Trickiest Job
“My bun unwinds and my hair cascades over my shoulders.
He looks the same… too much so. Just under six feet tall, with the same bristly mustache and thick head of chestnut hair. He was always a vain man, and I see that hasn’t changed.
I swallow even though my mouth is dry, and my throat burns as I gag on nothing. I dive for one of the bottles of water and it dribbles onto my lap as I take a desperate sip.
By the time I look up again, the limo driver is about to open the door.
My grandfather is staring hard at the car.
I pull my legs and arms in close. It’s an instinct—my grandfather can’t possibly see me. If anything, he’s trying to gauge the net worth of the men who unexpectedly showed up at his house.
The men get into the limo, and it smoothly pulls away. Even though I’d like to turn, to watch my childhood home until it’s out of sight, I don’t want to remember it with my grandfather standing there, blocking the entrance.
“So,” I say, and it comes out weak. “That was close.”
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