No surprise.
That somehow made it worse.
I reached into my pocket.
Four one-dollar bills.
Three dimes.
I put them on the counter.
“Pump three.”
The cashier looked uncomfortable.
“Ma’am…”
“Pump three.”
Grant turned toward the door.
I felt a flash of relief.
Good.
Let him leave.
Let all of them leave.
I did not want to owe anyone.
Especially strangers.
Especially dangerous-looking strangers.
Then Chloe walked after him.
“Wait.”
I caught her shoulder.
“Chloe.”
Grant stopped.
She looked at him.
“You didn’t get gas.”
His motorcycle had already been filled by another rider.
He pointed outside.
“My friend got it.”
She considered that.
Then looked at her two-dollar bill.
“You really don’t need this?”
Grant crouched again.
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Very sure.”
She stared at him.
“What if your card stops working?”
Grant thought seriously.
“Then I’ll ask you for a loan.”
Chloe smiled.
“How much?”
“Maybe two dollars.”
“You have to pay three back.”
Grant laughed.
So did the cashier.
Even I almost did.
Then one of the bikers entered.
“Grant.”
The smile disappeared from Grant’s face when he saw the rider’s expression.
“What?”
The biker held out his phone.
Grant looked at the screen.
Then at me.
“What?”
I asked.
He did not answer immediately.
“Show me.”
Grant hesitated.
I snapped.
“Show me.”
He turned the phone.
A photograph.
Taken maybe five minutes earlier.
The dark SUV at the tire shop.
Zoomed in.
Its windshield reflected the gas-station awning.
The passenger was visible through the side window.
On the dashboard sat a printed photograph.
Me.
Not an old picture.
A recent one.
I was carrying a laundry basket outside our duplex.
Chloe stood beside me.
My stomach turned.
Grant said softly, “You need police.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“Ma’am.”
“No.”
“You got people following you with photos of your kid.”
“I called police before.”
“And?”
“Nothing happened.”
Grant was quiet.
I heard how bitter my answer sounded.
He did too.
“What happened?”
I looked at Chloe.
Not here.
Grant understood.
He turned to the cashier.
“Got an office?”
The cashier nodded.
Five minutes later, Chloe sat in a back room eating crackers the cashier gave her while two older bikers stood outside the store.
Not guarding us because I requested it.
Because Grant quietly asked whether I wanted somebody near the door.
This time, I said yes.
Then I told him enough.
The duplex.
Bowman.
The relocation dispute.
Broken window.