I open the can of white paint. The contents are almost empty. Troy had planned to get more next Friday.
I brush over the two words, but there’s only enough paint for one thin layer. The white paint doesn’t hide the words. If anything, it highlights them.
Damn.What do I do now?
Does it really matter? Everyone will soon know the truth even if it isn’t on the door anymore.The news is spreading like wildfire, and I don’t have a clue how to douse it.
I gather up the supplies and go inside the house, shutting the door behind me.
The chanting switches from “Protect our children” to “Convicts not welcome.” And now someone with a megaphone has joined the group.
I step away from the door and keep moving in reverse, my mind in a daze. My back hits a wall, and I sink to the floor. I cover my ears with my hands and sing Amelia’s lullaby.
Hush-a-bye baby, my sweet little one.
Fall asleep, my love,
And dream of the stars and the sun.
Unicorn wishes and rainbow dreams,
Fairy-tale princesses and butterfly wings.
Hush-a-bye baby, my sweet little one.
I will protect you while you slumber on.
I imagine Amelia as a baby safe in my arms, and I keep singing the lyrics over and over until my throat is hoarse and my body is numb.
No, don’t give them that satisfaction. I’m not the person they think I am.
I stand, fetch my laptop from my bedroom, and go to the kitchen table. I hadn’t gotten around to opening the living room curtains this morning, and now I’m grateful for that. They give me some privacy against the people on the sidewalk.
I get to work, losing myself in the plotting of Angelique’s story.
The doorbell rings, and my heart startles into my throat. I check the time on my phone. I’ve been working for thirty minutes. I was so focused on the plot and the story, I’d blocked out the chanting. But now it’s back, the voices louder than before.
My phone pings with a text.
Simone: Jess, I’m outside your door.
Me: I’ll be right there.
I hurry to the front door, open it while keeping out of view, and let Simone and Jasper into the house. The chanting grows more fevered.
I shut the door with the goal of blocking the noise out. Too bad that was wishful thinking.
“Convicts not welcome! Convicts not welcome! Convicts not welcome!”
Bailey and Butterscotch greet their friend. Simone hugs me tight. It feels so good after the morning I’ve had, I’m afraid to let her go. I’m afraid if I do, I’ll lose her too.
We go into the living room.
“I can’t believe all those people out there,” Simone says. “What the hell is their problem? You were innocent of your late husband’s murder.”
“Not everyone believes that. I don’t even think that’s what their major concern is.”
“Doesn’t matter what it is. They’re wrong.” Simone flashes me a sad smile.
