The cleaning people left two hours ago, and yet Mom insists I go over every inch of the house again and ‘double-check’ that they didn’t miss anything. Which wouldn’t be such a chore if she wasn’t breathing down my neck.
If it’s not her, it’s that should-be-but-isn’t-creepy ‘someone is watching you’ feeling I get every time I’m alone lately. Alright, not every time, but it feels close to it.
My phone vibrates in my apron pocket, startling me, and I jump, almost knocking over one of the many mops, brooms, and dusters leaning up in the corner. Quickly, I right it and hold it still. Even though it’s dark in the closet, I close my eyes to hear better.One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi...I count like thedisturbance is lightning and Mom’s the impending thunder, but I don’t hear her rushing toward the sound.
Carefully, I slide my phone out of my pocket and, blinking against the brightness of it, find a text message.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:
Hey Leticia, it’s Royal. I was checking in to see if you’d heard from Valor. He should have sent you a message yesterday or the day before about dinner arrangements.
That was so thoughtful.I save his number in my phone and reply.
Leticia:
I did. Thank you! I appreciate you being so thorough. We’re doing dinner tonight!
I don’t expecta message back, but my phone vibrates almost instantly.
Royal:
You’re most welcome. I know the holidays can be a difficult time to schedule something. I hope you’re doing well.
Kitten heels clicking nearbyagainst the terrazzo floors snap me back to my current task of hiding.
“Leticia?” Mom calls.
It sounds like she’s by her bedroom. I quickly turn on the cleaning closet’s light, using the overhead chain, and hurry, grabbing a microfiber duster and polishing supplies.
With a little bit of adjustment, I step out into the hallway as she gets to the closet.
“There you are.” Mom looks me over from head to toe. “You’re filthy. Your father and I are doing dinner at La Fatal Piedra. You’re welcome to come if you get yourself presentable. We’re leaving in twenty minutes.”
I’m sweaty, gross, and need way longer than twenty minutes to make myself presentable to her standards. Plus, I have a whole three-course dinner, which they requested, practically done cooking downstairs in the kitchen.
I fight the frustration from my voice. “Oh, no, you and Dad go. I was going to Antonella’s for dinner, remember?”
“Well, if you’re sure you’d rather dine withthemthan us.”
Mom doesn’t even wait for me to confirm that I’m sure. She whisks away toward the staircase, all the while musing to herself, nothing that’s loud enough for me to hear.
When the clicking of her footsteps stops echoing, I know she’s on the rug in the living room and can’t hear me anymore. I open the closet door and put the cleaning supplies away.
It’s the feeling of eyes on me that has me pausing. I look beyond the door to see if I missed hearing Mom come back up the stairs, but no one is there. Back the other way down the hall, no doors are open and no one is standing there.
I’m going insane. Actually insane.I shake my head and close the closet.
But the feeling of being watched doesn’t stop.
Or maybe we’re being haunted.
8
LETICIA
NO GARGOYLES
The driver iscautious on the driveway, maybe too cautious given it looks well plowed and maintained, but it’s not like I drive a car, so how would I know?
