34 Kimmy
I watched the world waking up in the side mirror as we drove to Margaret's place.
The streets filled with strip malls and slouching trees were softening in the predawn blur.
There were hardly any other cars at this hour, not in this neighborhood.
Just us—me in the passenger seat, him in the driver's.
"What happened to your bike?" I asked.
"It would be hard to transport your things on a bike without suspicion," Seven supplied. "It's safer to use a car for now."
"Right." I glanced at the back seat where my duffel bag and my laptop sat.
We didn't talk after. Instead, I listened to the whirr of the tires and the squeal of his glove against the wheel as he flexed his hand at every intersection. The radio was off. The silence buzzed with a tension that was, somehow, more comforting than any playlist or morning show could have been.
He wore the same clothes he did last night—leather jacket I'd returned to him over the hoodie, dark jeans, boots, the bandana. Only the eyes were visible, gray and sharp, like the tip of a nail right before it sunk.
Margaret's place came into view, and he pulled to the curb, two houses early. It was a calculated stop—perfect sight lines, but not so close as to draw attention.
"I'll stay in the car," he said, his eyes flicked to the rearview, then to me, then to the house. I could tell he was operating on some higher alert setting. He had a slight frown just above the bridge of his nose.
He didn't shut off the engine. His hand hovered over the gear lever, never quite settling. The other curled around the steering wheel, not white-knuckled, but poised. His entire body was a study in contradiction—perfectly still, yet bristling with readiness.
"I'll try to be quick," I promised as I popped the door open and stepped out. The early morning cold hit like a slap. I zipped my jacket to the chin and quickly walked to Margaret's house.
From the porch, I glanced back.
He was still there, in the car, face shadowed by the visor of his cap and the angle of the rising sun.
I could see only the vague line of his head and the way the bandana shaped itself over the bridge of his nose.
But he was watching me. Not just watching—tracking.
If a sniper scope had a human equivalent, it was those eyes.
I should have felt something along the lines of self-preservation. Instead, I felt…excited.
Was my mind playing tricks on me? Or was it him?
I shook it off. No time to explore the complexities of my brain.
I knocked first, then let myself in. The door was unlocked, just as I'd expected.
"Mom, you really need to start locking your door for the night," I called, heading for the kitchen.
"I was waiting for you, dear," she replied. "It was locked overnight."
The kettle was on when I entered and already whistling.
"Good morning." I surveyed the room. I didn't know what I was searching for. Maybe something out of place.
"What's so urgent?" Margaret asked, preparing the tea. "I was surprised you called so early? You never do."
She fumbled with the mugs, nearly spilling as she set them down on the kitchen table. Her cardigan sleeves were rolled to the elbows, and I could see the skin underneath was mottled and taut, stretched from stress and age.
I let her hug me. It was awkward, because she held on for at least twenty seconds, and I had to pat her back in increments so she'd finally stop squeezing air out of my lungs.
"I made chamomile," she said, pushing one mug toward me with both hands, like a peace offering.
"Thanks, Mom." I needed coffee but I would never tell her that. She was too precious of a person in my and my siblings' lives and we almost never said no to anything she offered.
We took our tea into the living room and sat down on the couch.
"How are you doing?" I asked, mentally preparing to lie to her.
She forced a smile. "I'm fine, really. Just a little shaken by the whole circus. Luckily, my medical insurance covered the cost of the new glasses." She touched the frames.
"They suit you well."
"Thanks, dear."
We sat in quiet for a moment, each taking small sips of our tea. Eventually, I mustered up the courage and spoke. "Mom, this is going to be very unexpected, but I have some good news."
Her eyebrows went up. "About the case?"
I nodded. "I just spoke to my attorney friend.
She has filed a motion to have the entire thing dismissed yesterday.
She says it'll get thrown out. There's also a possibility of insurance fraud.
This company has had a poor track record with clients apparently.
We'll probably just need to change the company, moving forward.
" All of this was on some level a horrible lie, but I needed to make it sound convincing.
Yes, my mother had been targeted but I'd tell her a different—a better—story.
Margaret covered her mouth with both hands. She always did that when she wanted to hide her feelings, but I could tell by the way her whole face crumpled and then relaxed that she was ready to cry.
"Oh my God, Kimmy. I knew something was wrong. The way the insurance people spoke to us…"
"It's going to get resolved, Mom. I promise. Don't think about this anymore."
She nodded, the tears threatening but not quite spilling. "You saved me, dear."
I didn't know what to say to that. Instead, I reached into my bag, rummaged around, and pulled out the envelope Seven had given me. I pushed it across the coffee table.
She looked at it, confused, then glanced at me. "What is this?"
"I need you to do me a favor now. Okay, Mom?"
She frowned as she opened the envelope and extracted the ticket. Her face twisted in confusion. "Kimmy?" She looked up.
I felt sick to my stomach. "It's a plane ticket to the Bahamas. Two weeks. You leave today. All-inclusive."
She stared at the paper as if it might bite her. "What—? No. That's not— I can't do that."
"Why not?"
She made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.
"First off, who will water the plants? And who will feed that stray cat that keeps coming by?
And I'm not just going to run off to the Bahamas while my daughter is dealing with this mess.
Besides, why did you buy this? It's expensive.
And why today? Are you trying to get rid of me? "
"Mom," I took a deep breath, "I didn't pay for it.
They give those out at work for winning contests.
But our boss is an airhead. She confused the dates.
She'd dropped it off last night while I wasn't home, thinking it was for next month.
Besides, this is a basic economy. You can't get a refund or make any changes.
And I'm swamped at work right now. I'm just physically not able to go on such short notice.
" I was lying with the kind of smoothness I didn't like in myself.
"I have three jobs stacked up and an audit next week.
It's non-transferable to coworkers, but you're immediate family.
So I called the airline and changed the name and you get to go.
" I prayed she wouldn't ask how I got the ticket with her name instead of mine this fast.
She looked at the ticket, then at me, then at the ticket again. "Kimberly, I can't possibly—"
I cut her off. "You deserve it. Go. Take a vacation. Recharge. You have not had a real break in— what, fifteen years? Twenty?"
She tried to smile, but it cracked in the middle. "I don't have a swimsuit, I'm not in shape, and I get sunburned after five minutes."
"They have shade and stores in the Bahamas," I said. "And you'll look amazing, because you always do."
This time, the laugh was real. She clapped a hand over my wrist. "You're the worst liar. You know that, right?"
"Maybe. But I mean it. You really do deserve to go after everything you've been through.
And don't worry. I'll ask your neighbors and Katrina when she'd be back to help me with your plants and stray cats.
I truly want you to go and have a good time.
The case is almost over. It's all just a matter of paperwork. "
She looked at the ticket for a long time as if she was trying to figure it all out.
"I don't want it to go to waste," I said, my heart pounding so hard it hurt my chest. "And if my workload were different, I would have jumped on the opportunity."
Margaret put the ticket in her lap and picked up her tea again, staring at the swirling steam. Her hand still trembled, but not as much.
After a minute, she said, "Is it safe there? The Bahamas? You hear things about those places…"
"It's very safe," I said, quickly. "Brynn's been three times. She says it's paradise." I had no idea if Brynn's been to the Bahamas, but I needed to say something reassuring.
Margaret looked at me over the rim of her mug. "Are you sure you don't want to go with me?" However, her eyes communicated a different set of questions though. What is really going on? Are you okay?
I hesitated, searching for the right answer. "I have only one ticket, Mom. And I already told you I need to get caught up on work stuff. It's going to earn me a bonus."
She watched me, sharp as ever. "Is there something you're not telling me?"
I thought of the man in the car, the strange comfort I felt knowing he was out there, the way he'd stood between me and the world when it turned ugly.
I shook my head. "Not really."
She held my eyes, not blinking, like she was waiting for me to break and tell her the truth. "I think there is, dear."
I desperately searched for any excuse that might convince her to go and justify why I couldn't. And then it came out. "I'm seeing someone."
"Ooooh." She smiled, sly and genuine. "Now, I see. No wonder you're glowing."
Was I really glowing? I doubted it. But I just nodded.
"When can I meet him?"