First message
An ordinary Thursday.
The car’s waiting. Let’s go, her father said, pulling on his coat.
Her mother was already in the hall. Tailored dress, gentle hands.
Sweetheart, you look wonderful. As always, she said, fixing her daughter’s hair as she watched her reflection in the mirror.
A crash came from outside.
Someone was kicking the door of the neighboring townhouse.
You can’t just refuse to let me retake the fucking exam, asshole! some guy shouted.
The family stepped outside.
He turned. And stared at the girl.
No fear. No shame. Not the slightest trace of manners. His eyes dragged over her with such open interest that he seemed to forget why he was there.
Well, fuck me, he said, leaning against the railing with a crooked grin. That’s a whole goddamn strawberry cake.
The door opened. Their neighbor, Mr. Ambrose, stepped outside.
Mr. Ford. My office hours are from three to six. In my office. I know you can tell time.
Mr. Ford wasn’t listening.
He was still staring at the strawberry cake.
Her father put a firm hand between her shoulder blades and guided his frozen daughter into the car. Before getting in, he gave River one long, unmistakable warning look.
River’s grin widened.
The car pulled away.
The girl kept looking back at him through the window until they turned the corner.