Page 80 of Head Under Water

“I’m staying here,” I say firmly. “Until we figure out what’s going on. I should’ve come back with you last night. I never should’ve gone back to the apartment. I just want to be sure you’re safe.”

“Honey, I am safe.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Opal,” she says firmly. She pats her leg once, letting the moment stretch. Then she takes a deep breath. “I’m the parent. And I’m fine. I have Cory. He’s going to stay another night or two. If I thought I was in danger, I’d never let him bring Richie here.”

“You asked us all to stay before. You’re saying I can’t now?”

“That was when I thought it was for the best. But I don’t need two babysitters, thank you. You have a life to live, and you’re not going to use me as an excuse to avoid your problems with Will.”

“This is not about Will.”

She eyes me with that knowing look that’s always made me feel exposed, like she can read my every thought. “With you, Opal, I’ve found there are very few things that aren’t about Will.”

I narrow my eyes at her but refuse to give her the satisfaction of arguing. She just wants to change the subject. “Well, where is Cory now? You were alone until I got here.”

“He just ran out to get Richie from school. They’ll be back.”

I chew my bottom lip. There’s no use pushing her. There has to be another way. “I’ll ask Will about going to Margie’s last night. You’re sure it wasn’t Cory?”

“Unless he’s lying to me,” she says. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll check with him again, but yes, I’d say I’m mostly positive. Look, I just want us to focus all our energy into Margie getting better, okay? I don’t want you worrying about me.” She glances my way just once after a pause. “I love you for doing it, but everything’s going to be fine. She just has to get better. We’re going to be okay.”

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

PRESENT DAY

On the way back to Will’s, my thoughts linger on mom, questions swirling in my head. Who was at Margie’s house? Why did Mom say no one hurt Margie or Ruth physically? What does that even mean?

I’ve been driving for ten minutes before I realize I didn’t even turn on the radio. I never drive in silence like this.

I press play on the song I paused earlier and turn up the volume. When I glance in my rearview, everything skids to a stop.

The vehicle behind me is a blue truck.

The blue truck.

I’m certain.

And they’re following me.

I suck in a sharp breath, trying to see the person driving.

It’s no use. I can’t get a good look from this distance. Quickly, I turn right without a signal, without warning. The truck turns right, too, keeping a steady distance behind me. I turn left on the next street, and the truck follows.

I weigh my options. I could pull over and confront them. I could call the police.

Or…I could call…

I press the button on my steering wheel to prompt my phone, and his name escapes my lips before I have time to process it.

He answers on the second ring. “Yep?”

“Will,” I whisper, and then, realizing the man can’t hear me given that he’s in an entirely different vehicle, I say louder, “someone’s following me.”

His calm, unbothered voice turns intense in a second. “What? Where are you?”

“I’m on my way home from Mom’s. It’s…it’s a blue truck.” I ignore the fact that I called his apartment home. It’s the least of my concerns right now. “The blue truck. The same one I saw at Mom’s.”