Chapter 3
Sarah
My phone buzzed on the kitchen counter, its screen cracked in the corner and held together with clear tape.
Delia’s name flashed across it. I grabbed it while I stared into my refrigerator.
Empty except for condiments and something that might have once been yogurt.
Or cheese. Hard to tell at this point. I grimaced at the sight, wrinkling my nose.
“Hey,” I said, wedging the phone between my shoulder and ear.
“Oh good, you’re alive. I was starting to think you’d fallen into a black hole or something.”
“Just sitting here. Living the dream.” I closed the fridge before the smell could escape. “You know, the usual—contemplating my life choices and losing.”
“You sound thrilled about it.” I could hear the smile in her voice, but it faded quickly. “Seriously though. What are you doing?”
“Staring at my apartment and wondering when I became this person.” I walked back to my couch, dropped onto it with more force than necessary. “I’m almost thirty and still can’t get my life together. At what point does it actually get better? Is there a manual I missed?” I sighed.
“Sarah.” The lightness disappeared from her voice completely. “Hey. Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.” I pulled my knees up, wrapped my free arm around them.
The couch springs creaked. I’d pulled this thing from a street corner five years ago and it showed.
“I just feel like I’m running in place while everyone else is actually going somewhere.
And I’m still here. Five years, Delia. Nothing’s changed. ”
“That’s not true. What about Lily? The progress you’re making with her? You have a steady job now—”
“I’m still not certified.” The words came out tired. “I’m one job loss away from being homeless.”
“Sarah—”
“Sorry. I’m not trying to dump everything on you.”
“Don’t apologize. That’s what I’m here for.” She paused. “You know I can help, right? If you need money for the exam or anything else. The photography business is really good right now.”
“I’m okay,” I said quickly—too quickly. “Really. I just needed to vent.”
“Sarah—”
“I mean it. I’m fine. The offer’s sweet, but I’m okay.”
It wasn’t pride that kept me from telling her the truth. Well, maybe partly. But mostly it was shame. How do you tell your best friend that you’ve spent two years paying off a dead man’s gambling debts to loan sharks? That you’d just made the final payment last month.
And for the first time in two years, I could actually start saving for myself. I’d save enough for my exams; there was no need to trouble Delia.
“Anyway,” I said, needing to steer us away from the disaster of a life. “I heard Melissa got married. Twins now, apparently.”
“Yeah, I saw the photos on Facebook. Very suburban. Very minivan. Very, ‘I haven’t slept in three years.’” Delia laughed. “Meanwhile, I’m still trying to convince Jake that commitment doesn’t equal death.”
“Still fighting about that?”
“Always. But we’re good. I think. Maybe.” She sighed. “Oh, and Daniel asked about you yesterday, by the way.”
Daniel. Her brother. My ex from another lifetime. We’d dated in high school when everything felt massive and forever. Took us until twenty-three to realize forever was just a very long time to be wrong about someone. We ended it, stayed friends, moved on.
“Tell him I said hi,” I said. “How is he?”
“Good. Seeing someone new. Seems serious this time.”
“Good for him.”
And I meant it. Daniel belonged firmly in the category of fond memories and zero complications.
We talked for a few more minutes. Delia told me about the ballet recital she was planning, about a difficult client who wanted impossible lighting for their wedding photos. Normal friend conversation. The kind that made life feel less heavy for a moment.
When we hung up, the apartment felt quieter than before. Emptier.
I looked at the time. Almost six. The light outside was dying, turning everything gray and cold. I meant to get groceries today. It wasn’t too late, I could still get it.
I grabbed my jacket from the back of the couch. My umbrella from beside the door. The weather had threatened rain all day, heavy clouds pressing down on the city like a warning.
The apartment door stuck. The lock had been broken for two months. My landlord kept promising to fix it and never did. I’d learned the exact amount of force needed. Jiggle twice, shoulder against the wood, wait for the catch.
The bodega was around the corner. I grabbed a basket and moved through the aisles. Bread. Eggs. Milk. Coffee. The essentials. My brain calculated costs without being asked. Eighty dollars left for the week. Rent was paid. Phone bill could wait another few days. This would work.
Then I passed the art supply section.
There were drawing books with thick paper sitting on the shelf. Next to them, crayon sets in colors I’d never seen at the penthouse.
Lily would love them.
I grabbed them before my brain could stop me. I added them to my basket, telling myself it was fine. I’d skip lunch this week.
Lily needed them more than I needed food anyway.
At the register, I counted my cash twice. Left me with less than fifteen dollars for the week.
The rain started the second I stepped outside. I opened my umbrella and headed home, my grocery bag swinging from my wrist.
That’s when I felt it.
That awareness that crawls up your spine and settles in your stomach. The kind that says something is wrong, that you’re not safe.
I was being followed.
I told myself I was paranoid. That it was just the rain and the dark and two years of looking over my shoulder making me see threats that weren’t there. But I’d learned to trust that feeling. It had kept me alive this long.
I walked faster. The footsteps behind me matched my pace.
My heart started pounding. I mapped the route home in my head. Two more blocks. One if I cut through the alley. But the alley was darker. More isolated. Bad idea.
Two men stepped out from the alley ahead anyway, blocking my path.
My stomach dropped through the pavement.
I knew them. I would recognize them in my sleep. In my nightmares. The loan sharks. Two years of paying and paying and paying, and they still found new ways to take.
“Sarah Tinsley.” The taller one said my name like he was confirming his target. He flashed me a sleazy smile to reveal crooked, yellow teeth.
My fingers tightened on my umbrella. “I paid everything last month. We’re done.” I met his dazed stare—he was definitely high on something.
“See, that’s where you’re wrong.” He stepped closer. The other one circled around, cutting off escape routes. They’d done this before. A lot of times. “Your father’s debt isn’t settled.”
“Yes it is.” My voice came out steadier than I felt. “You said sixty thousand. I’ve been paying for two years. We had a deal.”
“There was a miscalculation. Your father owed more than we initially thought.” He lit up a cigarette, his eyes cruel with greed.
“What?” I couldn’t believe what he was saying.
The debts have been cleared.
“A hundred thousand dollars more, to be exact.”
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t process what he was trying to tell me.
“That’s not possible.” The words barely made it out of my mouth in the heavy downpour. “You said sixty. I paid sixty.”
“Interest. Penalties for late payment.” The shorter one’s voice was flat. Like threatening people was just another job. “Your father was very bad with deadlines.”
“My father is dead.” The words came out sharp. Anger burned somewhere in my chest, rising to my throat and working its way out of my mouth. “He’s been dead for two years. This isn’t my debt! Stay away from me!” I hissed.
“You’re his daughter. Same last name. That makes his debt yours, we’ve been through this.”
The rain got heavier, soaking through my jacket. My umbrella was useless, water ran down my face and I couldn’t tell if I was crying or if it was just the rain.
“I can’t pay that. I don’t have that kind of money.”
“Then find it.” He grabbed my umbrella and tossed it away. It clattered across the sidewalk and disappeared into the gutter. “You have three months.”
“Three months?” I wanted to laugh. To scream. “That’s impossible. I can’t make a hundred thousand dollars in ninety days. Nobody can.”
“Then I suggest you get creative.” He leaned in. His stink made me want to vomit. “Because if you don’t pay, we’ll have to take alternative compensation. And you won’t like how we collect.”
The shorter one pulled out his phone and showed me a picture.
Colin.
My baby brother. He was walking across campus in London. Laughing with his friends. Completely unaware that men with dead eyes were taking his picture. That his life was being used as leverage.
Everything went cold—colder than the rain, colder than I’d ever felt.
“Leave him alone.” I barely recognized my own voice.
“Pay us and we will.” He pocketed his phone like the threat was already forgotten. “But if you don’t, next time we talk, we might bring you a piece of him. An ear. A finger. Something small to start with.”
“You can’t—” My voice broke. “He has nothing to do with this.”
“Neither did you. But here we are.” He smiled, all teeth. No warmth. No humanity.
“Please.” I hated begging, loathed how small I sounded. “Please don’t hurt him. I’ll figure it out. I’ll get you the money. Just don’t touch my brother.”
“Three months. We will collect part of it at the end of every month.”
They walked away, leaving me standing there like a frozen statue.
The grocery bag slipped from my hand. I heard things break, felt the impact, but couldn’t bring myself to care.
My legs stopped working. I ended up sitting on the wet sidewalk, rain pouring down, ruined groceries scattered around me.
One of the drawing books I’d bought for Lily had landed in a puddle. I watched water seep into it.
I’d bought it to make her happy and those metallic crayons would light up her little face.
Now it was garbage.
Just like my entire life.