Page 23 of Fall onto me
She nods, pulling a mug to her lips. “I’m happy for you.”
“How’s Mario?”
“Oh, good. Good. We’re wanting to go on a vacation here soon.”
“Oh!” I grin, knowing she hasn’t gone anywhere in a very long time. When she was working for my parents, basically being my mom, she never failed to show up. Even when she was tired, she was there for me. “Where to?”
“Somewhere with a snow-tipped mountain!”
I shiver from the thought. “Don’t bring any back here!”
Sophie laughs at my joke. “Are you having a sleepover?”
“No, honey.” I smirk, wishing life were that simple. With this new information that her big brother is lying to me, I need to find him. “I’m actually meeting your brother later.”
“Can I come?”
To an illegal race? No. “We’re going on a date.” I change the subject, scooping up the last bit of my food. “Where did he say he was again?” I ask Rita, although she never said it in the first place.
Sophie shrugs her shoulders as Rita scrambles through her mind. “He was on the phone with someone, something about a dock when it gets dark?” She shakes her head. “No, that’s not right.”
She tries to recall again but throws up her hands.
“I’m sorry honey, I can’t remember.”
When the sun finally sets, I give out hugs and goodbyes, then disappear into the night.
* * *
Rita doesn’t haveto remember, because when she said dock, I already knew where this was going. He’s got plans at the harbor, and those can never be something good.
He’s not telling me something.
I often forget that Foster has a life beyond me, not that I’m so naive to think that his world should revolve around me. But it’s the little things … things that I don’t know he does when I’m not around.
This is one of those times.
Foster’s up to something, and I’m going to figure it out.
8
Ican only hope that he doesn’t recognize my car in the shadows. It’s really dark out now; a crescent moon hangs in the sky. His bike is here at the harbor, but he’s not with it. It’s parked, tucked away near some bushes.
It would be too dangerous for me to barrel inside, so I impatiently wait for him to come out.
Thirty minutes later, he exits and slides on his bike. The way he kicks the foot peg in tells me he’s pissed, and the way he drives makes it even more obvious.
He takes winding turns up and down dark streets. I follow behind at a slow pace. If he figures out I’m following him, he may run thinking it’s someone else.
I hold my breath when we pull down my parent’s street. This is too much. Where is he going? To confront my father?
We pass my house, and I grow even more confused. He stops three driveways down from my old cage and parks. I pull into the Robinson’s driveway next to my old one. They’re always out of town anyways.
He steps off his bike and walks down the pavement, one hand holding a small black bag and the other puffing a cigarette. He’s looking at the mailboxes.
Still in my ballet tights, I fall into step far behind him. He doesn’t seem to notice, and when he swiftly dips into a driveway, I take the wood line to intersect.
Foster walks up to the side of the house—I can’t recall who lives here—and looks through the basement window. What is happening? I take a few steps forward.