“We should go,” she said quickly. “Dad gets mad when we are late.”
I walked her back to the parking lot where Calvin’s gray pickup truck waited near the curb. He leaned against the driver’s door scrolling through his phone with an expression that looked bored rather than concerned.
When he saw us approaching he forced a polite smile.
“Afternoon, Mr. Grant,” he said.
“Afternoon,” I replied.
Ava climbed into the passenger seat without another word. Calvin nodded once, started the engine, and drove away.
I stood in the parking lot longer than necessary watching the truck disappear beyond the trees.
That evening I closed Grant Family Market later than usual because a delivery truck arrived past sunset. After the last customer left and the cash registers were counted, I sat alone in the small office behind the produce section.
The quiet hum of the refrigerator units filled the room.
I kept thinking about Ava’s whisper.
Just follow him.
The following Tuesday I closed the store early and parked across the street from Calvin’s house. The small two story building stood on Maple Ridge Lane, a quiet neighborhood where porch lights flickered on as dusk settled over the lawns.