She looked at the house behind him. “That’syour place?”
Her surprise must have been obvious, but he didn’t react, just gave a single, brief nod.
“Wow. Nice.” The housewasnice.Really nice.Incongruously…civilized. He looked like the kind of guy you’d find chopping wood by his cabin in the boondocks, not maintaining the lawn of his lovely old farmhouse.
It was straight out ofSouthern Living, nicer than some of the places she’d photographed.
The caricature she’d formed in her head of this man melted partially away to reveal something a little softer, less defined. It didn’t jibe inside of her, but she’d been running on stereotypes and first impressions and messed-upwrongimpressions for so long that her instincts clearly needed a reset. Another thing to add to the growing list of upgrades for Uma 2.0.
He nodded, face serious, but she thought she could detect pride beneath the gruff exterior.
She caught sight of a bright-red tricycle in the drive beside a clunky Ford pickup. Kids. Probably a wife. Her perception shifted yet again, and he didn’t seem half as scary as he had a moment before. Wow, she couldn’t straighten her life out at all, andthis guyseemed to have his shit together. So much for first impressions.
Uma briefly wondered what he’d look like without all that fur on his face.
She took in the house, the trike, the coziness of this sweet mountain town. A town so small that elderly ladies hired you right over the phone without even asking for references.
That reminded her of why she was here: the ad.Maybe not such a sweet town after all.
“Well, I’d better get to it.” She kept her hands in her pockets, not wanting to risk another touch of his rough skin.
“Yeah. Don’t wanna piss her off.” Was that a joke?
She gave Squeak a quick pat on the head and turned away from man and dog. His voice stopped her after a couple of steps.
“Hey, Uma.” It came out rough, and he cleared his throat. “You ever need a break, come on over and see us. Have a beer.”
“Oh. Sure. Thanks.”Us, he’d said. Yep, married.
She shot a last look at the house over his shoulder, thinking she might even be willing to marry a guy like that for such a great house. Oh well. Maybe she and his wife would become friends.
A friend. That might be nice.
When she got back to the porch, something had changed. Was the gap in the curtains a little wider? Was it possible the woman had witnessed her panic attack? Strike one against Uma if she had.
The lawn mower started up again somewhere behind the house.
Uma took a deep breath in, blew it out hard, made a fist, and pounded.
2
“Who’s that?” Uma recognized the woman’s voice from their telephone interview, although then it had seemed warm, a lifeline. They’d spoken only for a few minutes, but the woman—Ms. Lloyd—had sounded relieved, even excited, that Uma could start that day. Nothing weird had happened during that call, making Uma wonder what the ad was all about. Now, the voice was shrill, unwelcoming, through the thick wood of the door.
“It’s Jane Smith, Ms. Lloyd,” she yelled.
“Let’s see your ID.”
Uma hesitated. “You said I wouldn’t need to fill out a W-4 or give you my social security card or anything.”
“I said we were doing this off the books, honey. I didn’t say I’d let some random stranger into my home without at least getting a look at who she is.”
Right. Okay. Right. The woman had a point. Uma fumbled out her wallet and managed to pull her Virginia driver’s license from the sleeve. “Where do you want—”
“Under the door.”
Before squatting, she did a quick, paranoid scan of the road behind her. A dead-end street…good and bad. Isolated—good. This little town where doctors apparently treated people for free wouldn’t even be on Joey’s radar. The lawn mower sputtered angrily over a rock in the distance, reminding her of who’d been driving it. Random strange men as neighbors—bad. Very bad.
She shoved the ID under the door and waited, crouched down, eyes flicking from the road to the house and back. Looking for Joey. Always looking for Joey.
