I walked to the car with the lock set clutched to my chest, every step a silent drumbeat of get in, get out, get safe. I didn't look back until I had closed the door and locked it, then checked the mirrors twice before starting the engine.
Then I just sat there with the new deadbolt on the passenger seat. I was half-tempted to call Dr. Carney, but I doubted she'd be awake on a Saturday at this hour. Instead, I pulled up my contacts and scrolled for Katrina.
She answered right away. "Aren't you supposed to be asleep until noon?" she asked.
"Had to run an errand," I said.
"I'll go see Mom tomorrow. You should stop by too."
"I just saw you guys."
"Suit yourself."
"Hey…" I paused and took a deep breath.Pick someone you trust and know."Do you think you and your boyfriend can help me?"
She didn't reply right away. There was a short pause. "Of course," my foster sister finally said. "What's going on?"
I hated lying, but I couldn't tell her the truth. "We've had a couple of break-ins in the building next door and I want to change my locks just in case."
"Just in case?"
"Yes. I heard rumors that it could be one of the contractors who's been in the building before, so I don't want to risk it and hire someone who can potentially come back and rob me." The lie came out all warbled, but Katrina probably thought I was spooked by the idea of robbery rather than by the idea of deceiving her.
"I'll bring Jazz. I don't trust myself with a drill. Tomorrow evening works?"
"Tomorrow's perfect. Thanks."
"We'll be there. Have snacks or I'll have my own," Katrina threatened, then softened. "You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah. Just, you know…busy at work."
"You call if you need us sooner."
"I will."
I hung up and rested my forehead against the steering wheel, exhaling until my vision blurred.
I needed coffee.
22 kimmy
The new deadbolt clicked into place.
Jazz wiped his hands on a kitchen towel and grinned at Katrina, who performed a fist pump and then a victory shimmy. They were both sweating. I wasn't—my body had long since decided to mostly phase out things like sweat and replace them with a steady supply of anxiety and—as of late—adrenaline rush.
"You are now safer than the president," Jazz announced, flicking a chunk of packaging foam at me. I caught it with both hands, dropped it in the trash, then looked at Katrina for a verdict. She gave the lock a test twist, then aimed both thumbs at me.
"You did good," she said. "If anyone tries to break in now, they'll have to chainsaw the entire door."
"I really appreciate it, guys," I said.
Jazz scanned the apartment, hands on his hips. "You want us to stick around?"
"Nah," I cut him off but softened it with a smile. "I have some work to catch up on. But, thank you. Maybe next time."
He gave Katrina a look that said "See? I tried" and then started packing up the toolkit. Katrina pulled me aside, out of Jazz's earshot.
"You really okay?" she whispered a question.
