Page 91 of Dream House
It feels like an eternity, but he finally,finally,climbs in and shuts the door.
I throw the Jeep into drive.
“Wait,” he says, settling a hand over mine on the gearshift. “I told Aggie we’d let her leave first.”
“Right.” I nod, breathing deep.
Aggie’s already reversing out of her spot.
As she blows past us, Kaleb trains his finger pistol on her and mimes pulling his trigger right when his imaginary bullet would meet the back of her head.
“Fuck this shit,” Lark curses. He whips out his phone and snaps three pictures in the time it would take me to type in my stupid passcode.“Go.”
I don’t hesitate. I’ve never peeled out before, but I peel the fuck out, fishtailing, spraying gravel, and watching Kaleb involuntarily high-step to get of my way.
I don’t look in the rearview because I don’t want to own the image of him aiming at the back of my head.
Accelerating into the turn onto Garfield, the Jeep rocks like we’re off-roading, and maybe I left skid marks on the asphalt. But my heart is in my nose. And my stomach is in my throat.
“Jesus Christ… Jesus Christ,” I mutter, gripping the steering wheel. Only now do my hands begin to shake. I stop at the light on Johnston Street.
“Run it,” Lark says, and I don’t even question. No one’s coming, and I hang a left, going in the opposite direction of Nanna’s house.
We hit the railroad tracks so fast, my butt comes off the driver’s seat. Lark is gripping the handle over his door, but he says nothing about my crazy speed.
When we reach the light at Evangeline Thruway, he says. “Take a right.”
I do, glad someone else is doing the thinking because I’m about to lose it.
I make the turn, checking behind us as I do. There’s still no one. If Kaleb is attempting to follow, he’ll have a hard time once we’re on the thruway. I head south, wanting desperately to be home with Maisy, but also wanting to put labyrinthine miles between us and that psychopath.
“Nina, you okay?” Lark asks.
I glance back. She’s sitting up, wedged into the corner. Tyler, I’m proud to say, is giving her space, but their hands are still clasped tight on the seat between them.
She’s pressed her face against the window, but it’s clear that tears streak down her cheeks. Her shoulders shake, but her cries are silent.
Her only response is a shuddering inhale.
My limbs still shake with vanishing adrenaline, but hearing her distress has the effect of focusing my thoughts. I swallow.
“You’re okay, Nina,” I say in as calm a voice as I can manage. Motherhood must have given me great practice, because I sound a lot more certain than I feel.
But she doesn’t turn to look at me. She just sniffles and sobs. I brake for the light at Taft Street.
And then, “He’s g-going to kill me.”
Tyler makes a sound that could be a smothered roar or it could be a foreign oath, but then I hear him inhale through his nose.
“No… He...sh...fu...ckin… n...ot..”
My eyes go wide. Even with the emotion in his voice, I understand him perfectly, but I’m his sister. I glance back to see Nina turn her wet face toward him.
“W-What?” she asks, looking dumbfounded.
Again, Tyler draws in another deep inhale. I bite down on the impulse to speak for him. “No...He...izzz,” he manages the hard Z without turning it into a “sh” sound. My chest swells. “FFFu...cking… not.”
He nails the last word. No drag between the vowel sound and closing consonant. I want to cheer.
