Page 79 of Like You Know

I hung up and concentrated on the winding roads. The address Calvin had sent was kind of remote, nothing but trees and the occasional driveway on either side of the road.

Finally, the GPS told me to turn into one of the driveways. My heart hammered in my chest, and I gripped the wheel even harder than I’d been clutching it the entire drive over.

The driveway was long and overgrown. I had to slow down to a crawl as the little car bumped along seemingly endlessly. Eventually, the road ended at a cabin that looked abandoned. Boards covered the windows, and weeds grew through cracks in the little porch. A pickup truck was the only sign there was anyone other than me here.

With a shaky breath, I got out of the car and walked up to the front door.

CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT

The door swung open,revealing a disheveled Calvin clutching a gun. He was wearing the same clothes he’d been in when I saw him last. His hair was a mess, his eyes bulging.

“Where is she?” I gritted out, painfully aware of the weapon in the unhinged man’s grip. He scanned the area behind me.

“Amaya!” Mom called from somewhere within the house.

Acute relief slammed through me, mixed with the fear that had been a constant companion. The strange combination of feelings made me a little dizzy.

Calvin stepped out onto the porch, and I instinctively took a step away from him. But he hardly looked at me as he moved down the steps, still surveying the woods all around the dilapidated cabin.

I darted inside, desperate to get to my mom. It was dark, but a lamp provided some light in the far corner—right next to a couch where my mother was struggling to stand up. I sprinted to her and dropped hard to my knees.

She pulled me in for a hug. “A hug” didn’t really encapsulate the way we clutched each other though. It was too mild a term for the level of intensity, for all the unspoken things contained in the space between our clasping arms.

I was wary of hurting her, but she squeezed me fiercely. It gave me some comfort to feel the strength in her grip.

“Mom, can you walk?” I asked in a harsh whisper, looking at the open door behind us.

“Yes, honey. It’s not—”

“We have to move now. Before he comes back.” I got to my feet and pulled on her arm. At the same time, I inspected the cabin for something I could use as a weapon. The open-plan space wasn’t as shitty on the inside as it looked on the outside. There was a small, clean kitchen, a quaint round table with four chairs, and a fireplace next to the couch and armchair. Two doors on the adjacent wall probably led to a bedroom and bathroom.

“Before who comes back?” Mom got to her feet with a wince. I didn’t know what hurt, but I winced too.

“Calvin.” There were probably knives in the kitchen, but the fireplace was closer. I grabbed the poker from the pile of fireplace tools and wrapped an arm around Mom’s waist. “He wandered out toward the driveway, but I don’t know how far he went. We need to move.”

But Mom didn’t budge when I tried to get us hobbling toward the front door.

“Oh, honey, you scared me.” She sighed, then lowered herself back down to the couch.

“What? Mom! Get up!” I yelled.

The door slammed, and I spun around to see Calvin standing inside. The gun was no longer in his hands, but I brandished the fire poker in front of myself anyway.

“Stay the fuck away from us!” I screamed.

He just stood there holding his hands up as if I were mugging him, a confused expression on his face.

“Amaya,” Mom said gently. She covered my hands with hers, gently pushing until I lowered the poker. “Calvin is not going to hurt us. He saved me.”

Breathing hard, I let her words sink in. Now I was the one confused.

“What?” I shook my head and let Mom take the poker. She dropped it to the floor with a clang, and Calvin relaxed.

“I thought you messaged her and told her,” Mom said to Calvin.

“I did.” He dragged a hand down his face. He looked exhausted as he moved to the kitchen and put the kettle on—the old-fashioned kind that you heat on the stove.

“He sent me a photo of you looking banged up and dirty and told me to come here and not bring the cops.” I started to take in more details as I spoke. Mom was no longer in her dirty dress from the photo. She had on baggy sweats and looked clean. Her hair was even still damp.

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