It had not managed to teach her selfishness.
The biker looked again toward the SUV.
I followed his gaze.
Still parked.
Still running.
Then the passenger door opened.
A man stepped out.
Gray shirt.
My neighbor’s description flashed through my mind.
My knees weakened.
The biker noticed.
“You recognize him.”
I could not speak.
The man across the road looked directly toward us.
Then he raised a phone.
Not casually.
Camera pointed our direction.
The biker’s voice changed.
“Everybody fuel up.”
Nobody asked why.
But the atmosphere changed immediately.
A biker who had been cleaning his windshield put the rag down.
Two men near the store entrance moved apart, giving themselves a wider view.
Another walked toward the far pumps.
Not threatening.
Not dramatic.
Just positioning.
The leader looked at me.
“Inside.”
I shook my head.
“What?”
“Take your daughter inside the store.”
I hesitated.
The SUV passenger lowered his phone.
The leader’s jaw tightened.
“Now, ma’am.”
That was the first time his voice became hard.
Not cruel.
Commanding.
Fear made me angry.
“I’m not taking orders from you.”
“Good.”
He pointed toward the glass-fronted convenience store.
“Take one from your own survival instinct.”
I stared at him.
He continued.
“If those men mean nothing, you lose five minutes.”
His eyes moved to Chloe.
“If they do mean something, she gets behind locked glass.”
That decided it.
I grabbed Chloe’s hand.
We moved toward the store.
The leader walked beside us but remained several steps away.
Enough distance not to crowd me.
The automatic door opened.
Cold air hit my skin.
Chloe gasped.
It felt wonderful.
The cashier looked up.
“What’s going on?”
The biker leader answered.
“Lock your back door.”
The cashier blinked.
“What?”
“Please.”
Maybe it was the word please.
Maybe the man’s face.
The cashier did it.
I guided Chloe behind a display near the register.
She looked up at me.
“Mommy?”
“I’m figuring it out.”
There were those words again.
The biker stood at the entrance.
He did not come deeper into the store.
Through the glass, I saw four of his companions standing near our Honda.
Not touching it.
Not blocking it.
Simply there.
The gray-shirted man crossed the highway.
Another man remained inside the SUV.
The biker leader pushed the convenience-store door open and stepped outside.
The gray-shirted man stopped several yards away.
I could not hear everything through the glass.
Only fragments.
“Private matter.”
“Woman knows me.”
Then the biker leader.
“She says otherwise.”
The man in gray pointed toward the store.
“I work for her landlord.”
That sentence destroyed the final piece of doubt.
Bowman.
My hands started shaking.
Chloe noticed.
She took my fingers.
“Mommy.”
I looked down.
Her stuffed rabbit was pressed under her chin.
“I’m okay.”
She knew I was lying.
Children always know.