Page 109 of Brazen Deceits

Hmm. What are the chances he’ll tell Clara I think she’s boogery? What have I stolen from him lately?

A knock on the window of my car pauses the dawning revelation that I haven’t stolen from anyone in the house in weeks. Maybe months. Maybe since Clara started weaving us all closer.

I roll down the window for the old lady from before, the fluff growling softly in her arms. My best smile in place, I force my jumpy brain to lock onto the story I spent hours rehearsing last spring. “Hello.”

Her lips press into a straight line as she takes me in, obviously memorizing me in case she needs to call the cops later. Not a good start, Jansen. “Can I help you, young man? You’ve been idling out here for quite a while.” She squints at me,suspicion as thick as the hum of her dog’s rattles. I hope the little thing doesn’t have pneumonia or something.

“I know, I’m so sorry. I’m waiting for a friend of mine.”

“And you can’t wait inside your friend’s house instead of out here on the street?”

I look over both shoulders, remembering to sell the secrecy. “Umm, well, no. I can’t. My friend, well, she’s in a bad relationship, you know? She said it’d be safe to wait here until her boyfriend falls asleep. Then she’ll sneak out, and we’ll get her the hell away from the guy. But if you need me to move, I can. I just don’t want to go too far from where I said I’d be. It’s not safe to send her a text at this point. Her ex is…well, it wouldn’t be good.”

It’s easy to imagine it’s Clara I’m rescuing, not some nameless girl from the script. Thank God she’s safe with us now.

Some of my genuine feelings must show on my face, because the old lady reaches through the window and pats my arm. “Good. You keep your friend safe. God only knows I’ve needed a rescuer a time or two in my life, but I never got one. You’re fine. Stay here as long as you need.”

“Thank you,” I say, something that feels suspiciously like guilt sinking into my gut. That’s unexpected.

“Do you need any snacks? Coffee?” she asks.

I hold up my tea. “That’s a kind offer, but I’m good for now.”

“Well, if you need anything, even just to use the restroom, I’m right over there. Number 1439B.”

“Got it.” I swallow down the unexpected feeling. “Thanks for keeping such a close eye on the neighborhood. I’m sure it’s appreciated.”

“Somebody has to. This place gets worse by the week, I swear.”

I smile and nod, like I have an opinion about Clara’s childhood street. Honestly, all I’ve noticed is that it’d be a terrible place to lift cars. Not enough money in this part of town.

“Well, stay safe, and remember my offer.”

“I will. Have a nice night.”

Finally, the woman steps away from my window, and I power it back up, cranking on the heat to replace the chill that’s filled the car, the grumble of her dog barely audible as she drags it back to her townhouse. Whew. Made it.

My tea is long gone and my patience is nothing more than imagined smoke when the McElroy house finally turns dark. I force myself through a mantra meditation, chanting “quiet mind quiet feet” until my tremors ease, and I’m ready. It’s been long enough that there’s no way anyone in that house is still awake.

Unless one of Clara’s parents has insomnia.

Eh. She sleeps almost as hard as I do. I’m sure she gets that from her parents.

Picks in hand, I jog down the street, dashing behind the house to the back door.

The locks are simple, even if there are two of them, but the dogs next door are not happy to catch sight of my shadow. The cursing from that house is audible, but no lights turn on in any neighboring windows, so the dogs must be a normal disruption around here.

Once in, the door clicks shut behind me. I pause to listen.

Silence.

Envisioning the layout Walker drew for me, I inch through the kitchen and into the living room, creeping up the stairs, hugging the wall. There are fewer squeaks closer to the edges. At the top, I turn to the left, easing open the door to Clara’s room.

The half-moon casts her room in shadows, but I still snoop. I take the few steps from the door to her closet, before pausing at her stash of track and cross-country statues crowded on one side of her dresser. Covering the other side of the dresser are framed pictures of Clara and a few other girls, all of them in matching track uniforms, arms slung over each other’s shoulders as they grin. I pick one up where the girls are probably fourteen, one girl with long braids still sporting braces.

Clara looks so much younger. Carefree in a way I’ve only glimpsed in small, unguarded moments. Usually after I’ve helped her to a superb orgasm, if I don’t mind patting myself on the back. And I don’t. Not one bit.

“Yeah. That’s my favorite too.”

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