Page 37 of Unhinged
"So... we're going back?"
"No."
His face falls, and we finish our ice cream in tense silence. The warmth from our earlier conversation feels distant, replaced by the cool ache of disappointment clinging to the air.
Outside, the breeze is sharper, carrying the crisp scent of fallen leaves and distant woodsmoke. The air feels heavier, charged with something I can’t quite name, and a chill creeps up my spine. I guide Judge toward our rusty sedan, parked crookedly at the curb. The GTO flashes through my mind—sleek, powerful,mine. God, I miss that car. This one rattles when it idles, and the air conditioning has a mind of its own, but it gets us from point A to point B. That's what matters.
I climb in and start the engine when the hair on the back of my neck rises.
Something's wrong.
I scan the street, trying to pinpoint the source of the sudden unease. Then I see him.
A man steps out of the post office across the street, adjusting his tie as he looks around.
Earl.
But he's not alone. There's another man with him, someone I don't recognize, standing just a bit too close, his posture stiff like he's expecting trouble.
My breath lodges in my throat, and my pulse skitters like a trapped moth. Memories of nine years ago claw their way to the surface—his hand clamped over my mouth, the weight of him crushing me, the unbearable helplessness. He shouldn't be here. Hecan'tbe here.
"Change of plans, Judge," I say. "Let's head back to Ike's. Maybe Jackie will want to order pizza and play some board games."
"She owes me a round ofGuess Who!" he chirps, his mood instantly lifting.
"Sounds fun." I force a smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes.
"I think I dropped my phone under the seat," I say quickly. "Can you check for me?"
"Sure!" He eagerly ducks down, fingers fumbling beneath the seat.
I take that moment to pull away from the curb, keeping Earl in my peripheral vision. He strolls down the sidewalk, hands in his pockets like he's just another guy running errands. My gut tells me otherwise.
"It's not down here," Judge says, lifting his head.
"Oh, silly me! It's right here." I hold up my phone with a grin that tastes like ash.
Judge laughs. "You're a mess, Mom."
I chuckle, but my knuckles are bloodless against the steering wheel. Earl's face is burned into my mind—that smug grin, the cold glint in his eyes. I don’t know how he found us, but one thing's certain: he isn’t here for small talk.
The drive back to Ike’s feels like a race against time. My fingers grip the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles ache, and my eyes flick to the rearview mirror every few seconds. There’s no sign of Earl, but my heart refuses to slow down.
As soon as I pull into the driveway, Judge jumps out before the engine is fully off, his little legs pumping as he dashes toward the front door. His laughter rings out as Jackie opens it, her smile bright and warm as she steps aside to let him in. For a second, I let out a shaky breath, but then instinct kicks back in, and I whip around in my seat, nearly giving myself whiplash in the process.
No one followed us. No one saw us leave.
Still, I can’t shake the feeling crawling up my spine. Earl didn’t see us—there’s no way—but I have to be sure.
We have to go.
My hands tremble as I pull my phone from my pocket and type out a message to Ike.
Me: Earl is in town. Took Judge for ice cream, and he was coming out of the post office.
The response comes fast.
Ike: You're sure it was him?
