“I’m sorry,” I said. I kept my voice firm. “I can’t help you.”
She stared at me in disbelief, as if in all of her wildest imaginings my saying no had never been a part of the equation. She’d looked at me just like that when she caught me trying to be the tooth fairy slipping the change I’d found under the couch cushions beneath her pillow. I never did find the stupid tooth she’d put under there.
“Is that really how you want it?” she asked. The hurt in her voice cut through the haze of the memories with a razor’s precision.
We stared at each other. Me, a shell of my former self, and her, young and vibrant with her whole life ahead of her. I was not going to be the anchor that pulled her under the water.
“That’s the way it has to be,” I said. I thought I sidestepped answering the question pretty well. I was in the midst of mentally patting myself on the back when she interrupted.
She leaned over the coffee table, bracing her upper body with her hands. She was pushing into my space, and it took everything I had not to back up when she growled, “Fuck that.”
“Alexandra Margaret Brewer!” I scolded, emphasizing her adopted last name. “That language is completely uncalled for.”
A slow grin spread across her face and she laughed. It was the same infectious, mischievous laugh she’d had as a kid. She pushed back to standing and propped one hand on her hip. She looked down her nose at me and said, “You’re not the boss of me.”
Oh, she was dragging out that old chestnut. She was playing me just like she had when we were kids. I shook my head. I was not going to get sucked in. Nope, nope, nope.
“No, I’m not,” I agreed. “And I don’t want to be.” I turned to Jackson and said, “Do me a solid and show Lexi to the door.”
Jackson looked intensely uncomfortable. He put a hand on the back of his neck like he was working out a kink. He was my physical therapist and trainer, and I paid him to live here and be available if I needed him, so he was like a bodyguard, but in more of a “one-man response team to an emergency” than a “chase away people I don’t want to talk to” sort of way. I could see he was unclear as to what to do, and I decided we were going to have a conversation to clarify his position.
Lexi turned to Jackson. “You don’t need to show me out. I can find my way.” She glanced at me and shook her head as if she couldn’t reconcile the disappointment she felt in finally seeing me again. It chafed but I knew it was better this way.
One thing niggled the back of my mind. “Wait.”
Her eyes flashed with hope, which I heartlessly shit-canned immediately. “How did you get in here? Lupita said you knocked on the front door but we have a security gate.”
She let out a breath and shook her head as the hope dimmed from her eyes. “I waited until someone came home and opened the gate and then I slipped in after them before the gate closed.” As if she couldn’t resist, she added, “Duh.”
It sounded so much like the sassy child she’d once been, I huffed out a small laugh. I quickly made my face impassive and asked, “Who was it?”
“Who was who?”
“Who was it that you followed onto the property?” I asked.
She pursed her lips as if considering me.
“You’re not going to get them in trouble,” I said. Another lie. “I just need to know so that this sort of thing doesn’t happen again.”
She tipped her head to the side. “No.”
“What do you mean ‘no’?” I asked. I was outraged. She couldn’t just refuse.
“I’m not telling you anything,” she said. “Why should I?”
“Because I asked you to,” I said. Yup, I’d walked right into that bear trap. I could almost feel its steel jaws snap shut around my ankle when she grinned.
“And I asked you to help me, but you said no,” she retorted. She tipped her chin up. “See how that works?”
“Whatever,” I said. I was not going to play this game. I had a good idea of who had let her in and I’d deal with that person next. “Where are you parked?”
“Down the street,” she said. “Why?”
“It’s late and it’s dark,” I said. “Jackson will walk you to your car.”
“I don’t need—” she began.
Jackson rose to his feet. It was like watching a mountain spring up spontaneously out of the couch, and Lexi’s eyes went wide as she stared up at him.
“This is not negotiable,” Jackson said to her. She looked like she’d argue but then thought better of it. Jackson turned back to me. “You good?”
“Yeah,” I lied. I wasn’t good. I was a disaster of titanic proportions, but I was not about to let anyone, especially Lexi, know.
Jackson walked to the door and opened it, waiting for her, but Lexi didn’t follow. Instead, she turned to me and said, “I’m not Mom and Dad, you know, I’m not like them.”
“I know.” It didn’t change things for me, not one damn bit.
With that, she did an epic hair toss and flounced out the door. I could hear her boots clack down the hallway.
Jackson didn’t move from the doorway. His gaze met mine and he said, “You know, I never thought of you as broken beyond repair until right now.”
Annabelle
10
The remainder of the week passed without my breaking any more of “the rules.” I didn’t see Jackson again, but I did meet the groundskeeper, Mr. Guzman. He was trimming the trees along the drive as I dashed out the door, late again, and ran by, jumping over his extension cord as I went. To my surprise, he began to sing in a deep baritone, “And the race is on . . .”
I hit my brakes hard, skidding to a stop. I whipped around to look at him. He was on a ladder so he seemed very tall. He had a thick head of gray hair and a bristly mustache, the kind I’d only ever seen during Movember, mustache-growing month, or on old seventies and eighties television shows.
Winking at me, he continued, “And here comes pride up the backstretch.”
“Heartaches are goin’ to the inside,” I chimed in and his bushy eyebrows rose. Together we sang out the rest of the chorus, ending with, “And the winner loses all.”
“You know George Jones?” he asked.
“My dad’s a fan of old-school country.” I shrugged. “After a while it sticks.”
He laughed. “So true.”