Page 200 of Mountain Grump
I’m not expecting anyone.
No one should be coming here.
Adrenaline that I’m becoming all too familiar with fills my body as I wrench my door open.
I swing it shut and lock the dead bolt just as a car comes into view.
I don’t recognize it.
But I don’t linger.
I dart straight to my bedroom, where I can hide without being seen.
My lungs burn as I stand just inside the threshold to my room.
And my eyes burn.
I want to call Ethan.
I start to reach for my pocket but remember we never exchanged numbers.
That pressure in my eyes intensifies.
I have a husband, but I don’t have his phone number.
The crunching sound comes to a stop, and then, what sounds liketwoengines turn off.
I hear two doors slam.
Why are two people here?
I lean a little out of the doorway, wanting to catch a glimpse.
“Matilda!”
I halt. Frozen in place.
My mom is here.
More car doors slam shut, and I take a step back.
It’s bright outside, and I don’t have any lights on inside, but there are no curtains over the living room windows. So if anyone gets close enough—out of the glare of sunlight—they’ll be able to see inside.
But that’s all they can do.
I locked the front door.
The windows are the crank-out kind, and they’re all cracked open, letting in the fresh air and allowing me to hear what’s happening. But they’re only open a few inches.
And if any of them try to pull open a window to crawl through, I’ll be using my new internet connection to call the police.
Ethan would be better.
Backing farther into my bedroom and completely out of view, I wonder if there’s a way for me to climb off the back deck and circle around into the park without being seen.
I look down at my dress, the one I was wearing the last time I went into the park, when I got all tangled up in the barbed wire fence, and know I won’t be able to make it out unnoticed.
The back of my legs bump into my bed, and feeling so incredibly tired of these people, I let my knees give out and sit on the mattress.
