At eleven, I walk through the door to the garages, a sigh on my lips. I see Jerome immediately, waiting by one of the black cars. He gives me a big smile, which I return unenthusiastically. It’s not him – I just…really don’t want to go to lunch at my father’s house.
Jerome gives me an understanding little grimace as he opens the back door for me and I climb in.
“You doing all right?” he calls over his shoulder as opens the driver’s door and sits down in the front seat, genuinely curious.
“Just ready for this to be over,” I say back to him, leaning my head back and closing my eyes. Jerome makes a little grunt of understanding and begins to pull out of the garage and down the driveway.
When we’re on the road, I pull out my burner phone to send some long-delayed texts. I feel safe usi
