I looked up. “Didn’t want to miss the light,” I said.
She nodded, nothing more.
Brie said, “You’re not a morning person. You used to sleep until noon.”
Her voice was different, older, with a dry edge I didn’t recognize. She didn’t look at me when she said it, just kept staring at the river.
“That was before I knew what I was missing,” I managed.
Brie shrugged. “If you say so.”
My mother’s hands never stopped moving. “I’m glad you got out of Houston. And now you’re here.”
“Yes,” I said. “Now I’m here. For you.”
Nanette set the brush down, wiped her fingers on a rag, and finally turned to look at me. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears, but her voice was steel. “Is it safe to talk here?”
I glanced up at the bridge, caught the tiniest nod from Gwen. “It’s as safe as we’ll get.”
Brie snorted. “Is this where you tell us to pack our bags and run? That the bad men are coming?”
Her words hit harder than I wanted to admit. “No,” I said. “This is where I tell you the bad men are already here.”
I saw a flicker of fear in her face, quickly covered by the old, stubborn set of her jaw.
Nanette shifted on her stool, angled her body to block Brie from anyone watching. “You’re not just visiting,” she said.
“No,” I answered.
I could hear the clink of porcelain from the café terrace, the faint whistle of a cyclist zipping down the dock, and the persistent, low-frequency hum of my own heart in my ears. I tried to look busy, filling the paper with random marks, but my hand wouldn’t stop shaking.
Brie finally looked at me. Really looked. Her eyes narrowed. “You’re scared.”
I nodded. “Yeah. I am.”
For a second, I thought she might reach for me. Instead, she just wrapped her arms tighter around her knees, drawing them up to her chest. The bangles on her wrist jangled, too bright for the muted morning.
My mom spoke again, this time in a whisper. “Are they coming for you, or for us?”
“Both,” I said, and my voice didn’t crack.
Nanette’s jaw clenched. “How soon?”
“Soon,” I answered. “I have a team. Friends. We can get you out, but only if you want to go.”
Brie shot up from the stone, the motion so quick it startled the old painter next to us. “You have a team?” She repeated, all the sarcasm in the world packed into three words. “What are you, a spy now?”
I didn’t answer. There was no answer that would make sense.
She glared. “Mom doesn’t want to go. She likes it here. So do I. We’re not running for your drama.”
Nanette reached out, caught Brie’s wrist. “Enough,” she said, soft but deadly. “You know she wouldn’t have come if it weren’t real.”
Brie jerked away. “You always take her side.”
“Not her side,” my mom replied. “Our side.”
I saw the tears then, threatening to spill over. I wanted to wipe them away, but my hands felt like marble.
