I dart between cars, dodging one way and then the other. He must be here. The stalker. I swear that was him in the store.
I peer through windshields and side windows. My head is spinning as I look one way, then the other, at a shadow, someone passing, a movement, any movement.
So this is what paranoia feels like, I think as I stand panting and wondering what to do next.
“Hold on there.”
The guy marching toward me is wearing a navy and yellow uniform. A rent-a-cop! A badge on his shoulder says Prestige Security. I always figure security guards are wannabe soldiers who can’t get into the real army. They’d rather be in Iraq or Afghanistan instead of some crummy grocery store. They all have an overdeveloped sense of their own importance.
Pretending not to have heard him, I turn and look back at Leah. She’s climbed on top of the shopping-cart rack and is looking for me in the wrong direction.
“You want to tell me what’s going on?” asks the guard.
“I’m looking for my little sister.”
“She drive, does she?”
“Course not.”
“Or maybe you forgot what your own car looks like.” He peers at me. “You’re hardly old enough to drive, I’d reckon.”
I feel a sudden flush of anger in my chest. Who does he think does the chores that my mother doesn’t have time for? How does he think I manage to get the week’s groceries home?
Instead of getting into it with him, I take a breath. “You’ve got it wrong. My sister is a handful. She has a nasty habit of looking for cars that are open,” I tell him. “She hides in them. It scares me and my mom to death.”
He tips his hat back on his head and scratches his cheek. “So where is your mother then?”
“She’s not here right now. It’s just me and my sister.” I pretend to be scanning the parking lot. I do a phony double take when my eyes land on the cart rack. Leah’s still there. But now she’s swinging from the overhead bar like it’s a jungle gym.
“Leah!” I use the kind of voice that’s meant to show, Thank goodness I found you. I was so worried. “There she is,” I tell the security guy. “I’d better grab her before she takes off again.”
When he puts out one arm toward me, I step out of reach. But it turns out he’s just trying to let a car go by.
“I need a few details,” he says, taking a notebook out of his pocket. “Incident report. You know how it goes. Just hang on and let me have your name. I’ll have a quick word with your sister too.”
“I can tell you everything you need to know, officer.” As I say it, I know how dumb I sound. He’s a security guard, not a cop. “My name is Jason Burke,” I tell him. Jason sits two rows behind me in math and aces every test. Never did like him.
I’ve got to keep the security guard away from Leah. She’s bound to mess things up worse than they are. Another lie comes quickly to my lips. “My sister is retarded.” No. That’s not the word. “She has serious developmental problems,” I say. “We live at 137 Drake Drive.” I’m not even sure we have a Drake Drive around here. “Now. If you don’t mind, sir. I must get my sister home.” I push back my sleeve and make a big deal of looking at my watch. “Time for her medication.”
I feel like I’m channeling DJ. He’s always making up wild stories on the spot.
The rent-a-cop looks from me to Leah and back again to me. He closes his notebook and puts it back in his pocket. “Well, all right then. That seems to be above board.” He adjusts his jacket. “Think twice before you go nosing around parked cars again, son. You must know how it looks. Now go on. Your sister needs you.”
Leah is holding on to the metal bar above the shopping carts with one hand. She’s waving at me with the other. Luckily, a car drives by, so only I know she’s calling my name—which does not sound a bit like Jason.
“It’s nice to know that a special kid like that has someone to look after her. Don’t see it that often,” the security guard says.
Now I feel bad. Maybe this really is his dream job, making sure cars don’t get stolen and people don’t get mugged for their groceries. “Thank you, sir. Have a good day, now,” I say like a law-abiding citizen.
I weave through the cars until I reach my sister.
“What were you doing with that man? I thought he was going to arrest you,” says Leah. “What did you do?”
“You ask too many questions,” I say. “Let’s go home.”
“What about the groceries?”
“I told you not to ask questions. Come on.”
A car skims by so close that I feel the moving air against my side. I don’t bother to check to see who’s driving. I just stare straight ahead as I lead my sister to Mom’s old Honda.
I should go back into the store and see if the cart we abandoned is still there. But all my energy has seeped out through my shoes.
I can’t keep this to myself anymore.
Whether I want to or not, I have to tell Mom about the stalker. If it is only my imagination and the man of the house is about to lose his mind, she should know.
I find the car and shove Leah in. I hope the muffler doesn’t fall off before we get home.