Page 37 of When In Doubt

Freya

I’ve got customers, chat later okay?

Luci

Freya.

I lock my phone. As the screen turns black, I’m confronted by my own reflection. My red lipstick looks garish against my now ashen complexion. I flip it over, unable to stand it any longer.

The pit widens.

Chapter Twelve

FREYA

Four steps. Knock. Go inside. Eat dinner. Go home.

No big deal.

I really thought I’d be able to think of an excuse, to fend off Valerie until she realized she’d made a mistake inviting me. But no. She’s been like a dog with a bone since the Open House last week.

Now I’m standing at the bottom of her porch steps, heart pounding, wondering how mad she’d be if I just bolted.

Four steps. Knock. Go inside.

I repeat it to myself like a mantra as I move, pausing in front of the door to take some deep breaths. I squeeze my eyes shut, convincing myself that there’s nothing to panic about, despite the blood roaring in my ears.

It’s just dinner. It’s dinner with a nice lady I’ve talked to dozens of times. And her son, who I’m sure will be perfectly pleasant. I need to get in, eat the mac and cheese I was promised, make tepid small talk for approximately ninety minutes, and then go home. I’ll be curled up with a knitting project and some bad reality TV before I know it.

“You good?” The low drawl has my eyes flying open, and my stomach plummets to my feet.

Leaning against the now open doorway, arms crossed over his chest and that always-assessing gaze trained on me, is Oscar.

I have to root my feet to the boards to stop myself from spinning on my heel and running for my car. What the hell is he doing here? As soon as I have the thought, the answer hits me.

“Valerie’s your mom?”

Oscar frowns, pushing away from the doorframe. “You didn’t know?”

“No? How would I?”

He shrugs. “Everyone knows.”

“I guess I’m not everyone.” I huff.

He pauses, chewing the inside of his cheek. “You certainly are not.”

His eyes catch mine and the intensity there leaves me reeling. I can’t make sense of it, of his words or the way he’s staring at me. None of it feels the way it should with a guy I hardly know, but I can’t pinpoint why.

“You coming in?” He steps out, gesturing for me to lead the way inside.

As we head into the house, the first thing that strikes me is just how many pictures there are. It’s like a gallery, framed photographs on almost every surface and lining each wall. They’re all different sizes, with no two frames the same, but the way they’ve been arranged looks meticulous. It’s as if someone spent days working out how to get as many memories into the space as possible.

“Is that Freya?” Valerie calls through from what I assume is the kitchen, going by the smell that’s wafting out of it.

“Yeah,” Oscar calls back. “We’ll be there in a second.”

He leads me forward, but my feet catch as we draw up next to a large photograph, the biggest on this part of the wall. In it is a little boy with shaggy brown hair, holding up a fish as he stands by a lake, a tall man next to him with an arm wrapped around his shoulders.