“Hi, Mom.” I don’t hide all my exasperation.
“I know, I know, we were just there.” She repeats the thoughts I just had, and I can hear my dad sighing in the background. “I just wanted to check in, see if maybe you changed your mind.”
“Thank you, but no. I promise I’m okay.”
She spent the day trying to convince me to come spend the night, and tomorrow night and probably the rest of my life, with them in their little apartment.
I obviously refused.
It’s Saturday. I was supposed to fly home from Mexico yesterday, but after the whole bus highjacking on Thursday, the authorities made us stick around an extra day to give statements.
It was weird, and stressful, and long, and… confusing.
“Well, if you decide you want to come over, you are always welcome,” Mom reminds me.
“I know, Mom. But I just want to try and get back to normal.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I am,” I sigh. “It was freaky.” Seeing three men die, and hearing more get shot, should be more than freaky… but that’s a worry for intrusive thoughts later. “But it’s not like I was personally targeted. No one is coming after me. And even if the guys who attacked us wanted to travel all the way to Minnesota to steal me, or whatever the plan was, they’re all dead,” I try to reason.
“Except the man in the mask,” Mom argues back.
I glance through the big picture window in my living room to Hans’s house. “He helped us, Mom.”
When we gave our statements, I lied. I told the police officers the man in the mask had blue eyes and tattoos on the visible part of his neck. And that the tiny bits of hair I could see in the mask eye holes were black.
I gave my parents the same description.
I don’t know why I lied.
No, that’s another lie.
I lied because a part of me believes that the man in the mask is Hans.
I still don’t understand how it’s possible. I only know what I saw and what I felt when I saw him. And if it is him… If there’s even a chance that the man who saved our lives on that stupid, sweaty bus was Hans, then I can’t let him get in trouble for it.
My coworkers were all pretty rattled, so I don’t know if any of them even noticed his long hair or his eye color, but my contradicting eyewitness should confuse matters enough that no one will come looking for my neighbor.
Mom exhales. “I know. I’m just worried about you being alone in that house.”
“I’ll be fine.” I roll my lips, then add, “If I need anything, Hans is just across the street.”
She makes a sound of agreement. “Okay, fine. I’ll let you go.”
“Thanks. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay. Good night, Cassie. I love you.”
My dad shouts his love through the phone.
“Love you both.”
Ending the call, I set my phone back on the counter.
I often wonder if having siblings would’ve made my parents less involved in my life, but I don’t think it would’ve mattered. They are who they are. And, annoying or not, it’s nice having people who care.
My eyes wander back to the front windows.
Hans doesn’t have that.
There’s obviously a lot I still don’t know about his past, most of it, really, but I know his parents are gone. I know his sister is gone. That she was murdered.
I bite my lip.
If it really was him in Mexico, if Hans really is the man who so swiftly and violently saved us, is that because of his past?
My nose twitches as an unpleasant scent hits it.
“Oh shit!” I spin around and snatch the hot mitts off the counter before yanking open the oven door.
A mixture of steam and smoke billows out, and I use the mitts to fan it away.
“Damn it.” Lifting out the tray, I can see the darkened edges around the too-flat cookies.
“No!” I whine, knowing I’ve burned them.
After shutting the oven door, I turn it off and set the tray on top of the stove.
A few of the chunks of sweet corn that are sticking out of the cookies caught fire. There are no flames now, just smoke trailing from the burnt little chunks.
I look at the Post-it note I already filled out for Hans—the words mocking me. Charred sweet corn cookies indeed. The charring was supposed to only be from when I flash seared the fresh sweet corn. A little note of umami flavor to the sugar sweetness. Not charred to within an inch of its life.
My eyes start to sting, and I realize how hazy it is in the kitchen.