Page 32 of 3rd Tango
The steps head across the floor, and I hear a murmured voice—his.
Meg touches my lower back, as if rushing me to push Mom out the door. My pulse jackrabbits as my mind considers our options.
We need to move, but I can’t take them across the backyard, in case Gayle or Marie looks out. We have to cling to the shadows, avoiding the blue-gray moonlight, or risk raising an alarm.
I pocket my phone and grab Meg’s hand. Very softly in the distance, I hear a door opening and closing. I sneak a glance over my shoulder and cringe. The strip at the bottom of the door leading into the house—and what I suspect is the kitchen—is illuminated with light.
Double shit.
With a strong nudge, I force Mom out and pull Meg behind me. Maintaining silence, I physically stack both of them against the outside garage wall, and, quick as a cat, close the exterior door as silently as possible.
Meg and I kill our flashlights, but I can see her and Mom’s faces with ease, thanks to the annoyingly bright moon. I hold a finger to my lips, and sure enough, a light comes on in the garage, shining through the tiny window above us.
Blood rushes in my ears. Not fear, per se, but annoyance.
How I long for my bed, cool air conditioning, the feel of JJ’s body next to mine…
I wonder what the hell I’m doing here. It was fun to bring Meg and Matt on this expedition, but this is serious, and we are literally footsteps away from being discovered.
If it was just me, I’d stay in the shadows of the house until I got to the hedge and be out of here in a heartbeat. Because I’m not alone, I have to make wise choices in the coming seconds.
If Gayle looks out, he’ll see us. There’s no way I can explain what we’re doing—to him or the police. I crouch, meeting Meg and Mom’s eyes, and motioning them to do the same. They watch me like deer caught in headlights, and as I move to the front of our conga line, both of them respond.
Careful not to trip over anything at my feet, I tiptoe with slow, careful steps, keeping close to the house until we round the backside. There, I drop to hands and knees to go under one of the windows, past the back porch, and under a second window.
Pausing, I double check to make sure Mom and Meg catch up. Like good soldiers, they mimic everything I do.
In the pause, I listen carefully to sounds coming from inside the house. We’re in the shadows by the far corner. The driveway is a wide strip of moonlight between the house and hedge.
I stay frozen for so long, I feel Mom tug my ankle. I ignore her.
My whole focus is on getting them across that driveway safely, the hedge a mere four feet away, but in between is that spotlight from the moon.
Looking up, I eye the house for any signs of light, other than illumination coming from the kitchen. After several seconds, I’m rewarded when the window falls dark again, Gayle flicking off the overhead light.
Relief surges through me and then Mom pinches my leg hard. I look back over my shoulder, still in my doggy position, to glare at her. She motions with her hand, as if to saylet’s go.
I still can’t believe she showed up after I explicitly made her promise not to interfere. A part of me, on the other hand, isn’t surprised at all. I thought I was circumventing this very situation, but maybe it was stupid to let her in on our plans. Of course, she couldn’t resist.
Waiting out Gayle is tougher than I expect, only because Mom is so impatient. My phone vibrates in my pocket, Matt once more trying to figure out what’s wrong. When all I hear are crickets and the sound of a night creature moving in the hedge, I do another scan of the windows. No one is looking out, and only then do I motion Mom and Meg to cross the great divide of moonlight.
Once they’re safe on the other side and no alarm has been raised, I cross the drive myself. Twenty steps later, we all jump into Meg’s van and Matt releases a loud sigh of relief.
“What the hell?” he asks, looking at our mother.
“What the hell is right.” I whirl in the passenger seat to glare at her. She and Meg are arranging themselves in the back, Meg shoving some folded-up canvasses out of the way so Mom has a spot to sit.
Mom looks at me as if she doesn’t understand. “Did you find it or not?”
“I specifically told you not to interfere,” I say, grinding my teeth. To Matt, “Let’s go.”
He puts the van in gear and takes off.
She huffs. “I wasn’t interfering, but I didn’t know what was taking so long. You said you’d text me as soon as you were done.”
Meg says in a very patient voice, “We weren’t done, Mom.”
She leaves out the wordobviouslybut it hangs in the air. I turn up the air conditioning and adjust the vent to blow directly on me. I’m sweating like a pig, not just from the heat.
