It washis laugh that first pulled me in. The comfortable ease of joking, of talkingcandidly. Then, it was his immediate switch to being standoffish. Guarded. Thequestions were abundant, but mostly, I wondered what had hurt him. What hadtinged his lovely brown eyes with so much sadness?
***
“You really needto be more careful aboutstrangers, Tessa,” Grandma reminded me for the hundredth time, as one shaky,spotted hand slowly maneuvered a forkful of chicken breast and mashed potatoesto her mouth.
“Every job begins withstrangers, Grandma,” I retorted, keeping my sidelong gaze on her fork. It wasloaded and wobbling, and I was just waiting for it to tip and splatter mashedpotatoes all over the table. “Will youpleaselet me help you?”
“I’m quite capable offeeding myself,” she snapped, and to prove her point, she brought the fork therest of the way to her mouth with stubborn intent. I couldn’t help but shake myhead as I brought my attention back to my own plate. “And,” she continued withher mouth full, “this isn’tevery job.You’ll have to go to a strange man’shouse,Tessa. What if he wants to lock you in his basement, tie you up, and have his—”
Throwing my head back,I groaned loudly. “Grandma, I think you’ve let all those books go to your head,”I teased. “The guy has three little girls. I highly doubt he could get awaywith murder without—”
“Gary Ridgway is afather.”
My fork froze on itsway to spear a piece of chicken. “Who?”
“The Green RiverKiller,” she stated matter-of-factly and shrugged. “He murdered dozens ofwomen, even dabbled in necrophilia, andhehas a child.” My horrified stare only pulled another casual shrug from hershoulders as she added, “Research, Tessa.” Then, M.L. Lang, author of thebestsellingCarrie McCarthyromantic-thrillerseries, continued to feebly shovel her dinner into her mouth.
My groan was tingedwith laughter. “Whatever. His brother is involved, okay? I’m sure it’s fine.”
“Theycould bein cahoots together. There areplenty of siblings who’ve killed together. TheCarrBrothers, the Bondurant Brothers … Oh, and we can’t forget about theHarpeBrothers,” she offered. Her eyes lit with whatevervivid imagery was happening in her crazy, creative mind. “Maybe they use thekids to lure weak-hearted women into their clutches. Theyareadorable.”
“You’re crazy, you knowthat, right?”
Another shrug. “This iswhyIdon’t fall for these types ofevil schemes, Tessa. My imagination takes me to the darkest places. I expecteverything, and nothing surprises me.”
I let the banter die tomake way for a quiet conclusion to dinner. I didn’t allow her commentary tobother me as I cleaned up. Didn’t dwell on it as I made sure she was situatedin her recliner, along with her bitchy cat. But, once I was in my room with myphone ready to dial Jon’s number, I could very distinctly make out every kinkand knot in my nervous gut.
Maybe Ihadbeen too trusting, too eager and toodesperate. Maybe I should’ve given ita couple of days to mull it over first, before rushing down to the club. MaybeI should’ve looked around for another job, something a little moreconventional. Something like the Target a couple towns over, or the localgrocery store.
I remembered that theball was in my court. I could throw his number away, forget any of this everhappened and never think of it again. It would’ve been simple to put it behindme. But I couldn’t let go of the little inflections in his movements. Hishesitation. His obvious push and pull to take these tiny steps towardsomething. There was something so painful surrounding him, a real aura of sadness,and it struck a chord so deep within me, I still felt it long after I’d leftthe club. Ultimately, I had come home, inspired and itching to press the tip ofmy pen to paper, and I wrote. For the first time in what felt like years, Iactually wrotesomething, and it feltamazing.
You don’t just letsomething like that go.
So, I dialed his numberand pressed the phone to my ear. I listened to it ring once, twice, threetimes, before I began to wonder if maybe he wasn’t going to answer. I pulledthe phone from my ear, ready to hang up, when the monotonous ringtone wasbroken by the high-pitched shrieking of young children.
Putting the phone backto my ear, I listened as a man’s voice interrupted the screams. “Girls, please,I’m on the phone.” My nerves dissipated with the pleading quality of his tone.There was nothing in that voice that screamedserial killerto me, and I smiled at the mental jab directed at mygrandmother.
“Hello? Sorry about that,”Jon finally answered, as the squeals faded into the background.
I cleared my throat andsat down on my bed. “Oh, don’t worry about it.”
“Is this Tessa?” heasked, and I smacked a hand against my forehead.
“Sorry. Yes. I hopethis was a good time to call. We didn’t talk about it earlier.”
“Actually, it’s perfecttiming.” He paused and I listened to the creaking of door hinges. “I just gothome from work.”
I breathed a sigh ofrelief. “Oh, good.”
“So, do you have a lotof experience with kids?” he asked, jumping straight to business.
I fidgeted with a seamrunning the length of my comforter as I admitted, “Well, not really …”
“Oh ...”
Quick!Do something!“But, um, Iamthe primary caretaker for my grandmother. You met her today.I’ve been living with her for the past six months, so I have quite a bit ofexperience in that department.”
“Oh, wow.” He soundedgenuinely impressed. “So, is that what you do? You’re in, um, elder care?”
