I move closer and hear the sound of someone smacking their lips. I look around the corner. The refrigerator door is open and it blocks my view of the table. I can see under the door that a pair of size eleven shoes are planted on the floor. I see who it is and re-holster my .45.
“Hayden,” I say. I push the refrigerator door shut.
He says, “I let myself in,” and goes back to munching on his sad sack sandwich. I see an empty packet of tuna, a jar of peanut butter, and a jar of jam on the table. Only Hayden would eat a PB&J and tuna on stale bread. I want to vomit.
“I can see that,” I say. “I thought I had a burglar.”
“No. Just me,” he says, as if his sudden appearance after ducking out on me is normal. “Where were you last night?”
I don’t answer. I’m still protecting him from the bad things. “Can I get you something to drink with that?”
“You’re out of Scotch. I looked in your cabinets but the bottle was empty. Well, it is now.”
I pull out an empty chair and sit. “Do you want to talk?”
He gets up and goes to the doorway. “No. I just wanted something to eat. I was here last night and you weren’t home. I’ve gotta go.”
He says this in an accusatory tone, like he expects me to never be around. I want to explain.
“Hayden,” I say, but he’s gone. I hear the front door shut.
I sit for a minute or two. I don’t know what’s going on here. I don’t know if he’s trying to punish me. I know he picked the lock. I didn’t know he could do that. I never taught him. Maybe Mom did. Or maybe it’s something he learned in the service. It doesn’t matter. I’ll have to put a better lock on the door. I want him to come back, but not like that.
I get up and pull a kitchen chair to the front door. I lock the door and wedge the chair back under the doorknob. I go to my office and open the desk drawer. Hayden’s right. The bottle is empty. He left the cap on top of my desk. I flick it into the trash can.
There’s part of a box of wine in the refrigerator. I get it and an empty jelly jar that I use for a cup and bring it back into the office. I twist the knob on the wine box and fill the jar with Zinfandel. “Zinfandel” rhymes with “Infidel,” sort of. And that’s how Hayden, fresh back from Afghanistan, makes me feel.
One minute I’m walking on air, realizing that Dan cares about me. The next I’m treated like I have an infectious disease by my brother.
I open the drawer where I keep the tape player and box of tapes. It doesn’t look disturbed, but I’ll have to buy a safe that I can bolt to the floor. Too many people know too much about me as it is.
I take the tape player out, slide a cassette into the slot, and hit “play.” While the tape reel catches up, I lean back and sip the wine.
Dr. A: You felt betrayed by Monique?
Me: Yes. Monique was the only real connection I had to a normal world. I’d lied to Hayden when I promised I’d be back for him and left him with my aunt Ginger. I was still on the run. The police in Port Orchard were still looking for me to ask about my stepfather’s murder. When I called Monique for help, it was because she was the only person I could turn to. When she told me she couldn’t help me anymore, I took it to mean she didn’t want to. And when I found out she gave away all the evidence we needed to prove Alex Rader was a serial killer, I think I hated her. She told me Michael Rader had threatened her and her children, but I was in a pinch myself. I wasn’t thinking about her safety.
Dr. A: But now you are?
Me: Yeah. I know she was scared. I don’t know what I would have done if someone threatened to hurt or kill Hayden. I guess I would have done the same thing. But at the time I couldn’t believe she was letting me down. To me it felt like a betrayal. My whole life was like that. Everyone I