of his life. Even though I knew he was doing this just as a precaution, I enjoyed hearing more about him. He almost felt like a human being by the time I opened my eyes.
Until I saw where we were.
Land had driven me to my parents’ house. “How did you even know where to go?” I practically shouted at him. “I said I wanted to go home.” I felt betrayed and stupid, because for a few minutes, I’d actually enjoyed his company.
He nodded and smiled at me. “And you wouldn’t have done anything that the EMT told you to do. This way I can be certain you’re in good hands. And to answer your question, Alice had me drop off things to your parents from time to time, so I’ve been here plenty of times. You were probably just too busy sleeping on the sofa to notice.”
The dig hurt worse than my head—the less-than-subtle reminder that he’d been working at Dogs on the Roll longer than I had—and the implication that he had more right to it than me.
I focused on getting out of the car and walking to the door, which was far more difficult than it sounded. Land had to steady me once, which I bitterly resented given his behavior and comments. I didn’t want any help from that man.
My mother met me at the door. I wasn’t sure when he had called her, but I was certain that my mother had all the details of the incident at hand. She wore her best ‘I’m worried’ look, and I knew she likely had food already cooking for my stay. At least Land had given me the incentive to get well as fast as possible.
“Baby, come to mommy,” she said with open arms. I closed my eyes for a second, and then held my arms out to her. I felt her strong embrace. Land let go of me, but I could still feel his warmth against my skin. I was certain that the sensation was the result of my head injury and nothing more.
My mother led me into the living room. Land had not come in with her, and when I slowly turned my head to look out the window, his car had vanished. In all fairness, he did have to run the food truck singlehandedly today, but I still felt ticked that he’d left me here and skipped out without a word.
My mother guided me to my father’s recliner. I knew it had to be serious if she was allowing me to sit in my dad’s space. He’d only let a few people sit there and then only in the most dire of circumstances. She brought me a mug of hot tea that had presumably been steeping since she’d gotten the call about me.
I rested in the chair until I finished telling the story to my mother. She gasped at the part where I saw my second headless body. She fetched a second cup of tea, which was dark and hot. I knew she was pumping me full of caffeine as well as showing concern. I would have to be up quite a few hours before I could sleep soundly. More than anything else, I resented the killer for keeping me up all night.
My mom turned on the television, but I wasn’t in the mood. It was not even noon yet and the channel guide just showed shopping networks and old sitcoms. I got up slowly and walked to a set of shelves in the room. “Hey, Mom. Where did you get all these books?”
I was reading the titles, none of which sounded like my parents’ preferences. There were books by Proust, Faulkner and D.H. Lawrence on the shelves. This felt more like a high school English class than the family library. Mostly my mom’s tastes went toward romance and mystery. My dad rarely read, and when he did, it was something sports related like a baseball player’s biography. I was the eclectic one, mixing Agatha Christie and Edmund Crispin with Barbara Cartland and Rebecca Chance, and then throwing in a Hemingway for fun. I found a few romance novels stuffed in the corner of the bottom shelf, but they now seemed out of place with the classics.
My mother came back into the room, pulled out a book and looked at it fondly. “This was part of your Aunt Alice’s library. I couldn’t bear to part with them. She was so fond of her books. Sometimes
Until I saw where we were.
Land had driven me to my parents’ house. “How did you even know where to go?” I practically shouted at him. “I said I wanted to go home.” I felt betrayed and stupid, because for a few minutes, I’d actually enjoyed his company.
He nodded and smiled at me. “And you wouldn’t have done anything that the EMT told you to do. This way I can be certain you’re in good hands. And to answer your question, Alice had me drop off things to your parents from time to time, so I’ve been here plenty of times. You were probably just too busy sleeping on the sofa to notice.”
The dig hurt worse than my head—the less-than-subtle reminder that he’d been working at Dogs on the Roll longer than I had—and the implication that he had more right to it than me.
I focused on getting out of the car and walking to the door, which was far more difficult than it sounded. Land had to steady me once, which I bitterly resented given his behavior and comments. I didn’t want any help from that man.
My mother met me at the door. I wasn’t sure when he had called her, but I was certain that my mother had all the details of the incident at hand. She wore her best ‘I’m worried’ look, and I knew she likely had food already cooking for my stay. At least Land had given me the incentive to get well as fast as possible.
“Baby, come to mommy,” she said with open arms. I closed my eyes for a second, and then held my arms out to her. I felt her strong embrace. Land let go of me, but I could still feel his warmth against my skin. I was certain that the sensation was the result of my head injury and nothing more.
My mother led me into the living room. Land had not come in with her, and when I slowly turned my head to look out the window, his car had vanished. In all fairness, he did have to run the food truck singlehandedly today, but I still felt ticked that he’d left me here and skipped out without a word.
My mother guided me to my father’s recliner. I knew it had to be serious if she was allowing me to sit in my dad’s space. He’d only let a few people sit there and then only in the most dire of circumstances. She brought me a mug of hot tea that had presumably been steeping since she’d gotten the call about me.
I rested in the chair until I finished telling the story to my mother. She gasped at the part where I saw my second headless body. She fetched a second cup of tea, which was dark and hot. I knew she was pumping me full of caffeine as well as showing concern. I would have to be up quite a few hours before I could sleep soundly. More than anything else, I resented the killer for keeping me up all night.
My mom turned on the television, but I wasn’t in the mood. It was not even noon yet and the channel guide just showed shopping networks and old sitcoms. I got up slowly and walked to a set of shelves in the room. “Hey, Mom. Where did you get all these books?”
I was reading the titles, none of which sounded like my parents’ preferences. There were books by Proust, Faulkner and D.H. Lawrence on the shelves. This felt more like a high school English class than the family library. Mostly my mom’s tastes went toward romance and mystery. My dad rarely read, and when he did, it was something sports related like a baseball player’s biography. I was the eclectic one, mixing Agatha Christie and Edmund Crispin with Barbara Cartland and Rebecca Chance, and then throwing in a Hemingway for fun. I found a few romance novels stuffed in the corner of the bottom shelf, but they now seemed out of place with the classics.
My mother came back into the room, pulled out a book and looked at it fondly. “This was part of your Aunt Alice’s library. I couldn’t bear to part with them. She was so fond of her books. Sometimes
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