22

I only meant to drive by Gary’s house. Just to get a feel for things.

He’d said the neighborhood wasn’t “safe.” At first it didn’t seem that way to me as I cruised the nearby streets. The houses were small and wooden, probably with two to three bedrooms. Older. Lawns weren’t full of weeds, but neither were they perfectly groomed. I saw plenty of trees and bushes. Lots of cars parked in driveways and at the curb.

It didn’t hit me until I was on Gary’s street: this should be an area full of children. But I didn’t see one toy in a front yard, or bikes lying on the sidewalks.

Gary’s address was number 423. On my right the houses at 413, 415, 417 drifted by. Three doors up I spotted his house, painted off-white with teal trim. A compact front porch with three steps. It looked well-kept and was the only house around with flowers in the yard.

On her knees, weeding in those flower beds, was Gary’s grandmother.

I recognized her immediately—the curly gray hair and round, pleasant face. She worked slowly but with deliberate movements, as if the task was a challenge she enjoyed. I knew she’d been weak a lot lately from her heart. It was surprising she was outside at all.

Automatically I slowed, drinking in the sight of her through my open passenger window. In person she looked even more friendly and kind than in her pictures. I wanted to know her. I wanted her to know me.

She looked up as I rolled by—and our eyes met.

Surprise flicked across her brow. One hand, holding a trowel, rose. “Rayne?”

My foot poised above the brake.

For a split second I stared at her, heart pounding. She must have seen pictures of me. Now what? I couldn’t just drive on and ignore her. But if she told Gary I’d been here …

I pulled over to the curb and put the car in park. The next thing I knew I was on the pavement, walking toward her with a smile plastered on my face. Did she know I wasn’t supposed to be here?

“My goodness, Rayne.” Grandma Donovon dropped her gardening tool and struggled to her feet. “What a nice surprise.” She started toward me on gimpy legs. “Oh, my.” She shook her head. “I’ve been kneeling too long.”

“Hi.” I reached a hand out to her, my smile stretching to genuine. “It’s so good to finally meet you.” She couldn’t have been over five feet tall. I could feel the warmth emanating from her tiny frame.

Grandma Donovon batted away my hand and reached for a hug instead. “And it’s wonderful to meet you.” She gripped me hard, then stepped back, looking me over with her chocolate-brown eyes. “You’re even prettier in person. Didn’t think that could be possible. Although Gary’s told me it’s true.”

I laughed, feeling self-conscious. And guilty. Gary had been bragging about me—and here I was, showing up on his doorstep behind his back.

For an awkward moment Grandma Donovon and I stared at each other, as if she read my mind.

Her gaze flicked next door, then across the street. I followed her glances but saw no one. She smiled again and wiped her brow. “What brings you here? Gary’s at work, you know.”

I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth. “Oh. Yeah. I thought so, but … I drove by just in case I’d see his truck …”

My words ran out. Grandma Donovon nodded, but her eyes clouded. She knew I was lying. Unspoken emotions vibrated between us. From me, curiosity—what had Gary been hiding? From her—fear.

Why would she be afraid?

At the next house over a screen door squeaked. Grandma Donovon’s eyes snapped toward it. A guy maybe twenty-five years old slouched through the door and down two steps to the scruffy yard. His cold stare fixed on Grandma Donovon. He wore baggy jeans with holes in the knees and a faded blue T-shirt. His blond hair scraggled to his shoulders in wild dreadlocks. Behind him trailed two more guys about the same age, one with short dark hair and another with a totally shaved head. Everything about the three of them, from their hard faces to the cocky way they moved, reeked of hate and evil.

They lined up on their sidewalk, legs apart, arms folded—and stared at us.

I gawked back at them, feeling hairs rise on the back of my neck. I wanted to run to the car but couldn’t begin to move.

“Rayne.” Grandma Donovon’s voice dropped to a forced calm. “I think you’d better—”

“Well, now.” Dreadlocks let out a low whistle aimed at me. “Who do we have here?”

My breath shallowed. I glanced nervously at Grandma Donovon, seeking a cue. I couldn’t just walk away from this. Somehow I sensed she’d pay.

“Just a friend, Bart.” Grandma Donovon tried to sound nonchalant but failed. “She was just leaving.” Her eyes cut to me, two high spots of color on her cheeks. Go, her expression warned.

“No she ain’t.” Bart started a slow saunter toward us, hands sliding into his pockets. As if he had all the time in the world to get to us, knowing we wouldn’t dare move. “I got to see this vision of beauty up close.” The two other guys trailed behind him.

My veins chilled. I pulled both arms across my chest, watching them draw near me like I was some trapped animal. By the time Bart stood on Grandma Donovon’s sidewalk, mere feet away, my insides shook.

Bart’s mouth twisted into a smile. “I like this.” His eyes dropped down the length of me, then slowly rose back to my face. He nodded. “Yeah. I like this very much.”

His friends grunted and grinned, enjoying my fear.

Bart rocked back on his heels. “You a friend of Gary’s?”

My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. Grandma Donovon stepped in front of me. “Leave her alone, Bart.”

He snorted. “Oh, what, Granny, you gonna make me stop?”

Her mouth pressed tight. “You’ve got no business with her, she was just driving by.” She turned to me firmly. “Good-bye.”

“No, no.” Bart swiped out his hand and caught my arm. His palm felt hot.

I yanked away. Who did these guys think they were? “Let go of me!”

Bart’s expression blackened. One side of his mouth curled up, his eyes slitting. “Don’t you know I own this neighborhood?” He jerked his head toward Baldy. “Go get her license plate.”

Air hissed between Grandma Donovon’s teeth. Baldy strode toward my car, pulled a small notebook and pen from his deep front pocket, and jotted down the plate. He sauntered back and handed the paper to Bart.

“There ya go.” Bart read it over then stuck it in his pocket. He aimed a slow smile at Grandma Donovon and me. “You can go now, Blondie. We got your plate. Soon we’ll know—”

An engine gunned on the street. We all turned toward it to see Gary in his truck, hunched over the wheel and teeth clenched. My heart sank to my toes. What was he doing home so early?

Gary surged into the driveway and screeched to a stop. He got out of his truck and slammed the door. He walked toward us stiffly, fear and determination and protectiveness tightening his face.

Bart sniggered. He no longer had to question how I knew Gary.

“What’s going on?” Gary drew up, lasering me with an accusing look—now you’ve done it. He turned suspicious eyes on Bart.

“Nothin’, man.” Bart shrugged. “Just getting to know your girlfriend. Oh.” He pulled the piece of paper from his pocket. “And writing this down.” He flashed the license plate number at Gary. “In case you give us any trouble.”

Gary’s jaw worked back and forth. His fingers curled toward his palms. For a minute nobody moved.

Across the street a door banged. Four guys, a little older than the three around us, filed out, brewing with menace. “You got trouble over there?” one of them called.

“Nah.” Bart gave me a smile that turned my stomach. “We’re just gettin’ acquainted with Gary’s girlfriend.”

“Oh. Didn’t know he had one.” The guy laughed, and Bart chuckled with him.

Goosebumps skittered down my arms. What had I done by coming here?

The four across the street milled in their yard, watching us. Lewd comments drifted across the pavement.

Gary glared at me. “Go home.” His voice could have cut steel.

My lips parted, but no words came. If I left—then what? The guys all looked like they were aching to jump Gary and beat him up. Seven to one. Strong as he was, he couldn’t possibly stand up to that.

Gary ground his teeth. “Go.” He dug fingers into my elbow and pushed me toward my car.

Heart in my throat, I swiveled and scurried down the sidewalk. The guys across from us whistled and catcalled. For a terrifying minute I thought they would come over and surround me. I yanked open my car door, slipped inside, and slammed down the locks.

My hands shook as I turned the key in the ignition.

As I drove away I peered into the rearview mirror and saw Bart all up in Gary’s face, shaking a finger at him and ranting. The two guys near him—and the four across the street—watched, sneering. Gary just stood there, taking it, one hand clutching his grandmother’s shoulder.

Panic washed over me. How could I leave him? What if they did beat him up?

My foot lifted from the accelerator, reaching for the brake.

Gary’s head turned toward my car. The sheer pleading in his expression shocked me. Leave, Rayne, it cried. Please leave!

I knew then that if I went back, it would only get worse. Whoever these people were, whatever evil power they had over Gary—I’d just given them more fuel for their fire.

Worst of all was the shame I saw on Gary’s face. I’d seen him in his weakest moment, unable to stand up to these bullies. To him, that was more punishment than a physical beating.

As I turned the corner and he faded from sight, I wondered if he would ever forgive me.