Page 10 of Their Greatest Strength

Walks have always helped clearmy head. I may not be one for normal exercise, but there’s something about a silent walk in a softly lit neighbourhood that soothes me. The calmness of the evening, the chirping of grasshoppers in overgrown grass, and the drone of cars in the distance. It’s the time I take to just be.

To feel like myself again instead of a failing mother figure and the person whom I’d hoped I’d be by now. It’s only been one day since I lost my job, and I’m already tempted to pull my hair out. If I don’t find another soon . . .

I kick a rock with the toe of my old sneaker and stretch my fingers at my sides, as if I’ll be able to run them through the air that’s felt too suffocating the past few years.

I’ve never been down this street before. It’s a new neighbourhood, and as I stroll down the sidewalk, it becomes clearer and clearer that I don’t belong here.

The houses have tripled in size since I crossed the street a minute ago, and with that, so has the cost of the shiny cars in the driveways. Convertibles, tinted SUVs, and luxury imports with the logos from TV.

I stumble on the perfectly smooth sidewalk when I reach ahouse that might as well have been plucked from the pages of a home design magazine.

Two storeys high with a covered porch, black wood accents, white brick siding, and wide-paned windows, it’s . . . gorgeous. A house like one that Ididcut out of a home magazine and glued onto my dream board.

The landscaping is perfect, all deep green grass and tall hedges for privacy. There are tiny rocks lining the edges of the sidewalk leading to the porch before splitting to surround trimmed shrubs. It would look even better with some flowers, but with fall coming soon, there wouldn’t be a point in adding any.

Not that it matters, Blakely.

I tuck my hair behind my ear and realize I’ve stopped directly in front of the house to stare like a creep. But that realization doesn’t have me continuing on my way like it should.

Something draws me closer to this specific place. Like there’s an invisible hand shoving at my back, I leap forward a step past the hedges. My shoe scuffs the sidewalk, and my heart pounds hard and quick.

“Oh, you’re such an idiot,” I whisper to myself.

My throat constricts when I get far enough up the sidewalk to realize that the black front door with a gorgeous golden handle is open. It’s odd, considering the lack of vehicles on the long driveway. They could be parked in the three-car garage, but what if the owner isn’t home and someone’s broken in?

I pat my pocket where my phone rests and slowly continue up the sidewalk. Sure, it would be really stupid for someone to rob a house like this when the sun hasn’t even fully set yet, but I know better than anyone that when you’re desperate enough for something, the time of day doesn’t matter. You’ll make it work no matter what.

With slow steps, I make my way onto the porch, only an arm’s length from the open door. It’s silent inside, even after I knock my knuckles against the door and wait.

“Hello? Is anyone home?” I call.

This is so stupid. And reckless. Nate will tear my ear off about this the minute I go home, but my damn conscience won’t let me turn away now. The chance something could be wrong is enough to keep me from running off.

Holding my breath, I push open the door and move inside. “Hello?”

Still nothing.

I suck in a sharp breath at the interior of the home. The door is still open behind me as I drift through the entrance and gawk at the crown moulding, the black accents that have been carried in from outside, and the perfectly coordinated furniture.

Directly to the left of the entrance is a sunken living room with a U-shaped sectional, a real brick fireplace, and a massive flat-screen that must have cost thousands of dollars. It opens into a luxury kitchen with every high-end appliance known to man and an island fitted with six bar stools.

There are clothes strewn all over the living room. I make out a pair of boxer shorts with . . . eggplants all over them on the back of a white armchair? And are there really three gaming consoles hooked up to the TV? Who needs that many?

Growing distracted, I hurry to the row of consoles. My frown is solid as the desire to be able to give even just one to Nathan swallows me. He gave up asking for one by the fourth Christmas in a row I just couldn’t make it work.

There was never any rudeness from him when one didn’t show up because that’s not who Nate is. He’s sweet and understanding above all else. But that didn’t mean I hadn’t wished and wished that I could have given him one.

Crouching in front of the row of them, I look around the room for any sign of another person. Unless the clothes are a sign of a robbery or, shit, even a murder, I don’t think anything went on here. It seems more likely that the owner of this home just forgot to close the door all the way.

The first game console is plugged into the back of the TV, andwhile I’ve never hooked one up before, I know it wouldn’t be that hard to tug at the cords and run out of here with it . . .

I hesitate with my fingers brushing the top of it, a war of good and bad raging in my head. Whoever owns these is clearly well enough off that they could simply buy another one to replace this, but they shouldn’t have to.

I’m not the type of person to steal, but . . .fuck, I’m desperate. Desperate for just one thing to give Nathan. Sure, he could buy one on his own, but all I’ve ever wanted is to provide for him, and to see the look on his face when I show up with this? Especially after the week he’s had with the flu?

Reaching up, I pull the connecting cord from the TV, my mind made up. Fuck guilt. The saying is “eat the rich” for a reason.

“Would you like some help with that? Or if you’re interested, I have a huge stack of games you can steal while you’re at it.”

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