Page 15 of Time Stops With You

“Uh, no thanks.”

“Suit yourself then.”

He stands nearby and I try my best not to throw up.

For a while, all that can be heard is the rumble of vehicles driving by, the hum of machinery from the car wash a few miles up and the humming of Ebidiah as he jangles some coins in his pocket.

I know I should get up and start putting my pans away. The neighborhood cops turn a blind eye to my stall—mostly because they enjoy my cooking, but I can’t linger. However, I’m afraid that if I stand, my body won’t support me and I’ll crumple to a heap.

Just then, my phone vibrates in the pocket of my apron. Weakly, I fish it out and put it to my ear.

“Hello?” I croak.

“Nardi!”

Josiah? The note of panic in my little brother’s voice sends all my exhaustion skittering out the door. I’ve never heard him call my name that desperately.

I shoot to my feet, my fingers tightening over the phone. “What’s on fire?”

“N-nothing.” Josiah releases a shaky breath that sounds like hurricane-force winds blowing through the trees. “It’s… nothing. Forget I called.”

“Josiah, what?—”

The dial tone sounds.

“Did he just hang up on me?” I grit my teeth.

“Something happened?” Ebidiah asks, his eyes searching the table.

“I need to go.” I yank the empty pots off the table and carry them to the car. Ebidiah grabs a pot too. Normally, I’d shoo him away, but there’s no food in these containers anyway and this is an emergency.

Between the two of us, we pack up my car in no time.

“Oh, before I forget.” I rummage around in the giant paper bag I’d brought from home and offer Ebidiah the plate I’d hidden before things got too busy.

His face lights up and he shows me all eighteen of his teeth. “I thought you forgot.”

“Thanks for your help.” I offer him a tight smile, jump in my car and zoom away.

My mind is buzzing around all the things that could have gone wrong with Josiah. That kid isalwaysso distracted by his phone. Did he do something worse than last time? Is the entire ceiling on fire? Is someone injured?

I call him back, hoping to find the answers to those questions.

My brother’s phone goes straight to voicemail.

Alarm bells start clanging in my head. Josiah’s a typical eleven year old who hates doing chores and prefers texting over calls; however, he hasneverignored my phone calls before.

Since I leave him on his own most of the time, I’ve drilled into his head how important it is that we keep the communication lines open.

I try calling again.

Still nothing.

The runaway thudding of my pulse spurs me on. My heart has found a new home in my throat and is throbbing like a stubbed toe.

“Come on, come on,” I mutter, weaving through traffic like a madman.

I near our apartment and find a strange sight. The entire parking lot is filled with giant, black sedans. They surround the building, shiny rims sparkling in the sunlight.

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