“She’s lived on this street for the past five months. Has she given anyone a reason to believe she’s a dangerous offender? No, she hasn’t. Just the opposite.”
Troy’s words mean the world to me, but it’s clear from everyone’s frowns I was the only one moved by them. These people are like the jury who found me guilty of a crime I didn’t do—unable to see beyond what they and the prosecutor believe to be the facts.
“Give her time. Her true colorswillshine through, and you’ll realize how wrong you were, Troy.” The man doesn’t walk away. He stands his ground like I imagine he did when he fought in whatever war he’d served in.
I want to scream like I longed to do so many times while I was married and while I was in prison, but that won’t make a difference. Other than Troy, no one will hear my voice. No one will listen to what I have to say.
No one moves, and there’s nothing Troy can do to make them go away. If he uses force to get them to leave me alone, he’ll be the one facing assault charges.
As long as they toe the right side of the law, there’s nothing he and I can do.
He can report the egging, but that won’t do anything since we don’t know who threw the eggs. And the police will hardly give a damn about it. It’s not exactly their top priority.
* * *
After the roughstart to my day—and the delay with getting to work—the rest of the morning passes without incident. Troy is scheduled to spend the entire day at a job site on the outskirts of town, so it’s quiet in the office.
A text pings on my phone from him.
Troy: How are things going?
He’s been texting me every thirty minutes. It’s amazing he’s getting any work done.
Me: Quiet.
Troy: Good. Let me know if you need anything.
Me: Will do.
I send him another text.
Me: Looking forward to spending time with you and Nova later.
I scroll through the previous messages. I could send him a dirty text to spice things up a little, but do I want to risk Lance or someone else seeing it? Definitely not. I’ve got enough going on without addingmortified every time I see Lanceto the list.
I pull up the photo on my phone again that Grace sent me on Saturday of Amelia. My little girl turns eight on Sunday. I haven’t heard from Craig or Grace since I called Grace—other than when she texted the picture—but maybe they’ll be okay if I send Amelia a birthday present.
Or I can give it to her when I see her.
An image slips into my thoughts of Amelia smiling at the gift like she’s smiling in the photo Grace sent me. The pure delight on her face lightens my heart, brings a grin tomyface.
I get back to work, but the image in my head sticks around for the next hour. I’m not sure what to get her—but I want to get her something to celebrate her birthday. It will be the first time in over five years I’ve been able to buy her a present.
I grab my lunch and purse from the bottom desk drawer. “There’s somewhere I need to go,” I tell Bailey, “before we go to the park for lunch.” I pull on the floppy straw hat to conceal my identity as much as possible and lock the door to the reception area on our way out.
The weather is warm with only a few clouds speckling the sky overhead. Storm clouds are gathering on the horizon, but since Troy is driving us home, I won’t have to worry about getting soaked.
Praying no one realizes who I am—my hands trembling at the possibility—I walk to Main Street with Bailey by my side. No one seems to give me a second glance. Or at the very least they don’t say anything that I overhear.
We stop outside Little Wonders, the children’s store where I applied for a job shortly after moving to Maple Ridge. I haven’t been inside it since. There hasn’t been a need to until now.
I don’t know if they’re okay with Bailey entering the store with only aService Dog in Trainingvest, so I tie her leash to the nearby empty bike rack. “I won’t be long.”
The woman who interviewed me is busy with a customer at the till. They don’t look my way. I’m good with that.
I walk up and down the aisles, checking the different gift possibilities, and end up in the craft section. I have no idea what eight-year-old Amelia would like for her birthday, but the craft kits feel like a safe bet. I loved doing crafts with Granny at that age.
Female voices approach on the other side of the shelves where I’m standing.
