Page 23 of The Wrong Track

“Do you mean Lulu? No,” he answered quickly, shaking his head. “No, Lulu’s not like that.”

Like what? I didn’t understand what he meant but he moved on.

“I was thinking about you on a bus or a train, alone, going across the country,” he told me. “I don’t think that’s safe.”

I’d thought about that, too. I had my knife, but I would have to sleep sometimes.

“So, stay,” he encouraged, and smiled. “It’s an easy decision.”

“I can’t just sit around. I’d have to get another job,” I said, as if I might be considering his offer. “I can’t expect you to house me for free, indefinitely.”

“You’re not here for free, you’re helping me while I’m injured. I’ll have this long cast on for a few more weeks and then I’ll be in something else after that,” he said. “But can I ask you something? Where is your money going? Are you saving it for the future?”

The local police had investigated thoroughly, so Tobin knew that Kilian had paid the rent up front, in cash, for the months that we’d lived in the townhouse. And Tobin definitely knew that Hazel’s boyfriend had loaned me the car to use so I wasn’t paying for that. He frowned every time he glimpsed it in his driveway. He also saw that I wasn’t buying anything like clothes and shoes or drugs and wasting my paycheck. I wasn’t going out, I wasn’t doing anything except sometimes grocery shopping and checking out books and checking on things at the library, but only when I was sure that Beth Ellen wouldn’t be there. It was a nosy question for him to ask but a legitimate one, and I didn’t care if he knew what I was doing with most of my salary.

“I send money home to my mom,” I explained. “Every time I can, I send her money. She still works really hard and my sister will go to college in another year or so. She’ll get scholarships and aid but she’ll need to buy books, food, all kinds of things.”

“I didn’t know that you were talking to your family.”

“I don’t. They don’t want anything to do with me.”

He paused. “They don’t want anything to do with you, but you still send money.”

“They need it,” I said. “I’d rather that it went to them. I don’t need too much for myself.” I’d been reading the high school website about Lily’s junior year trip to DC, which was expensive. She also had prom coming right up and I wanted her to have a pretty dress, nice shoes. I could save for my train ticket after I paid for those things for her.

“Why won’t they talk to you?”

“They’ll still need money in the future, too, so I’ll still need to make some,” I stated. “What kind of job could I get for only a month or two until you’re all better? And it couldn’t be something with too many hours, since I’ll be paying rent by helping you.”

Tobin picked up one of the pillows I made. “My cousin came over yesterday,” he mentioned, and since he had a couple hundred of those, he had to clarify, “My older cousin, Annie. Annie Whitaker-Gassman. She does home stuff, decorating stuff, renovations,” he had to clarify further. “She’s always wanting to fix up my house. She’s not very impressed by my furniture.”

I knew why. It was such a nice house, but the black leather couch and chrome didn’t do it justice. I didn’t think it would take much to make this place really shine. We’d done all kinds of things to fix up the apartment where we’d lived in Virginia, painting and making curtains and recovering furniture. I thought that someone could do that here, too.

“Annie needs help with her business,” Tobin went on. “And I told her that I know someone who does sewing machines.”

My lips tugged up. “Is that me?” I was the person who “did” sewing machines?

“That’s you,” he confirmed.

“Yes, I can sew, but I’m not a professional. My grandma was,” I said. “She was a seamstress and tailor and that was how I learned. I always made clothes for us.” I remembered the first skirt I’d made for Lily, by sewing two kitchen towels together. No one had been very impressed by that effort, but I’d gotten better. “What does your cousin need?”

“You could talk to her and find out,” he offered. “She said she wanted to meet you, anyway.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my roommate and my friend.” He’d said it like that was obvious.

I kept thinking about my options as I made dinner, using all kinds of fresh ingredients that Hazel kept dropping off, like lots of leafy greens because they had calcium for Tobin’s leg. How bad would it be to delay things for a little while? I was comfortable and safe here, which wouldn’t necessarily be true wherever I ended up next. I flipped the chicken breasts and spooned sauce over them. Tobin needed me here, too. I’d been hearing a lot from Hazel about all the things I should do to take care of myself, but I’d also heard a lot from her about what a good job she thought I was doing with him.

“It’s not just that you made pillows, it’s like the whole house already feels different,” she’d told me, smiling so happily.

So why not delay things? I still had plenty of time. I could stay here, safe, and then I’d go to the desert or an island or somewhere different. I had time to choose carefully.

Tobin thumped into the kitchen. “What smells so good?” He actually rubbed his stomach.

“It’s almost ready,” I promised. I looked at the pan and remembered how I’d cooked for Kilian. He’d rarely liked it, rarely liked anything I’d prepared, but I’d tried. Mostly he’d wanted me to make the things he remembered his mother cooking and I’d worked on replicating her recipes.

“This is not the same,” he’d said again and again, and depending on his mood at the moment, that comment could have been the beginning of something much more ominous.