I Didn’t Order This

I wasn’t prepared to sleep. My mind was still back in the yard, but my body didn’t care.

I remember sitting on the couch, trying to process what had just happened. Sam and Jessica talking over each other. Back and forth. Each of them trying to make sense of what they heard. What we all heard.

None of it made sense.

I closed my eyes.

Just for a second.

When I opened them, the sun was coming up.

Sasha was asleep with her head resting in my lap, like she’d been there the whole time. Like she’d decided I wasn’t allowed to disappear too.

The house felt…normal.

Like it had decided to behave.

No broken glass. No voices. No screaming in the yard.

Just sunlight pushing through the windows. Someone had made coffee while I slept, and the smell drifted in from the kitchen.

Like nothing had happened.

I didn’t trust it.

But I took it anyway.

As I sat up, Sasha sprang off the couch and headed for the back door.

By the time I got my feet under me, she was already pacing. Nails ticking against the hardwood. Scratching at the door. Impatient.

I didn’t know if she needed out—

or if she just wanted to make sure the yard was still there.

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, letting her out.

Cool air slipped in with her. Quiet. Normal.

Behind me, the back door opened again. Sam and Jessica stepped in like they’d timed it.

“Breakfast?” I asked.

Sam handed me a cup of coffee. We fell into an easy rhythm—if you didn’t look too closely.

Sam moved first. Eggs. Pan. Butter. Efficient.

Jessica handled the sides. Toast. Fruit. Something that looked like effort but probably wasn’t.

I was on place-setting duty. Safe territory.

Sasha came back in, shook off the outside, and settled near her bed.

For a minute, it worked.

Three people in a kitchen. Morning light. Small talk.

Normal.

Then Sam checked the back door. Not a glance. A check. Hand on the lock. A small pull to make sure it held.

She moved to the window over the sink. Same thing.

“Expecting someone?” I asked.

“No,” she said.

She checked it again anyway.

We sat down to eat.

Conversation stayed light. Safe topics. Anything that didn’t brush up against last night.

We held it there as long as we could.

Then it slipped. The quiet moved in. Sat with us.

Sam took a sip of her coffee and looked at me over the rim of the cup.

I knew it was coming.

“What are you going to do about Rachel, Bodhi?”

There it was.

I glanced at Jessica.

She wasn’t looking at either of us. Staring somewhere past the wall like the answer might be written there.

I shrugged.

“I don’t know.”

“Come on,” Sam said. “You know what you have to do.”

She reached across the table and touched my hand.

I didn’t pull away right away.

That felt like a mistake.

I moved first.

“I don’t know,” I said again. “What about you? What are you going to do with that monster TV Jessica bought?”

“It is a monster, isn’t it?”

“I knew you’d think that,” Jessica said, finally looking back at us.

“It’s so big we’ll be able to see Kris Murphy’s nose hair.”

Jessica shook her head. “Beautiful people don’t have nose hair.”

“Everyone has nose hair,” I said.

She leaned back, arms crossed. “Well, I know the unattractive do.”

“Wow,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “That felt personal.”

She smirked.

“Enough,” Sam said, but there was something tight under it now. “You never did tell me where you got the money for a new television, Jessica.”

“I told you. I sold a story.”

“It must have been some story.”

“It was.”

Jessica looked right at me when she said it.

Long enough to mean something.

I didn’t ask. Didn’t want to know.

“She bought a car too,” I said instead.

Sam sat up straighter. “I know. A BMW. Someone’s doing very well.”

Jessica rolled her eyes. “Can we not do this?”

“We’re proud of you,” Sam said.

“I get it,” Jessica snapped. “But I’m not giving you details. It was a stupid little story someone paid too much money for.”

“A lot?” Sam pressed.

“Move on, Sam.”

That edge again. Sam held her gaze a second longer than necessary. Then she blinked it away.

She turned back to me. “You’re very good.”

“I am?”

“You dodged my question.”

“Felt like survival.”

“It was.”

Not a joke.

I felt that one land.

“I was thinking,” I said, “after breakfast I’d go talk to Ryan’s mom. See if I can get anything out of her.”

Sam straightened immediately.

“No. That’s not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

She hesitated.

Just a beat.

“Because people are already paying attention.”

The room shifted.

“Who’s paying attention?” I asked.

She didn’t answer that.

“Let me come with you,” she said instead.

“I can go,” Jessica added quickly. Too quickly.

“I think I need to do this myself,” I said.

“Why?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I just… do.”

She stared at me like she wanted to argue.

Didn’t.

Instead, she started gathering plates.

Too fast.

One of them clinked hard against another.

“You don’t have to do that,” I said.

“Someone does,” she snapped.

Then quieter—

“Because you’re not.”

That one stuck.

“You should go get ready,” she added, not looking at me. “You’ve got a lot to do today, Mr. Lewis.”

That one stayed with me.

By the time I came back downstairs, the house was empty.

Dishes done. Dishwasher running.

Like nothing had happened.

Sasha lifted her head, thumped her tail once.

“You’re the only one not mad at me,” I said.

She didn’t argue.

I grabbed my keys and headed out.

I didn’t think about the garage until I was already closing the door behind me.

Didn’t stop.

Didn’t look.

Just got in the Jeep and drove.

Mama Maria’s bakery was quiet.

Too quiet.

No line. No crowd. No chaos.

Just locked doors and someone cleaning inside.

I knocked.

They saw me.

Called to the back.

A moment later, I was let in.

“Thanks,” I said.

No response.

Maria stepped out from the back, wiping her hands.

“Buenos días, Mr. Lewis. As you can see, we’re all out for today.”

Empty cases proved it.

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s on me. Slept in.”

We both smiled.

Neither of us meant it.

“I actually came to talk about Ryan.”

Her expression changed.

Subtle.

Tighter.

“What about Ryan?” she asked.

“He mention anything about a note? Someone giving him a note?”

Her eyes flicked past me.

Not to the door. To one of the tables.

A man sat there with a coffee he wasn’t drinking.

I hadn’t noticed him when I came in.

Maria usually cleared people out before closing. It didn't matter how long they’d been sitting there.

This one was still here.

Didn’t move. Didn’t sip.

He didn’t look at us. He didn’t need to.

“No,” she said. “But he did tell me you yelled at him.”

“I didn’t yell—”

“That’s not what I heard. In fact, you’re starting to yell now,” she cut in.

I stopped. Took a breath.

“My apologies,” I said. “I just want to know who gave him the note. That’s it.”

“You shouldn’t be here asking questions,” she said.

Low. Not angry. Afraid.

“I just want to talk to Ryan—”

“Ryan’s not here.”

Cartoons drifted faintly from the back room. We both heard it.

“Look,” I said, lowering my voice. “I don’t care about Ryan. I just—”

That was the wrong thing to say. The second it left my mouth, I knew it.

“You don’t care about my son?” she snapped.

“No, that’s not—I mean—this isn’t about him—”

Too late.

She came around the counter fast. Faster than I expected. Backed me toward the door with nothing but presence and a pointed finger.

“Seems like all you bring is trouble,” she said. “But not to my children. They’re not going to disappear the way your wife did.”

I stopped moving.

“What does that mean?”

She ducked behind the counter and came back up with a snub-nosed .38.

Everything stopped.

“Okay,” I said carefully. “Maybe I should go.”

“I think that’s wise.”

I backed up. Slow. Hands up. Heart pounding.

“Who got to you?” I asked. “Who’s doing this?”

Her grip tightened on the gun.

“Don’t,” she said.

“Maria—”

“Don’t.”

She pushed me toward the door. Unlocked it with one hand.

“Time for you to go, Mr. Lewis.”

She shoved me out. Hard.

I stumbled onto the sidewalk.

“Don’t come back!” she shouted. “Don’t come near my son!”

Then she turned—

Not to me. To the street.

“See!” she yelled. “I didn’t tell him anything!”

I froze.

“Who are you talking to?”

She didn’t answer.

Just backed into the store and slammed the door. Locked it.

I turned.

Through the bakery window, the man at the table remained exactly where he’d been. His coffee was still untouched.

Across the street, a dark sedan sat with its engine running. It pulled away slowly, like it had nowhere else to be.

I sat in the Jeep for a minute. Hands on the wheel. Didn’t start it.

My head was still back inside.

Maria. The gun. Like it wasn’t even a question.

The guy at the table. Coffee going cold. Not drinking. Just… there.

The sedan pulling away like it had been waiting for something.

For me.

I exhaled. Slow.

“Okay,” I said.

Nothing about that was normal.

Not Maria. Not the guy. Not the way her eyes kept tracking past me like she already knew how it was going to go.

Sam’s voice pushed its way in.

People are already paying attention.

Rachel’s voice—

I shut that down. Not now.

I gripped the wheel tighter.

Think.

Maria was scared. Not angry. Scared.

Of me?

No.

Of what I was asking. Of where I was going.

The farm.

The thought landed harder than everything else.

I sank into my seat. I couldn’t move. Something was tugging me in that direction, but I couldn’t make sense of what it was or why. I turned the key. Pulled out. Made it half a block.

The tire blew. Flat.

I stared at it. Then up at the empty street.

“Of course,” I muttered.

Dealing with the tire took most of the day.

I swapped on the spare myself. Took longer than it should have. My hands didn’t want to cooperate, like they were still stuck somewhere else.

I drove slow after that. Every sound the Jeep made felt like the beginning of something worse.

The shop wasn’t far. Still felt like it took forever.

About halfway there, I saw the truck.

White. Idling on the side of the road. Hazard lights blinking like a pulse.

I almost passed it.

Then the driver’s door opened.

“Hey,” the guy called out. “You remember me?”

I slowed. Something about his voice stuck. Not familiar exactly. Just… persistent. Like a song you don’t realize you know until the chorus hits.

I rolled the window down.

He stepped closer. Older. Weathered. Ball cap pulled low. Tow truck logo on the side of the vehicle behind him.

And then it clicked.

Gas. Three years ago.

Bourbon Street.

Then Shingle Point Road.

The worst day of my life.

Not that now was doing much better.

“Yeah,” I said slowly. “You brought me gas.”

He nodded once, like that confirmed something for him.

“Car trouble again?” he asked, glancing at the Jeep.

“Flat,” I said. “I’ve got a spare on. Just heading to a shop.”

“Mm.” He studied me a second longer than necessary. Not the Jeep. Me.

“They say the beginning of wisdom is this,” he said. “Get wisdom.”

I frowned. “Is that from a fortune cookie or something?”

“Something.”

A beat passed. Wind moved through the trees. His hazard lights kept blinking. On. Off. On. Off.

“You need a hand?” he asked.

“Nah,” I said. “I’ve got it. There’s a mechanic not far from here.”

“Good.” He nodded again, slower this time. “Still… good to know where the help is.”

Something in the way he said it made my stomach tighten.

I forced a small shrug. “Yeah.”

He started backing toward his truck, then stopped with his hand on the door.

“Things don’t stay simple,” he said, almost like he was reminding himself. Then he looked back at me. “But you won’t be by yourself in it.”

I blinked. “What?”

He didn’t answer that. Just gave me a faint smile that didn’t quite settle anywhere.

“I’m around,” he said.

Then he got in the truck and pulled away, hazards clicking off as he merged back onto the road.

Gone just like that.

I sat there for a second longer than I meant to.

Then I shook it off, put the Jeep in gear, and kept driving.

By the time I stepped into the shop, the place hit me all at once—grease, oil, burnt coffee, stale cigarettes. The kind of smell that clings to your clothes and sits behind your eyes until it turns into a headache.

Mine came fast.

It didn’t help that one of my cards declined. I stared at the machine like it might explain itself.

It didn't.

I didn't have the energy to argue with it, either. I had enough cash.

Barely.

I counted the bills onto the counter. One of the mechanics gathered them without counting. No receipt.

The guys at the shop didn’t seem interested in helping me. Too many looks. Not enough words. Like I’d walked in with something they didn’t want.

Then the boss came out. Took one look at me. Then at the Jeep.

“It’s all right, boys,” he said. “One tire change ain’t gonna kill nobody.”

That settled it. It didn’t feel like it should have.

By the time I got back, Sam and Jessica were getting ready to go out.

Different energy than the morning.

I was dragging. They weren’t.

They moved fast. Talked faster. Like standing still wasn’t an option. Like if they slowed down, something might catch up.

“Hey,” I said.

They both turned.

I hesitated.

Didn’t know how to say it without sounding crazy.

“Just… be careful,” I said. “There’s…” I trailed off. Shook my head. “Something’s off today.”

Jessica opened her mouth. Closed it.

Sam didn’t smile.

“You too,” she said.

They left.

The house went quiet again.

Not peaceful. Not calm. Quiet like something was waiting.

Sasha thumped her tail. I scratched behind her ears.

“Just you and me, girl.”

She wagged.

I looked toward the door. The locks were still in place. Everything where it should be.

Still—

It didn’t feel safe anymore.

Like something out there had started paying attention. And it wasn’t going to stop.