding his arms across his chest and simply watching me.
Even though it is what I believe, I feel arrogant having spoken the words. “I mean, you said you were just at the grocery store, but you obviously weren’t buying anything. And I didn’t even go straight there.” I stop, suddenly hit with the memory of his insinuation last night about my brother and sister’s videos, about them sleeping down the hall. My blood runs cold, realizing if he followed me when I left school, he knows where they go to school now.
My eyes shoot to his face for verification, but his expression is carefully blank. Swallowing, feeling vaguely like I’m going to throw up, I say, “You followed me to their schools.”
He knew I was picking them up, because he heard my conversation with my mother the night before.
I turn and look back at Allan, who trusts him now, all because he brought a damn bag of garlic bread.
Suddenly angry, I turn back to glare at Vince. “Stop it.”
Still expressionless, he says, “Didn’t do anything.”
Jabbing a finger against my chest, I say, “I am the only person involved in this. Me. My brother and sister have nothing to do with this, and if you threaten them….” I trail off, because I have nothing to threaten him with. What, I’ll go to the police? I’m not a fool. I can’t make a threat like that and expect him to trust me to keep my mouth shut. If I’m not careful, I could wind up dead.
Suddenly overcome with the weight of this goddamn burden, I shake my head, shrinking a little. “I’m not going to say anything.”
“So you said.”
“And you still followed me! You followed me to their schools.” I stop, glancing back to make sure they aren’t listening. “I told you that you could trust me, and you still followed me. What am I supposed to take away from that?”
Inclining his head slightly, he takes a moment to formulate a response. Finally, not looking at me, he says, “I am trying to trust you, but a little extra incentive never hurt.”
“Threatening my family is not how you get what you want from me,” I warn him.
Quirking an eyebrow as if amused, he asks, “Then how do I?”
Exasperated, I say, “You’ve already got it. I swear to God, my lips are sealed. Just… leave me alone.”
He eyes me up, but I can’t tell what he’s thinking. “Is that what you want?”
My eyes bulge. “Yes!”
For a moment, he says nothing, just stands there with his arms still crossed. Eventually he drops them, stepping away from the counter with a nod.
I don’t know what he’s doing as he steps away, and even as he walks toward the door I don’t fully trust it. But then he opens the door, turns the lock, and slips out.
“Where’s he going?” Allan demands, leaning over the arm of the couch and looking from me to the door.
I don’t answer immediately, unsure myself. “I think he had to go home.”
“Why? Did he leave the garlic bread?”
I can’t help but scoff at the selfishness of children. I glance at the untouched loaf of garlic bread on the counter, and even though it’s absurd, I suddenly feel the crushing weight of guilt on my shoulders. I tell myself that’s stupid, incredibly stupid—he followed me when I left school, he left unspoken threats on the table again, and all this after I watched him walk out of a house fire that resulted in two deaths.