She shrugs. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to go later with Graham.”
With Graham? No, that definitely won’t work.
“Can’t you drop me off at the dog park while you go shopping?”
She shakes her head. “I can’t do that. It’s not safe.”
A muscle twitches in my jaw. “It’s not safe? I’m a grown woman. What do you think I’m going to do?”
Camila’s pretty brown eyes darken. “It’s my job to stay with you today. We’re going shopping together, then you’ll go to the dog park later. Got it?”
I open my mouth to protest, but then I realize it’s pointless. I won’t convince Camila of anything. But once she unlocks that door, there’s not much she can do. She can’t tackle me to keep me from walking away from her. I’ll pretend to go shopping with her, but then when I’m at the supermarket, I’ll just leave.
“Fine,” I say.
Camila rubs her chin, studying my face. Finally, she nods. “All right, then. Let’s get going.”
I never asked what season it is, but I surmised from all the leaves in our backyard that it must be early fall. Camila opens up the hall closet and hands me a gray zip-up sweater. The feel of the sweater is so soft in my hands, I want to wrap my whole body in it. I want to bathe in this sweater. I check the label.
“Cashmere!”
Camila snorts. “It sure is.”
I look at the sweater, almost too intimidated to put it on. “I can’t afford cashmere.”
“Of course you can. You guys are rich.”
I think back to all of those articles I read about my company. About how well it was doing. I still can’t quite wrap my head around it. It feels like it must be some sort of mistake.
Either way, I already own this sweater. So I may as well put it on.
Ziggy seems heartbroken that we’re not taking him with us on our trip. I’m not sure who feels worse about it—him or me. Camila unlocks the front door with the key around her neck, and I observe her carefully, noticing the shape of the key. There’s got to be a spare key around here somewhere. They wouldn’t risk being trapped here if there were a fire or something.
Camila drives a rusty green Nissan that’s parked out in front of the house. As we walk out to her car, I wonder what she would do if I took off running. Would she chase me? Call the police? In any case, I don’t think it would be a great idea to make a scene in my own neighborhood. I’ll get away from her at the supermarket, which is only a short walk from the dog park.
“So how does it usually work when we go shopping?” I ask as I buckle myself in. “Do I have to follow you around?”
Camila starts up the car, which makes a strange crunching noise. It doesn’t instill a lot of confidence in me. But I’m already brain damaged—what’s the worst that could happen? “You usually grab a basket and do your own shopping.”
“Except I won’t remember what I bought by tomorrow.”
“True.” She winks at me. “But isn’t the shopping part the most fun?”
Camila slides a pair of sunglasses onto her nose, then she takes off down the block, the wheels of the car screeching in protest. As she drives far too fast, she fiddles with the radio controls using her right hand. She hits on an R&B station and turns the volume all the way up. I want to text the stranger to let them know I won’t make it to meet them, but I can’t let Camila see me doing it. If this person truly wants to help me, I can’t risk it.
The dog park is on the way to the supermarket. It’s about the halfway point. I look out the window as we approach the park, my heart accelerating.
The dog park is a large enclosed space at the far end of the park—fenced in so the dogs can roam free without fear of them running away. Camila skids to a stop at a red light, so I get a closer look at the dog park. There are three people inside. Two of them are women, who are animatedly chatting with each other. That leaves the other occupant of the dog park.
It’s a man. I can tell that much. But it’s hard to tell much else. He’s wearing a dark baseball cap low on his forehead, a pair of sunglasses concealing his eyes, and a beard covers the lower half of his face. He’s wearing a pair of baggy jeans and a dark brown jacket, his hands shoved deep into the jacket pockets.
I stare at this man. Is this the person who’s been texting me? Is that possible?
The man looks up at the Nissan. Even though he’s got on his sunglasses, I can feel his eyes on me. He’s staring right at me. And then he takes his sunglasses off.