IT WAS A STRAIGHT SHOT past the driveway, through a thin line of trees and into Mr. Renkin’s backyard. Jenny ran across, anticipating a motion-sensor light that never came.
The house was dark and empty. It was late. No sign of her sister. At this point, her only option was to turn to the man she knew would keep her secrets. Jenny went for it, banging on the glass door. She pounded and pounded until she thought the glass might break.
The stairs lit up first, then the entire living room. Would she tell him the truth or just enough for him to let her stay the night? She could figure things out in the morning, stumble back to Linda and beg forgiveness, or call her dad and expose the truth about her mother, or forget them both and go to Virginia. There were options. She was just too tired to figure them out now.
Mr. Renkin skipped down the stairs in his boxers, throwing a dark gray T-shirt over his head.
Seeing his face, Jenny felt one fleeting ounce of fear—the reaction a reminder of what she used to be afraid of, the good old days when all she had to fear was a little concussion from the school’s favorite teacher chasing her. She reached behind her back and slipped her hand under her nightgown. She planted the knife sideways into her underwear, freeing both her hands for whatever was to come.
He squinted in her direction, but the night on the other side must have just projected his own reflection back. He walked over, stopping once he was close enough to reach the glass. He put his hand up and pressed his face against it, finally getting a glimpse of what was on the other side. He smirked ever so slightly before flinging open the door.
“Well, this is quite the surprise. What are you doing here?”
“Is my sister here?” Jenny asked, knowing the answer but hoping for a miracle.
“Why would Virginia be here?”
Jenny shook her head, unsure herself why she thought there was any chance her sister would be there for her in this moment.
“Are you OK, Jenny?” He looked her up and down. She was covered in dirt and scratches, clearly not OK. “Come in,” he said before she had to answer.
She stepped onto the hardwood floor. To the left was the kitchen island where she had threatened him; in front of her was the couch she had regained consciousness on.
“Have a seat,” he said. “I’ll get you some water.” There was no urgency in his words or actions. He didn’t press for an explanation. He didn’t mention calling the cops or her mother. He was just who she wanted him to be.
Jenny didn’t take a seat. She moseyed to the couch, but stayed on her feet, afraid to sit with the knife in her underwear. The coffee table was littered with empty beer bottles. Jenny imagined them shattering over her head if she said the wrong thing.
Mr. Renkin brought the water and sat on the couch, unaffected by her standing. “What are you doing here?” he asked again, this time expecting a real answer. “I didn’t think we were on the best of terms.”
“I thought maybe Virginia was here. I tried calling her and I couldn’t really hear her, but she said your name, and with your history and stuff, I just thought maybe . . .”
Mark leaned back on the couch, apparently bothered to be revisiting the subject of his relationship with Virginia but understanding the tone wasn’t threatening. He kept his eyes on Jenny, an unrelenting gaze.
The girl shifted her weight between her toes and her heels. She knew she couldn’t just stand there forever. Should she leave? Should she sit down? When she looked up at him, she felt like she should say something. When she looked down at the floor, she felt like it was his place to speak.
It was uncomfortable and too drawn out. She was longing for a place to feel safe, to just close her eyes for the night. Thinking it was in this house might have been one of her larger missteps.
“You look like her, you know . . . your sister,” he said.
Jenny looked up, instantly regretting letting him take in her full face.
“Even more without your hair,” he added. “A bold choice.”
It wasn’t a choice, she thought.
“Look, Jenny,” he said, crossing his legs and becoming somehow even more relaxed. “I know you think I’m a bad guy, but I’m really not. It bothers me what I did to you that day. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“It’s OK,” Jenny muttered, not wanting to forgive him, but understanding she was in no position to be confrontational.
“Seriously, what can we do to fix this?” he asked.
Jenny didn’t know what to say. It had an easy fix. That day he could have just given her the money. It wasn’t a solution anymore; maybe it never was. Was the plan ever real, or was it just something she and JP did to pass the time? A fantasy that helped her escape her reality?
Her eyes began to water. Tears were coming.
Mr. Renkin jumped to his feet. “Hey, hey, hey, look at me,” he said, reaching out and putting his hands just above her elbows.
Jenny looked at his hands to avoid his face. He was just a symbol of everything bad that had happened to her in the past few weeks. He didn’t start it and he certainly couldn’t end it. He was just a weak man standing there, thinking he was the reason she was crying.
Jenny took one power sniffle and wiped the wetness from her eyes before any tears could fall out.
Mr. Renkin reached up and moved a piece of Jenny’s choppy hair that had escaped one of the barrettes behind her ear. “That’s better,” he whispered, landing his hand onto her shoulder and staying all too close. “You really do have her eyes.” Pervert alert. Jenny could not catch a freaking break.
“Please, Mr. Renkin, just let me go home,” Jenny begged with a vulnerability she couldn’t control.
He took a defensive stance, hands up, head tilted to make her seem insignificant. “Whoa, of course. I’m not keeping you here,” he said, backing away.
Jenny took two subtle steps toward the door, waiting for him to be lying and to lunge at her. He didn’t, so she took a few normal steps. Then a few more and she was at the door. He drew in his arms, letting them cross. She reached for the handle. He puffed out his chest and grinned as if somehow he was rejecting her, kicking her out.
The sound of a car turning into the gravel driveway broke the standoff. Jenny couldn’t move. She stood behind the door, frozen by the memory of Gil pulling into the driveway earlier that night.
“Jenny!” Mr. Renkin yelled. “Get away from the door.”
The volume of his voice gave weight to the fears she was trying to suppress.
“I’m serious,” he shouted, lunging forward and grabbing her by the arm, tossing her toward the staircase. “Go upstairs and don’t make a sound.”
“I . . .” Jenny fumbled over her words and her footing. She had been so close to getting out, and now she was retreating farther inside.
“I’m not fucking around,” he said, stepping toward her.
Jenny flinched and inched back, catching her heel on the bottom step and falling backward. Her wrists burned as she threw them out to catch her fall.
“Are you OK?” he asked, as if he actually cared.
Jenny nodded as she crawled her body around and up the stairs, returning to her feet after the first few.
“Don’t snoop around up there. Stay in the hall. Be smart.”
She glanced back once, enough to regret it. He glared from the bottom of the stairs, his eyes piercing, only turning away when the front door behind him opened.