Killing Sarai

30

I don't get up right away. I just gaze out over the grass at the car, knowing what I want to do but having a hard time figuring out if it's what I should do. But then finally I stand up, giving in to that desire and I pick the money up from the ground and set out for the car.

The window slides down seconds before I get there.

"Who was Mrs. Gregory?" Victor asks with both hands resting casually on the steering wheel.

I open the door and get inside; there's no need for either of us to question or explain why he's here. We both know already. For the most part.

I close the door.

"She was more like a mother to me than my real mother."

A light breeze moves through the opened window and brushes through my hair.

Victor remains quiet looking at me, letting me relive the moments. I keep my eyes trained out ahead, peering into the darkness through the spotless windshield.

"I spent most of my time with her," I go on, seeing only Mrs. Gregory's face in my mind now. "She fed me dinner in the evenings and we'd watch CSI together. She loved baking her own seasoned Chex Mix." I glance over, laughing lightly. "She was a mean old woman. Not to me, of course, but she told my mom off a number of times. And once, one of my mom's boyfriends came over to Mrs. Gregory's looking for me-" I glance over again sharply and say, "He was one of the jerks who thought because he was sleeping with my mother that he could tell me what to do. Anyway, he rapped hard on Mrs. Gregory's door, calling out my name. It was so funny." I laugh again, resting my head back on the headrest. "She came to the door with a shotgun in her hand. It wasn't loaded, but it didn't need to be. That guy looked like somebody just kicked him in the nuts. He never came over there looking for me again."

I feel the smile fade from my lips as other memories appear.

"She got real sick once," I say distantly. "Had to have some kind of artery surgery, I don't know, but I remember being so scared she was going to die.

But she made it through." My head falls to the side, still resting against the headrest, and I look right into Victor's eyes. "But what I'll always remember her for the most was that she taught me how to play the piano. For five years, from the time I was eight-years-old when I met her, up until I started hanging out with my best friend more, Mrs. Gregory taught me nearly every day it seemed.

I'd head over there after school, sometimes forgetting about my homework, and I'd play until my fingers ached." I look downward toward the dashboard, regretful. "I wish I never would've met Bailey. I still feel bad to this day for replacing Mrs. Gregory with my friend."

I can't talk about this anymore. I shake it off and inhale deeply, raising my head from the seat. And then I pass the money over toward him, urging him to take it.

"Keep it," Victor says, shifting the car into Drive. "You will need it later."

I push it down between my seat and the console.

"You know, you're in danger of becoming a trusted member of society," I jest.

I see his eyes move toward me briefly without moving his head.

"Perhaps," he says, pulling onto the freeway. "Just let it be known that if that's the case, I'll have to tie you up again." He looks over at me and although his lips aren't smiling, I see that his eyes are.

I turn toward the window beside me because unlike Victor, I have absolutely no control over the smile on my face and I can't risk letting him see it.

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