Page 70 of The Disputed Legacy
Willow probably wouldn’t even call me her official boyfriend. And here I was projecting and thinking way too far ahead of how Oscar was like a son to me.
Maybe I bonded with him more than my nieces and nephew because he was older and able to talk and listen, but it wasn’ta competition. While I was determined to fit Willow and Oscar into my life, I wouldn’t replace my nieces and nephews with him.
But I had to wonder how Oscar would like having other children in his family.
“I can’t wait for these tests to be done,” he groaned, going over the review paper his teacher had sent home.
“You’ll do fine,” I encouraged. Before suggesting that he break down the paper into sections, into smaller steps, I looked up at the front door. The bell jingled over the frame, and it was by habit that I had to check and see who was there.
It was a couple of police officers.
Shit.
I turned to watch Willow as she tended to one of her tables.
Her face turned pale, even whiter than how fair-skinned she already was. Blood seemed to drain from her as she stood rooted in place, stiff and rigid. As her eyes popped open with alarm, she lost track of the fact that she was pouring coffee. Only when the customer squeaked in surprise did Willow snap out of the trance-like stare and flinch. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” She hurried to clean up the spill that happened when she overfilled the mug.
Since she’d reacted like this the other time she saw a cop, I wasn’t caught off guard.
When the shooting happened here, she’d been eager to get away, not even seeming to consider the more logical thing of waiting for the police and paramedics to arrive. That intrigued me then.
When the Romano posing as a cop showed up at her door, she’d been frozen in fear like she was staring at her worst enemy.
And now, she was freaked out again.
Why are you so afraid?
I had to know.
She was timid and shy, like she would do anything to be away from these officers. Too many ideas popped into my head. And none of them were good.
Maybe her father was a cop and he’d beaten her?
Maybe she led a life of minor crimes and got busted as a teenager too many times?
Maybe she was a fugitive and living under a fake name to avoid going back to jail?
Maybe—
I frowned, stopping my stupid runaway imagination as I looked back at the men. Taking the time to pick up more details about them, I saw that they were legit. They were real cops. Older, as if they’d been at this for so long to earn those tired expressions. Their uniforms weren’t too clean or new, but worn like they’d been washed many times and broken in. Even their stances proved they weren’t amateurs or fake. They stood like actual men who had experience with law and order, unafraid to take a ruthless person down to keep others safe.
“Can I help you?” Margo asked as she stepped out from behind the counter. Using a dishrag, she dried her hands off and looked the pair of officers in the eye.
Willow came toward my booth that I was sharing with Oscar, and as she licked her lips and looked like a deer caught in the headlights, she eyed her son. Not me.
“You stay right here,” she whispered in a hush to him.
He nodded, no longer whiny about his work but serious and paying attention.
“You stay right here with Saul and don’t say anything,” she scolded him.
I furrowed my brow, watching this interaction. Being that authoritative with him seemed unnecessary. From what I could tell, Oscar was a good boy. He didn’t act out or argue with her,ever. But she seemed so tense that she had to order him near me, no matter what.
What the fuck is going on?
She was so obviously scared of the cops. But why?
“Willow.” I reached out for her hand, but she stayed away. Stepping back, she barely looked at me. Instead, she darted nervous glances at Oscar as she returned toward the front counter. She was spooked, but she had too many tables and customers to just stop working to handle her fear.
