Jesus freaking Christ. Who did the woman think she was?
Well, she wasn’t going now. What shewasdoing was going back to sleep. And getting a lock for her bedroom door. In that order.
She rolled to her side, but before closing her eyes, she tapped her phone screen, only to frown at a text. It had been sent last night, but she’d gone to bed early and missed it.
Becket: Hey, Jesse told me about some running club tomorrow morning. I think you should sit it out, C. You get tired too easily and you almost passed out in my kitchen a month ago. Be smart.
Be smart? Her brother was telling her to be freakingsmart, as if she was a child who needed to be told what smart and dumb decisions were?
Screw it.
She was going to this running club. No, she didn’t need to prove herself to anyone, but if she didn’t go, her family would think it was because they didn’t want her to.
She quickly typed out a response.
Clara: I’m okay, Becket. You don’t always need to worry about me.
Yes, she still suffered from chronic fatigue, but it was something she’d learned to live with over the years. Something she was capable of managing on her own. Something she wished the men in her family would understand.
After slipping on some running shorts, a sports bra, and a T-shirt, she grabbed her hoodie and stepped out into the hall to see her roommate by the door.
“I grabbed us waters. Is it okay if I ride with you?”
Scarlett was talking like she hadn’t just barged into her room and thrown a pillow at her head. Did this woman have a personality disorder? Or was she just used to her moods giving people whiplash?
At this point, Clara was too tired to care. “Sure.”
The second they started driving, Scarlett started typing on her cell.
“Texting someone?”
Scarlett didn’t even look up. “No. I’m working.”
“You work a lot.”
“Because there isalwaysa story to report on. Too many people think they can do bad shit and get away with it. It’s my job to make sure the public knows who lives in their community.”
Clara frowned. “You think there are people in Amber Ridge doing bad things?”
“Absolutely. Small towns are worse than big cities.”
“They are?”
“Lower population, so tighter social circles, which means power and influence are concentrated in a few people. Those people can then control the narrative and manipulate others around them to get what they want. There’s also limited law enforcement and resources. Hell, some people in small towns fear outsiders, which makes them act like idiots. Others have a strange need to protect the town’s reputation.”
Jesus, Scarlett made small towns sound like hotbeds of crime.
Clara cleared her throat. “You’re really passionate about what you do, aren’t you?”
“I’m passionate about freedom of information and the bad guys being identified for the world to see.”
Clara shot her a look. This was more than Scarlett had ever told her about herself. It was good. It kind of felt like she was seeing the real Scarlett.
When they reached the park, it was to see a group of people in running gear already waiting.
She climbed out of her Volkswagen and frowned when she saw someone she recognized. Malcolm. She saw him around town every so often. Not much, but he always made a point to say hi.
His gaze met hers, his shaggy brown hair tipping into his eyes. He ran his fingers through it before leaving the group he was talking to and heading her way.
