We sat the table, drank tea, and ate. I almost forgot why I came all the way out here as Mom went on about the church ladies, about her tennis instructor—this strange old man that sat in a folding chair and fed them balls and blew a whistle and grunted as he smoked a cigarette—and I drifted into the familiarity of it all. Once Mom got talking, I knew she’d never stop, and that was almost comforting.
The spell didn’t last much more than an hour. We finished the tea and Mom poured wine instead without asking. As she sat back down, placing a glass of white with two ice cubes in front of me, someone knocked at the door.
Mom looked surprised. “Who could that be?”
“Probably a package.”
She got up with a frown and walked to the front door. I took a sip of my wine and stared up at a picture of me and Jason when we were little kids wearing bathing suits and standing in front of the community pool. Jason’s hair was wet and his freckles looked splattered on his nose. His pale chest looked so skinny, but he was smiling huge, like the world would never break him, even though it did eventually. I stood a little behind him and looked right into the camera like I was about to tell my mom to stop taking a picture, and I wished I could remember that moment, remember all the time we spent at the pool together, back before Jason had turned into such a sad person and turned to drugs to feel something better—but I couldn’t bring the memories back anymore.
Even coming home didn’t seem to draw them through.
“Honey?” Mom walked back into the kitchen, looking uncertain. “There’s a man at the door for you. A very big and very handsome man.”
I felt my blood run cold and stood. “Did he say this name?”
“He was very polite. Said his name is Owain and that he’s worried about you. That he’s been looking.”
I had a choice. I knew it, right then and there. I had to choose and choose right, because if I was wrong, the consequences could be so horrible.
I could tell my mother that I didn’t know Owain, or that he was some stalker, or any story except for the truth and hope that she’d chase him off, and that would be that. I’d move home, get a job, and start my life over.
Or I could tell her to let him in.
I looked down at the ground, mind buzzing with worry. And the thing that came to mind when I looked at the hardwood floor, at the marked wood where I used to play as a little girl, was the feeling I got when I fired that gun.
The strength, the joy, the power.
I never felt like that before.
And then, when he took me—that was mixed with it, the two experiences mingled irrevocably.
I looked up and forced a smile. “Okay. I’ll go talk to him.”
She nodded. “He’s waiting out front.”
I went to walk past her but stopped. I hesitated then hugged her. “I love you mom.”
“I love you too.” She patted my back. “Why are you acting so strange? Who is that man?”
“Don’t worry. He’s a friend.” I pulled away and walked out front.
Owain stood in my childhood driveway where I used to draw hopscotch boards and big fat rainbows in chalk with his hands behind his back surveying the neighbors like he was a developer looking to buy. He half turned as I approached.
“Nice place.”
“My mom really kept it up.”
“How’s it going in there?”
“Good, I think. She’s been worried.”
“I’m sure.”
We descended into silence. I wanted him to yell at me for running away. I expected him to grab me by the hair and drag e back to his car. He was parked out front by the curb, and I almost thought he left it running.
But he didn’t do either.
“Wy did you follow me?” I couldn’t help it. I had to ask, even though the question sapped me of all my power and all my strength, I still had to ask.
“Because I wanted to give you another chance.”
I sucked in a breath and felt my anger rise. “You want to give me another chance?”
He nodded. “To come back to work.”
“Work?” I wanted to laugh, but the idea was too absurd. “You call that work?”
“I don’t know what else to call it.”
“You sell drugs.”
“Still a job.” He turned to me, hands still behind his back. I stared into his handsome face and felt another stab of rage—mixed with longing, desire, and need. It was confusing and heady, a bouquet of emotions. “Come back with me.”
“I don’t know if I want to.”
“I’ll come inside and meet your mother if you want. Mom’s tend to love me.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“I’m polite and charming. And it doesn’t hurt that most of them want to fuck me.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re an animal.”
“Yes and yes.”
“I don’t know what I want, Owain.”
“Is that why you’re out here?”
I nodded and looked away. “I’m trying to figure it out.”
“You felt that, back at the firing range.” He took a step closer and I felt his animal heat roll off him like heaven. “I know you felt it as much as I did.”
“Owain—”
“You can do what you want. If you decide to stray here and you send me away, then fine, I’ll accept it. But don’t you start lying to me.”
I sucked in a breath and nodded, closing my eyes. “I felt it, okay?”
“I know you did.”
I opened my eyes again. “Doesn’t change anything. Jason’s dead.
