When No One Is Watching(43)
“Don’t worry yourself. He’s fine,” she says in that slightly raspy voice of hers. “He texted me saying one of the grandbabies had to get their appendix removed, so he went down to help Debbie and Ron with the kids. Maybe that girl misunderstood?”
“Maybe,” I say, then look back through the window; City Hall is empty and quiet. I guess it was just a reflection.
“You know she drunk half the time, and high the other half, but her parents paid her rent and she hasn’t burned the place down, so it is what it is.” She sighs. “John will be back before the block party this Sunday. How’s the tour research coming?”
She perks up at the last sentence, her gaze sharpening on us and a suggestive smile tightening her mouth.
“We’re figuring it out,” I say.
“Good. Me and the Day Club Crew are looking forward to it.”
“Day Club Crew?” Theo repeats.
“Ms. Candace takes care of some older people from the neighborhood in her house during the day,” I say, trying to keep any emotion out of my voice. “None of them like the term ‘elder care.’”
“Of course we don’t,’” she says. “We aren’t elderly. We’re finely aged, like that good top-shelf rum.”
She laughs.
“They might have some helpful stuff for the tour,” Theo says. “Do we have time to talk to them?”
I want to whirl on him, ask him if he remembers he’s my reparations assistant, not the boss of things, but he’s right. I cross my arms over my chest instead, nod, wishing I could get off this emotional Slip ’N Slide that has me crying, then pissed, then paranoid.
“Yeah, come on by. We’re always happy to see you, you know that.” Her gaze lingers on me, a little soft and sad. “But whenever you come, you two have to be out before General Hospital starts or Paulette will not be pleased.”
I throw my hands up. “I know better than to come between Paulette and Sonny Corinthos.”
“See you later,” she says, leaving me and Theo alone.
“Sorry to make you worry.” He stares at Mr. Perkins’s window. “It’s weird how a dream can feel so real. I swore—” He shakes his head. “I’ll meet you back here in half an hour? We can get breakfast before heading to the church.”
“Okay. There’s a good Caribbean diner across the street.”
I head back to my apartment, wondering what it means that Theo and I are just gonna spend the whole damn day together again in the name of research, and then check my texts. Drea’s listened to the audio of my panicked freak-out, according to the little check marks that show the message was received, and hasn’t bothered to respond. She’s online now, and I stop in the hallway, type, and hit send before I can think better of it.
Btw, I died of a heart attack waiting for you to respond, avenge me. xoxo
The message is sent. Marked as read.
No response.
Sorry for being a smartass, I type out. But stop leaving me on read and respond so I know you’re okay, okay?
Drea is typing . . . pops up in the display at the top of our conversation and relief floods me.
She’s okay.
She doesn’t hate me.
When I leave to go meet Theo, she still hasn’t hit send.
Gifford Place OurHood post by Josie Ulnar:
This is an accountability post. I want to apologize to everyone for the racket Toby made last night. Terriers are rat catchers at heart and, well, I don’t know where it came from, but a rat got into our house in the middle of the night. Toby was barking bloody murder as he chased it down, and I’m sure he woke some of you up. Sorry about that!
Btw, if anyone wants, I have a couple of vouchers for the maid service I use. They do an excellent job and really deep clean your kitchen to prevent infestation of vermin.
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Chapter 11
Theo
I’M EATING SOMETHING CALLED ACKEE AND SALTFISH, A KIND of buttery fruit cooked with salted fish and spices. It’s heavier than my normal breakfast, but really good.
Sydney is working on a basic plate of scrambled eggs, roasted potatoes, and rye toast. Maybe it’s because her braids are pulled up into a bun atop her head now and I can see her face better, but she looks more tired than when I left her this morning.
Her skin is sallow beneath the brown, and the bags under her eyes would have to be checked on most airlines. There’s a red mark on the brown skin of her forearm that she absentmindedly scratches every few moments. She also keeps checking her phone, trying to be subtle but with a desperation that makes it clear she’s waiting to hear from someone.
I keep thinking about that white van. It had been in my peripheral vision while I watched for movement at Mr. Perkins’s, dread growing as the markers for his usual schedule came and went. The van had been parked for so long that I hadn’t thought anyone was inside, and when the door suddenly swung open, it made me jump. Something about the way he scanned up and down the street—too casually, like a dog that happens to stretch lazily before trying to snag your food—had caught my attention.
If there’s one thing I know well, it’s how people act when they’re up to something shady.
And then he’d headed straight for Sydney.