Page 14 of Their Greatest Strength

“Well, are you wanting an entire recount of my evening or just the good parts?”

Her smile is bemused. “I’m always up for an hour-by-hour breakdown of your day, sweetheart.”

“Okay, maybe not hour by hour. Don’t be so needy, Ma,” I chastise with a cluck of my tongue.

“Have I ever told you that you’re too much like me?”

I huff a laugh, leaning back in my chair. “Only a million times.”

“Good. Just making sure.”

“Anyway,” I drawl, crossing my arms. “I had just finished up in the gym when I heard someone shouting inside?—”

“What do you mean ‘inside’? Did you leave the front door openagain?”

I hold out a hand before she can give me another lecture. “Maybe, but I swear I thought I’d closed it this time.”

It’s only happened a handful of times since I moved into my new place, as if that makes it any better.

“Jamieson, you can’t be leaving your front door open! How many deer do you have to have wander inside and scare you half to death before you realize that? And for God’s sake, you were robbed!”

Her cheeks have flushed with worry and anger, her firm mom gaze unwavering. I wiggle beneath it, still incapable of ignoring how well it works to make you uncomfortable.

“That only happened once, but I see where you’re coming from. I wasn’t exactly expecting to be robbed when I forgot to shut the door last night. The neighbourhood has a gate with a code, Ma.” I blink, curiosity blooming. “Wait, do you think she knows one of my neighbours, then?”

“Who, Jamie? You’ve got to slow down here.”

“My robber. Do you think she knows one of my neighbours? How else would she have gotten in?”

Mom rubs her lips together. “What happened? Because if she robbed you, the police need to be involved. It doesn’t matter whether she knows someone in the neighbourhood or not.”

“She didn’tactuallyrob me. That’s why I’m calling her a bandit in training. When I caught her in my living room, she was mortified to see that I was there. I even offered my Xbox to her after, but she refused to take it. That’s not very robber-like, right?”

“Oh, honey. Did we shelter you a bit too much when you were growing up?”

I take a bite of the soft cookie and chew to keep from laughing at the question. We were absolutely not sheltered growing up. Not when Dad and my uncle Oakley were constantly in the spotlight, and we were exposed to nosy reporters and news articles.

My cousins and I grew up knowing that our actions were being watched and that we had to always be careful. Thatdoesn’t necessarily mean that we weren’t up to some crazy shit in our teen years, but we had to be sneaky about it.

Dad never wore a mask in front of us either. He was his blunt, grumpy, sailor-mouthed self every single day of our lives. Mom even contemplating that we were sheltered is laughable.

“You did not shelter us. And I know I sound like an idiot right now, but there wassomethingabout this girl. I believed her when she said she didn’t come inside to steal from me but because she was worried something had happened to me. Doesn’t it say a lot about her that she went inside a stranger’s house just to see if they were okay?”

“If she was telling the truth, then yes, it does.”

“She was.”

She nods. “Okay, let’s say she was being honest. Did you get her name? Did she seem to know yours? What exactly happened?”

My stomach drops, the same reminders that have plagued me since last night making another appearance. “No. I didn’t get her name. Even when I asked for it, she wouldn’t give it to me. And as far as I could tell, she had no idea who I was. When I caught her in the living room, she looked like she was expecting me to storm over and curb stomp her or something. I didn’t want to scare her, so I didn’t push too hard. We talked for a few minutes while she rejected all my efforts to get to know her, and then she left.”

“So, she thought someone might be in trouble when she saw the door open, then she went inside and tried to take your Xbox? Then you caught her, and you talked for a few minutes before she left?” Mom asks.

“When you say it like that, it sounds ridiculous.”

Reaching across the table, she pats my hand. It’s not a pity gesture but a genuine one that she’s done a million times over the past twenty-three years of my life.

“Nothing that brings such strong feelings out of us is ridiculous.I’m just trying to piece together the whole story,” she explains gently.

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