As we clean up the table, Karissa’s phone buzzes from her pocket. One glance at the screen and her whole body tenses.
She excuses herself quickly, barely looking at anyone, and slides out of the room like she doesn’t want to draw attention, but I notice. So does Mason. His movements slow, eyes tracking her through the kitchen.
Jesse glances to me. “Everything alright?”
I shrug. “Don’t know.”
I hear the front door open and close softly. That’s when Mom walks back in with a washcloth to wipe the table down, her brows drawn together.
“She okay?” she asks me.
I stand straighter. “I don’t know. She didn’t say anything.”
“She looked flustered,” Mom says, worry in her voice.
That’s all I need.
I put one foot in front of the other and I’m following her without another word. I don’t even stop to grab my boots.
Outside, Karissa’s pacing the length of the porch barefoot, phone pressed to her ear. She isn’t saying anything, just listening, her free hand crossed over her chest and tucked under her other arm.
I make sure not to let the screen door slam when I step out, leaning quietly against the post.
Eventually, her eyes meet mine. She’s pale. Shaken. My heart beats a little quicker and blood rushes through my entire body at once.
“Who is it? Him?” I whisper.
She nods with a stiff tilt of her head.
I push off the pole and reach out my hand, palm up, but she steps back.
“Don’t call me again,” she says into the phone, voice hard and low. “Or I’ll do what I said I would.” And she hangs up.
I watch her chest heaving as she stares down at the phone. Her hands are shaking. I let her calm down a second before speaking.
“I would’ve given him a piece of my mind if you wanted,” I tell her.
“I know.” She crosses her arms and takes in a deep breath.
“What’d he say?”
She shakes her head. “Nothing. Just…wanting to talk,” she utters, then slips past me back into the house.
I don’t stop her. But I don’t move either. I’m not scared. But she is, and I hate that.
* * *
I don’t know what time it is. I’m out cold, but I hear her voice fill my room.
“Cody,” she whispers.
“Hmm?” I hum into my pillow.
“Um…” She walks closer, and her voice is cautious when she continues. “Do you think anyone has graham crackers?”
I sit up, blinking hard. She’s a silhouette in my doorway, her hair messy and her hands rubbing her belly. I glance at the clock. 10:48 p.m. I only fell asleep an hour ago.
“Graham crackers?” I rub my face, trying to come alive. Is she for real?
