“Yes,” I say, keeping my tone light. “I’ve been working all day. But it’s been too long. Just wondered if you had plans tonight. I wanted to tell you all about my trip.” I can almost feel the tremble in my voice, hoping it’s somehow lost on the women around me.
She’s quiet again. Then, more urgently, she presses, “You’re scaring me, Charlene. Are you safe?” The use of my full name hits me like an anvil.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I think so.”
“Do you need me to come and pick you up?”
I hesitate, glancing toward the salon’s front window. The streetlooks empty now. No sign of the man from earlier. But my instincts won’t calm down. It’s as if I can feel him out there.
Watching me.
A slight quiver invades my voice. “Maybe.”
“When is your last appointment? Should I head that way now?”
“Yes,” I blurt without thinking. Fear overtakes my ability to make rational decisions. I’m simply so relieved to know she’ll be here soon. She’ll know what to do. I take a slow breath, trying to clear my head. “I’m with my last client of the day. I just have paperwork and cleanup after that.”
“Then listen to me carefully,” she says, her voice firm now. It’s one of someone who’s had to be strong when life demanded it. “Stay put, honey. I’m on the way. I’ll park out back until I see you exit, then I’ll get you.”
“Okay. I love you.” My whole body is shaking now.
“Oh, sweet girl. I love you too. Try not to worry. Everything’s going to be okay. We’ve got this.” The line clicks, leaving only the faint buzz of the salon’s fluorescent lights overhead.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Norma Jean giving me a strange expression as I slide my phone back into my pocket. “I thought you said you were watching your calories after that trip?” she teases, brow arched as if she’s on to me.
Shrugging, I try to keep my composure. “Guess with all the long hours lately, I’ve been missing my mom. And you know how they are. They want to make your favorites, calories be damned.”
My client, Sally, looks up from under the blow dryer. Her kind eyes heavy with quiet understanding. I flash her an apologetic smile. “Sorry for the interruption.”
She reaches up, patting my hand gently. “Honey, don’t you worry. Moms always know when their babies need them.”
I mouth “thank you” and turn back to Norma Jean. “One more day of comfort food isn’t going to make it that much worse.”
The next few moments pass in a blur of harried movement and frayed nerves. I keep busy, sweeping, folding towels, pretending everything’s normal. I know if I stop, my mind will spin out of control.
Finally, I all but push Norma Jean out the door. “See ya tomorrow.”
“Sheesh, what’s your hurry? You must be starving.” She laughs.
“No, just homesick for my mom,” I say quickly, forcing a smile. “Guess going to that wedding’s made me all emotional.”
She studies me for a moment, her head tilted suspiciously before nodding. “I get it. Enjoy your evening, Char. See ya tomorrow.”
As soon as the door closes, I flip the lock, my fingers trembling. Darting to the back office, I grab my purse and keys before heading for the rear exit. Cracking the door open, I scan the parking lot. The idea I should reconsider Margaret’s offer to help get an alarm company for my business reemerges. I’d brushed it off as being overly paranoid.
Until now.
Liz’s gray Dodge Durango is parked just beyond the strip mall’s dumpster. The headlights are off. Her familiar silhouette behind the wheel brings a rush of relief so strong my knees nearly give way. Once her eyes meet mine, I step out quickly and deadbolt the door behind me.
After she drives closer, I slide into the passenger seat, heart still hammering in my chest. Liz reaches across the console, her fingers clutching mine reassuringly. Her expression is tight, lips pressed thin. It’s the look I recognize from years ago. The one she gets when she’s trying not to panic. “Talk to me,” she says softly as she pulls away from the curb. “What happened?”
“I’m not sure,” I murmur, staring out the window. “But I think someone might be watching me.”
She doesn’t respond right away, just drives, eyes darting to the rearview mirror. The ride to her house is a blur. By the time we pull into her drive, my mind has already drifted backward. Back to when Liz Caputo first took me in. I was seventeen then, bruised inside and out, the kind of scared that never quite leaves your bones.
After the assault happened in Virginia, the threats began. The authorities decided I needed a new start. A new name. A new home.
New everything.
