Page 24 of Dark Knight
I'm surprised when the door opens less than a minute after she went in. Her eyes shimmer with tears, and her cheeks are red. And, for one stunned moment, I have to wonder what the hell the woman said to her to make her cry. The possessive need to protect her against anyone and anything creeps up on me. It’s unexpected and different, being that she does not need physical protection but mental.
“What did she do?” I demand, looking through the window.
Shaking her head, she mutters. “Allergies. Something in there decided it wants to kill me.” She then sneezes hard enough to make the puppies bark wildly. “So that will be a no.”
“Okay…” I scan the opposite side of the street, then point. “What about the beauty parlor? It doesn't say what kind of help they want, but if you're looking for a job…”
“Yeah. Might as well try.” I have to appreciate the way she rolls her shoulders back and lifts her chin like she's ready for the next challenge. This time, I don't bother trying to go in, instead taking a seat on the wooden bench between the parlor and the music store beside it. I can't remember how much music I stole from that place over the years, sliding CDs into the big front pouch of my hoodie. It didn't occur to me until years into my shoplifting career that the kids working there knew what I was doing and didn't give a shit. Why should they? They were barely making minimum wage and were probably pocketing CDs themselves.
She's in there for longer than I expected but still comes out shaking her head. “They want somebody who knows how to cut hair. They already have somebody to answer the phones and wash the towels and stuff.”
The sour note in her voice surprises me. “You're serious about this, aren't you? This isn't another way of pissing me off.”
“I know it’s shocking, but not everything is about you.” When I continue staring at her, she rolls her eyes and folds her arms over her chest. “Fine. It started that way. But when talking with Mrs. Cooper earlier, I realized how much I miss being around people. Just having conversations, asking how they're doing. Socializing. I miss feeling like somebody wants to talk to me.”
“Oh. I didn't think about it that way.” I’m not much company. I was never supposed to be. I guess it’s a good sign that she wants to get back out in the world rather than stewing in a bed without changing her clothes or showering for days on end.
“Yeah, well, why would you?” she asks before opening her shoulder bag and pulling out yet another copy of her resume. “You hardly ever talk. You would probably rather be left alone for the rest of your life.”
I can’t bring myself to be annoyed by her sarcasm. “That actually sounds blissful.” Something about her stubbornness warms the heart she thinks I don't own. I can't blame her. There have been times when I was unsure whether it existed.
The only other business with a Help Wanted sign posted in the window is the gas station that sits diagonally from O'Neal's. There’s a handful of cars parked in front of the building—it’s expanded since I left, with what looks like a mini grocery store inside instead of a few racks of candy and a single cooler. “Go ahead, but grab me a bag of corn chips and a pack of M&M's.”
She blurts out a laugh when she begins walking away. “So much for healthy food. It's like being back home brings out another side of you.” I don't bother replying, seeing as she's never been inside my cottage when I'm on the grounds of her father's compound. There are plenty of snacks stashed in the pantry. I rarely go home except to sleep, though, so I don't eat much of it. I've been putting in extra time with the heavy bag and the weights down in the basement to counteract my current eating habits.
She's opening the door to go inside when my phone rings. Timing is everything. One thing I know for sure: I'm not about to tell Callum what she's doing. It's probably not worth mentioning, since it's not like she's going to work at a gas station. Not Tatum. She’ll do plenty of things to fuck with me, but she has limits.
“Boss?” I murmur upon answering, one eye on the store. She's waiting in line behind a couple of teenagers buying sodas, while a man in a dark suit and an expensive haircut stands behind her. He must be the owner of the Porsche—not exactly a car one sees much up around here.
“Any updates?”
Your daughter is currently handing in her resume at a gas station. “Nothing since she blocked Jeff's number a few nights back. Things have been pretty quiet.”
“That’s good to hear. I knew you would call if anything happened, but…”
“I get it.” He’s not exactly big on patience, especially concerning things he cares about. There isn't much in this world he cares about more than his daughter besides Bianca and the baby she's carrying.
“Actually,” I continue, still watching her, “I've been doing a lot of thinking, and I might have the beginning of an idea of how we can get rid of him. I need a little time to pull it together, but I think we can manage it.”
“By all means.”
“Let me do a little digging, and I'll update you in a day or two.”
“Otherwise, is she okay?”
“She's fine. Stopped at the gas station during a walk, and she went in to grab a snack.”
“Does Vinnie still own the place?”
“His name’s on the sign, but I don't see him around.”
“Christ, I thought he was an old man when I was a kid. He must be in his eighties by now. I guess not much has changed.”
“Except for what you've changed. It looks nice around here. More like a tiny little town, and less like a town you put your foot to the gas pedal as you pass through.”
“That was the idea.”
She starts to walk toward the door with a plastic shopping bag in hand. “I'd better let you go. Like I said, we'll touch base, but everything here is fine.”