been the poor ones in the neighborhood. They’d lived in one of the nicer areas in Waco—her father had inherited the house from his own father—and she’d been surrounded by the children of accountants and doctors and oil executives. She could still picture the look on the popular girls’ faces when it was her mom’s turn to host her Girl Scout troop. Mindy had wrinkled her cute little nose when she saw the linoleum kitchen floor and the ancient toaster oven languishing on the countertop. Cait had overheard her telling the other girls that it was a “trash house,” and the girls had all laughed. She’d never heard that term before, but she knew instantly what it meant and that it was probably true. After they’d gone home, her mom had given her a couple of scoops of ice cream and told her not to listen to “those little bitches,” but of course she had, and from then on she felt like she saw everything in her life through Mindy’s eyes. The couch where she’d curl up with her mother and watch old movies suddenly looked tattered, the bedroom her three brothers shared suddenly seemed cramped and sad—no one else in her class had to share a room, never mind a bunk bed—and her mom’s Friday tuna noodle casserole, which had been her favorite, suddenly tasted weird and cheap. Trash food, she would think as she sank her fork into it.
Nine was the year when she discovered that all of the things she’d loved about her life were actually not good enough.
She drained her coffee, sediment leaving a bitter trail down her throat, and signaled the waitress for a refill. She mashed her fork into the slice of pie. Now that it was in front of her, she didn’t want it. The cherries were near-fluorescent red and covered in thick, syrupy goop. She pushed her plate away. The coffee would have to be enough to get her through.
She scanned the room. The four-top was still there in the back, the table littered with torn-up sugar packets and half-drunk cups of coffee. She saw one of them pass a flask under the table. She upped the tip she’d leave for the waitress, who had a long shift ahead of her, trying to get those guys out the door.
The cook had come back in from his cigarette break and was now standing at the pass, cell phone in hand. The waitress was at the refill station, taking her sweet time picking up the coffeepot. Cait’s eyes snagged on a man sitting at the counter. She hadn’t noticed him before. Middle-aged. Jeans and T-shirt. Nothing special about him. Still, she felt a seed of unease start to germinate in her stomach. She had to be alert all the time—wasn’t that the motto at Sisters of Service? “Ever watchful, ever vigilant.” When she’d become a driver for them, she’d sat through eight hours of training on an overcast Sunday, where they went over and over the necessary safety precautions. The drivers would be using their own cars—the organization couldn’t afford a fleet—but would be given plates registered to a dummy address in Dallas. They weren’t allowed to tell anyone where they were going or whom they were driving. No cell phones. No photos. No last names. And always, always assume the worst. At the time, she’d thought it was a little excessive, but she’d learned to appreciate the stakes. Especially since the man at the counter had turned to stare at Rebecca.
It wasn’t the kind of pervy once-over she’d had so often herself and would expect a woman as pretty as Rebecca to get all the time. There was something behind his eyes that went beyond trying to imagine a woman naked. He looked like he wanted to strip her down to the bone.
Cait intercepted his gaze and didn’t smile. That was what she did when guys did things like this: she challenged them. If growing up in a houseful of meathead brothers had taught her anything, it was not to back down from a fight. If they smell weakness on you, you’re a goner.
She kept her eyes locked on him. He had the good sense to look away, but after a couple of beats, his eyes were back on Rebecca. There was something desperate behind them, hungry. It scared the hell out of her.
Calm down, she told herself. Focus. Use your eyes to assess the situation. What do you see?