Page 5 of The Parent Pick-Up
“I told you, I’m not breaking in.” The woman’s voice cuts through the rain. “Why are you assuming I am?”
“Just doing my job, ma’am. Someone called it in.”
The woman spots me climbing the steps. Her blue eyes lock on mine in accusation.
“You call this in?” she asks.
I lift both hands. “Wasn’t me.”
Before I can say more, the officer steps forward. “I’m afraid I’ll need to take you in. Protocol.”
The little girl’s face crumples. “Are we going to jail, Mommy?”
The woman drops to her knees and wraps the girl in her arms, shooting us both a glare that could crack stone.
“No. No one’s going to jail,” she says, her voice shaking now. “These men are just… confused.”
“If you’ve got ID, we can clear this up,” the officer offers, sounding more tired than threatening now.
“My car’s locked,” she says. “And my keys are down there.”
She points to a warped board on the porch, where a wide knothole reveals darkness below. I step closer, peer down into it.
“You tossed your keys into a hole?” I ask.
Her eyes bore holes into me. “Of course not. I dropped them.”
The cop flicks his flashlight into the gap, then back to the woman’s face. “Don’t see anything.”
She flinches away from the light, her jaw clenched. “If you call Starlight Bay Real Estate, they’ll confirm it. I own this house.”
From my experience as a single dad, I recognize her tone, which is equal parts fear and exhaustion. She’s barely holding it together while trying not to scare the kid.
And for what it’s worth, my instincts say she’s telling the truth.
“She’s not breaking in,” I say, butting in where I don’t belong.
The woman turns to me, surprise flashing in her eyes. There’s something about her that strikes a chord in my memory. The sharp cheekbones and icy blue eyes seem familiar, but I can’t place how.
“I’m Ivy,” she says. “This is my daughter, Olivia.”
“I’m Owen. I live next door. Welcome to the neighborhood,” I say, offering a wry smile.
She nods, but there’s a guardedness in her eyes now. She pulls the little girl close, like she’s bracing for judgment.
I turn to the officer. “Any chance you can get into her car?”
He looks offended at my audacity. “No can do.”
“At least call a locksmith,” I say. “We can’t tear these boards up right now.”
He hesitates, then sighs. “I’ll call. But with this weather it’s going to be a while.”
It’s clear he doesn’t plan to wait.
“It’s pouring, she’s not going anywhere, and we’re neighbors now. If there’s a problem, I’ll call it in. Sound fair?”
The cop eyes me, then her. “Fine. But keep an eye out.”
