The Reckless Oath We Made(3)

I kept driving.

“You missed our turn,” Marcus said. Five years old and he was already a backseat driver.

“We’re not going home yet.” I pulled up to the light at Central, white-knuckling the steering wheel to keep myself focused. In my side-view mirror, I could still see the cop car parked in front of our apartment.

“Where are we going?” he said.

“Grandma’s house.”

I should have gone somewhere else. Anywhere else. A motel. A park. A fucking church. Even going to Marcus’ other grandparents’ would have been a better terrible choice, if I was going to make a terrible choice. My mother’s house was on a cul-de-sac that dead-ended where they had widened Kellogg into a six-lane highway, so when I turned down the street, I was already stuck. There were three news vans, plus half a dozen other cars. Once again my family was newsworthy.

Reporters didn’t scare me the way cops did, so I pulled up at the end of the line of vehicles and parked. I got Marcus out of the car and led him across the neighbors’ yards, but as soon as we reached the weedy edge of Mom’s yard, the reporters saw us. Holding Marcus’ hand tighter, I walked faster, keeping my eyes focused on Mom’s front porch, which was piled up with old furniture and lawn tools.

“Are you a member of the Trego family?” said the first reporter that reached us.

“Do you know the family?” said another one.

A TV cameraman cut me off at the sidewalk, while more reporters shouted, “Do you know LaReigne Trego-Gill?”

Marcus started to cry, and then his hand slipped out of mine. My heart stuttered and I turned around, thinking it would be a reporter or a cop or . . . I didn’t know who might grab Marcus.

Standing there, next to Marcus, was Gentry. Where had he come from? Had he followed me there? Of course; he followed me everywhere. Before I could think of what to say, Gentry picked Marcus up. What I would have done if my hip hadn’t been hurting so much. Then Gentry reached past me and used his arm as a barrier between me and the cameraman who was nearly in my face.

“Let the lady pass!” Gentry bellowed. The cameraman backed up.

I ran the last ten feet to the porch, with Gentry behind me carrying Marcus. The screen door was only attached at one hinge, so you had to be really careful with it, and I wasn’t. I was so freaked out, I jerked it open, and the glass panel on the top rattled into the bottom and almost fell out. I managed to shove the whole thing out of the way, but the front door was locked. I pulled my keys out of my pocket and got the deadbolt turned. When I pushed, the door opened, but only a few inches. For a second, I thought, Mom has finally managed to block both doors. She’s going to die trapped in there.

“Has the family heard anything from LaReigne? Do you have any news? Has there been a ransom demand? Are the police negotiating?” Reporters were shouting behind me, Marcus was sobbing, and I could hear Gentry breathing hard.

“Push,” I said to Gentry, and I stepped as far off to the side as I could. Still holding Marcus, he put his free hand on the frame and leaned his whole body into the door. There was a thump and a crash inside, and the door opened wide enough for us to squeeze through.

Inside, there was no room for us to do anything but stand packed together. Gentry slammed the door closed and set Marcus down on top of a half-collapsed stack of newspapers. I hugged Marcus tight, feeling his whole body quivering. I wondered if he understood why those strangers were shouting his mother’s name.

“It’s okay, buddy. I got you,” I said. With this sick lurch, I realized that I was LaReigne now. Not just for Marcus, but for me. After Dad went to prison, right up until she left for college, LaReigne had been the adult in our family. After that I had to be my own adult, but now I would have to be one for Marcus, too.

“Zhorzha? Is that you, Zhorzha?” Mom yelled from the front room.

“Yeah, it’s me. I have Marcus with me.”

“What was that crash? What did you knock over?”

“I don’t know. Whatever was behind the door. I almost couldn’t get it open.”

What had fallen over was a cardboard box full of ballerina figurines, too high on the stack to be the ones LaReigne had as a kid. There was also a tumbled-over pile of romance novels, a broken laundry basket with a half-finished quilt in it, and two wooden boxes that maybe were for silverware. I knew she got stuff off Craigslist and eBay, but I didn’t have a clue where most of the new stuff came from.

I turned around, intending to make sure the door was locked, and there was Gentry, looking the way he always did. Like one of Marcus’ Lego people. Not very tall, but a solid block, dressed in a black T-shirt, cargo shorts, and Timberlands. He had his back pressed against the door, his head down, and his hands resting on the back of his neck. He didn’t look at me—he never looked me in the eye—so at least I didn’t have to hide the horrified look on my face when I realized what I’d done.

I’d invited my stalker into my mother’s house.





CHAPTER 3





Gentry



I brought Lady Zhorzha and her little page safe through the throng of knaves, but ’twas no great task for the many months I was set to watch over her. To guard the threshold like a dog would give me joy, but my lady needed me carry the boy.

I set him down, and my lady embraced him while I made fast the door. I saw no clear path from that place, and I would not give offense, so I waited to hear my lady’s bidding. I felt her gaze upon me, but knew not how to meet it. ’Twas rare I kenned her, nor she me.