Page 39 of Show Me

“You’ve been leaving right on time lately.”

Something in the wording prickles. “That’s when my shift ends.”

“Right. Just seems like you’re in a hurry to get out of here.”

Why in the fuck would I stay later? “I have a life outside the front desk.”

“Of course,” he says, smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Just remember, this place runs smoother when you’re here.”

The compliment lands wrong. What’s that supposed to mean? That he expects me to work for free? “I’ll be here tomorrow.”

He studies me a second longer, then steps aside. “Drive safe.”

“Always do.”

I grab my bag and stride for the door, the lilies and roses still sitting on the desk behind me. I didn’t throw them out. I don’t know why. I guess because they’re pretty and didn’t do anything to offend me. It was the sender that stepped out of line, not the flowers themselves.

Outside, the evening air is colder than it was this morning as the sky fades toward dusk. Dark clouds settle on the horizon as lightning crackles in the distance. The parking lot is half empty, long shadows stretching between the cars.

I hit the unlock button and approach my car. Something white flutters under the wiper blade. My stomach drops as I stop a few feet away, scanning the lot.

Several parking spots away, a couple loads gym bags into an SUV as someone else jogs down the sidewalk with earbuds in, and a minivan pulls out of the lot. Normal. Ordinary. No one watching.

Or at least, no one obvious.

I pull the folded paper free with fingers that don’t feel entirely steady. It’s handwritten. A few short lines, looping script that’s different from the block letters on the package and the flower card.

Roses are red.

The sky’s turning gray.

I watch you leave.

At the end of each day.

My pulse roars in my ears as I turn, scanning the lot again. The windows of the gym reflect the fading light, mirrors hiding anyone who might be standing inside.

Someone could be watching. Someone could’ve watched. My skin prickles as my heart pounds in my ears. Someone put this under my windshield.

“It’s nothing,” I whisper to myself as the roll of thunder rumbles the ground. “It’s stupid. It’s a joke.”

Except, it doesn’t feel like a joke. I crumple the paper in my fist, then smooth it back out. This could be evidence. Of what, I don’t know, but tossing it into the trash feels wrong.

I get in the car and lock the doors. My hands tremble once on the steering wheel. I’m not going home. I’m going to Emily’s.

Emily’s house glows warm against the early dark, porch light casting a soft circle across the steps. I knock once before the door swings open.

Emily stands there in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, baby Grace balanced on her hip, tiny fingers tangled in Emily’s hair.

“Ruby?” Her eyes widen. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to come in.”

She steps aside. “Of course.”

The house smells like baby powder and something simmering on the stove. Jake looks up from the couch, where he’s assembling something small and plastic with the concentration of a man defusing a bomb.

He stands when he sees my face. “What happened?”