“You’re Dollancie La’Darragh?”
“I am.” I offer a weak smile that he returns. “How much?”
I count a few dollar bills.
The teen driver smiles at something behind me, his head bobbing in acknowledgment, and I think nothing of it because teens are often weird until he says, “Tough crowd.”
His expression changes to something forced, his nostrils flaring with what looks like worry, and his smile becomes bigger, faker, and more painted on.
My head snaps over my shoulder, and I see nothing but the probably moldy books.
“Huh, Forty-one, fifty, please.”
With my attention pulled back to him, I count the dollar bills again. “Here’s fifty. Keep the change.”
I exchange pleasantries and wish him a good night, but I can’t help the uneasy feeling that spreads over me when he takes another look behind me before stepping out.
With the door securely locked and nothing out of place in the foyer, I rush back through the house with my neck hairs standing to attention, checking behind me for any shadows that don’t belong to me.
“Shane, were you creeping around to scare the delivery guy because it worked! And it scared me, too!”
“What?” his voice is quiet when it seeps from the den to the kitchen as I approach, and it sounds like he’s already chewing something.
His damn nails again, no doubt.
“Nothing. Never mind. Did you look for plates?” We probably shouldn’t eat from anything found in this kitchen, but we’resharing this food, and I don’t want him to claim all the best parts from the cartons. Besides, germs can be washed away easily.
“I thought they were all smashed.”
Dozens of them are all over the floor, perfect company for the graffiti on the walls that speaks of death and murder. I haven’t read any of it in the kitchen. I got the gist from the reading room, and I close my eyes every time the words in here catch in my peripheral vision.
I creep through the shattered china, heading for the cupboard that now, even as an adult, I can barely reach.
“Need help, princess?” I spin around, dropping the food to the floor over the shock of Dad’s voice in my ears.
Pounding comes with the rise and fall of my chest.
Obviously, he isn’t here when I slowly turn around. The kitchen is vacant of company, but I still can’t help scanning every inch of the room.
The cold air around me makes my heart pound faster. Taking a moment, I allow it to calm.
“Bless this house, bless me, free those wronged by cruel deeds.” I chant lowly as I make a silent vow to purchase some sage tomorrow.
My stomach rumbles, and somehow, calms that feeling of anxiety building in my chest.
Luckily for me, nothing is spilled but my blood, as a small shard from one of the broken plates pierces my skin while I push the containers of food back into the paper bag.
Wasting no time, I rush back to the cupboard to find two plates that look nothing like the broken ones. One pink and one black. They look unrealistically clean, but then again, so do the kitchen countertops and accessories.
Testing my luck again, I pull open a drawer and find cutlery.
I run the plates and two forks beneath hot water before I clutch everything and take it into the living room.
“There’s hot water here,” I tell Shane as I sit myself back down at his side. I don’t mention my struggle, and he clearly didn’t hear it.
“There shouldn’t be.” He finally pulls his eyes off his phone. “Unless you’re due a giant bill for that, too, because who would be paying for it?”
Well, that would be my luck.
