THE TRUTHS WE HIDE - Signed Omnibus

No one ever expects to be held captive by three men who intend to murder them. No. They go about their lives, oblivious to the imminent danger around the corner—even when it’s only a few hours away.

Just like I was doing right now while Dad watched the evening news, the anchor’s voice piercing through our townhouse.

“Another brazen robbery last night, this one in the River North neighborhood. Where police say two armed men broke into a home and stole over $20,000 worth of valuables.”

Twenty grand. Jeez, Louise. I wish I had that kind of money. I glared at my latest utilities bill, which had been haunting my countertop for the past five days, as if a contagious plague would sicken me the moment I opened it. 

Which was stupid. I’d turned off the air conditioner despite the sweltering summer heat, so I bet it was under a hundred. Maybe even below ninety. It had to be. Anything beyond that, I was screwed, even with my upcoming paycheck.

I tore a tiny corner open with my nail and then slowly ripped a line down the envelope, taking a deep breath before I unfolded the paper and looked at the amount owed.

$154.12. 

Ugh.

Maybe by some miracle, another bill hadn’t cleared yet, and I could do that magic juggling thing, where this bill got paid while another was in limboland. I opened the banking app on my phone and checked my balance.

Nope. A whopping $25.57 sat in my checking account, pre-grocery shopping. Pre.

Deep breath. You made a fantastic case to Michael, and he was supportive of your ask. 

For two years, the company I worked for had not given raises to anyone, citing pressures from the economy. While I didn’t think I was above others, I’d watched a TED Talk that inspired me to put a business case together and be brave enough to ask for one. To advocate for myself. As a marketing analyst, my work this past year had brought in $1,500,000 in advertising fees to our company, which was $350,000 over my target. I’d worked my butt off to accomplish that, and I was mega proud of it. And yet, when it came time for my performance review? I got a pat on the back instead of a raise. 

Again.

This time, I decided to stand up and ask for what I felt was fair—something I did professionally with a lot of financials to back up my request. And the great news? My boss, Michael, was taking it to HR yesterday, who had the final say.

He probably hadn’t emailed yet because he was trying stupendously hard to get a yes. Or maybe he was able to secure more than the five percent I’d asked for and wanted to share the good news in person. 

I checked my phone anyway. 

Holy crap. 

There’s his email. 

My heart spasmed as I opened it.

Re: Raise request

Zoey,

As discussed, I spoke with HR about your request for a raise. Unfortunately, they will not make exceptions to the company-wide policy of no annual adjustments this year. I’m sorry it wasn’t the answer we were hoping for, but please know your hard work is very much valued in this company, and hopefully, next year might be a different answer. 

Sincerely, 

Michael

Damn. 

The company withholding raises for all employees sucked, but what sucked even more was that this put me back to ground zero with solving our financial problems.

My eyes stung.

“Everything okay?” Dad asked.

I cleared my throat and smiled. “Fine,” I lied. 

Dad hadn’t been able to work since his accident, and as it turned out, my marketing job wasn’t enough to pay for everything my dad needed. His prescriptions alone were seven hundred dollars a month.

Seven. Hundred. Dollars. My older brother, Anthony—who lived on the other side of the country and was desperate to help after the accident—sent us more money each month than he could probably afford. It covered half of Dad’s meds, and I was immensely grateful for that, but there was still the other half. And that didn’t include medical bills, physical therapy, and all the other stuff he needed if he had any hope of recovering.

Lesson learned: Don’t fall victim to an accident. It could screw you and your family. 

But I guess that wasn’t entirely fair. If it had happened when Dad was still employed with health insurance, our financial situation wouldn’t be in a complete tailspin right now. 

Whatever. I couldn’t let this setback stop me from focusing on my goals: help my father recover and regain his independence, so we could both get our lives back and get justice for him against the son of a bitch who hit Dad with their car and then sped off without even checking if he was alive.

Justice that hadn’t come in the eight months since it happened.

Dad resumed staring at the news story and said, “I don’t want you going anywhere near that neighborhood.” As if I were a teenager and not a twenty-six-year-old woman. 

“We have nothing to worry about.” 

Not as far as robberies went, anyway—those felons only targeted rich people, and we were anything but rich. Our rented townhouse that hugged the outskirts of Chicago was long overdue for a renovation. Its cherry wood doors, cabinets, and trim had suffered so much damage in the forty years since it’d been installed that in some places, baseboards had turned black with water damage, which came with the added bonus of omitting a faint smell of mold. The matching hardwood floors weren’t much better, chipped and scratched in more places than it wasn’t, and the kitchen and bathroom countertops were police-caution-tape yellow. I’d often wondered if the person who’d picked them was color blind. Point being, we didn’t have to worry about burglars. 

Money, on the other hand, was another story.

Case in point? I knew what Alex—a family friend and Dad’s current physical therapist—was probably coming over to talk to me about, and it had kept me up half the night, worrying about it. That email from my boss? Was basically my nail in the coffin.

What in the world was I going to tell Alex now?

As if my anxiety had summoned him, a knock at the front door came. 

“Look through the peephole,” Dad said.

I refrained from rolling my eyes. Armed burglars don’t knock. But whatever. I appeased him, confirming it was Alex before opening the door.

“Hey, Zoey.”

With blond hair and green eyes, Alex stood six inches taller than me. He had a lean body with broad shoulders and very thin legs, but the most prominent part of him was the freckles speckled over his nose and cheeks.

I’d first seen those freckles when he and his parents moved into the house across the street from ours right before our high school freshman year. He used to come over for dinners at our house a lot and had been like a brother to me, a friend to our entire family, really. So, after getting his college degree in physical therapy, he’d heard about the accident and offered to help. 

Alex nodded a hello to my dad, then returned his gaze to me, shoved his hands into his pockets, and nodded toward the front yard. “Can we talk out here?” 

Crap. 

I stepped into the summer air, noting the pastel purples drifting through the pinks with the setting sun.

Summer had always been my favorite time in Chicago. I loved the warm weather and how the bright blue skies canopied the skyscrapers with happiness. I loved the tourists who traveled from all around the world, reminding us not to take our remarkable museums, historic architecture, and gorgeous landmarks for granted. And I loved how there was an endless list of things to do.

I’d get to enjoy all of it again. I totally would, just as soon as Dad got back on his feet.

We stood on my front porch, which sat on a street with rows of identical townhouses, many with rusted chain-link fences. The narrow buildings sat so close together that only a few feet separated them, and the two-lane road in front of us was a favorite for teenagers blasting loud music from their cars while the smell of weed wafted out of them.

I stared at the porch’s cedar planks, noting a fresh crack splintering near the steps that led to the sidewalk. I bet the board never saw that crack coming, probably thought it would exist forever without problems.

“Listen, I wanted to talk to you about something.” Alex wouldn’t meet my eyes. He kept his gaze pinned to his shoes, as if they’d give him the courage to say whatever uncomfortable thing he was about to say. 

“I’m going to keep helping you guys,” he caveated. Which was bad. Caveats were very bad. “But, uh…” Alex grabbed the back of his neck. “The thing is, my landlord just upped my rent, and, uh…well, there’s a new client that wants to take your dad’s spot.”

No. No. No.

After eight months of hell, things were finally on the cusp of turning around. Dad’s physical therapy had gotten him from being bedridden to wheelchair-mobile, and last week, Dad had a major breakthrough, standing up and getting a couple of steps in with a walker. He was, as doctors put it, at a precipice in his rehabilitation. A fork in the road. Keep pushing forward? He’d regain his ability to walk and live a normal life. Scale back, and his body would regress.

Physical therapy was the only tool that would make or break the most pivotal point in his recovery, and if Alex stopped giving it to him, it would throw almost all of Dad’s progress down the drain.

“I was going to turn him down,” Alex said, his tone laced with apology. “But…”

But I owed Alex $2,200 and counting. No matter how good a family friend he was, no matter how much he wanted to help us, that was a lot of freaking money and time to be spending not getting paid. Especially if his rent just went up.

For a long time, Alex had done Dad’s PT for free, but when I realized we were in this for a much longer haul than expected, I insisted on paying him something. He’d given me a mega discount, and even then, I was behind. 

“I can still come at least a couple days a week,” Alex offered. “Hopefully more.”

But anything less than five wouldn’t progress Dad; it might simply slow his regression.

My voice was a near whisper on account of choking back tears; I swallowed them down, so I wouldn’t make Alex feel even worse by crying in front of him. I could cry later, alone in my room. 

“Please,” I said. “You’re the only person who’s willing to work with us on this, and if Dad doesn’t keep his current therapy, he might never get out of that wheelchair or get his independence back.”

And I’ll never get my life back.

What a selfish thought to have when Dad couldn’t even walk and Alex was getting screwed right now. It wasn’t fair to ask him this. 

I felt like a terrible person, like I was taking advantage of him when he had his own bills to pay. I mean, honestly, how could I ask Alex for an extension when I already owed him for three months of unpaid work? But this wasn’t just about me. It was about Dad and his quality of life.

Alex studied my eyes, a crease in his forehead appearing, as if my desperation had caught him off guard. I wondered if Alex wasn’t as hopeful as I was that Dad would have more breakthroughs. And fully recover. The thought of him doubting it made a rock drop in my stomach. 

“You know what?” Alex offered a smile and waved his hand. Guilt etched through his words as if he were the one being selfish for having even entertained the idea of getting paid for his time after eight months of favors. “Never mind. I can figure this out.”

“No,” I insisted. “I’ll get you your money.” I’d find a way…

I knew this financial breaking point was coming. It was a juggling act I’d avoided for nearly a year. Robbing Peter to pay Paul—charging groceries on my credit cards, things like that. But now, my credit cards were maxed out, and I had no more financial tricks up my sleeve.

But I did have one option left. A painful option, but I would do anything to keep Dad’s rehabilitation going and not take advantage of Alex in the process.

“I have a ring,” I said. A special ring Dad had given to me the Christmas before I left for college. “It’s worth a lot, and I can pawn it.”

I’d have to get it from Dad’s old place, but that was totally doable; it hadn’t sold yet, and I still had Dad’s spare key.

“Zoey.” Alex’s voice dropped low. “I don’t want you to do that.”

“I’m doing it whether you like it or not,” I decided. Maybe after I paid Alex, I’d have some money left over to put toward other bills. 

“Zoey…”

“I don’t want other people having to bail us out, and I know what it’s like, trying to make ends meet.” I didn’t want to see Alex struggle the way we had; I didn’t want to drag him down like that. “It’s no big deal,” I claimed.

Alex sighed, the same exacerbated breath he used to do when we were teens. And then his gaze fell across my face, flickering in curiosity. “I don’t understand why you’re doing so much for him after what he did to you.”

I kept my face neutral, as if his words hadn’t detonated inside me, blasting shrapnel throughout my chest.

“I can’t thank you enough for all that you’ve done for us,” I said. “I’ll pawn the ring, and I’ll have cash in your hand tomorrow.”

Alex looked at the ground and shook his head in frustration. “Your dad had to be making, what, multi-six figures as that corporate strategy executive? He should’ve had enough money for a lifetime or, at the very least, for any medical crisis. But his negligence becomes your problem? It’s bull.”

On top of losing his physical health, Dad had lost his money and his old home—a high-end condo, where he’d lived for the past several years. Any day, it would sell, and he wouldn’t even profit from it or break even. Not with all the money owed to the banks and hospital bills. No, that money would go to creditors.

Not that I said any of that; I preferred not to feed Alex’s resentment toward my father. Truth be told, I hadn’t resolved my own frustrations over my dad’s financial negligence, but I needed to stay focused on the hurdle before me—securing continuity in Dad’s therapy.

Alex put his hands back into his pockets. “You know I’d do anything for you, right?”

“Is that a yes?” I balled up on my tiptoes.

Alex nodded.

I reached up and hugged him, catching him off guard. He wobbled back a couple inches and returned the embrace before I released him. 

Selling the ring was a stopgap. One that wouldn’t last for long, but these days, my life was so chaotic, I could only focus on one hurdle at a time.

And this was a gigantic hurdle that had moved out of my way.

“I will make this up to you!” I didn’t know how, but I would. Someday, I’d pay him interest on all this overdue money, and in the meantime, I could do little things, at least. “Do you want to stay for dinner? I’m making tacos.”

Alex looked at his watch. “I’m running late for my last appointment.”

I nodded, and when he stepped off my porch, I said, “I’ll have your money tomorrow.”

He pulled his lips up on one side, sadness still pulsing through his gaze before he began to amble away. “I’ll see you later, Zoey.”

“Alex?”

He turned around.

“Thank you.”

After getting a lopsided smile from Alex, I went back inside, struggling to contain my glee. 

“Everything okay?” Dad asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

Because now, everything might just be okay. The fear of losing Dad’s therapy had been suffocating me for weeks, but I’d been lucky to get this reprieve. And while it didn’t solve all of our problems, it was a huge win, and I hadn’t felt this light in forever.

I’d go to ten pawn shops if I had to, maybe even jewelry stores, to get the absolute best price for that ring, but by this time tomorrow? So help me, Alex would have that money in his hands.

Thank God.

I hummed as I loaded the dishwasher and cooked tacos, and when they were done, my dad wheeled himself over to the kitchen table. 

At six feet tall, Dad once had broad shoulders, thick black hair, and a commanding aura that demanded respect. But now, his shoulder bones poked out of his shirt, his hair had thinned enough to see the scalp, and his legs were like skeletons with skin. It was scary how quickly a human body could go from being healthy to withering away to almost nothing.

Dad glanced at the television, which was on another news station about the robbery—this one focused on the manhunt.

“Speaking of criminals,” I said as I sprinkled shredded cheddar onto my taco, “I’m thinking of asking for a new detective to be assigned to your case.”

Dad frowned as he picked up his water glass, which was already frosted in condensation, thanks to the ice cubes battling it out with this summer heat. Even with the windows open, a bead of sweat trickled down his temple. “Maybe it’s time to let this go.”

My jaw almost bounced off the floor. “And let him get away with what he did to you? Fat chance.”

“We need to accept that it’s improbable the case will get solved at this point. It’s not healthy to be this obsessed over it.”

“How can you say that?” It would be bad enough if Dad had been jaywalking, but he’d had the pedestrian green light. “A person hit you and drove off like it meant nothing. They left you dying in the street. They took everything from you.”

“But not my life.”

“And that means you let them off the hook? Because you happened to survive? Seriously?”

“I’m not defending them. I’m just saying you’ve been fixated on this for too long. I want you to be happy and live your life.”

“And I want the lowlife that hit you to rot in prison for the rest of their life.”

“You’re twenty-six, Zo. You should go out with friends. Date. Not obsess over some cold case.”

“Some cold case? It’s not a case; it’s our life.”

“Zo…”

“Let’s just drop it,” I said. Because I was downright blissful for once, and this was about to burst my bubble. 

We finished dinner in silence. I ate and pretended not to notice Dad’s troubled glances my way. Honestly, he didn’t need to worry about me so much. Did this situation drag on longer than we expected? Yes. But it was temporary. For now, the best thing I could do was ensure Dad made all his appointments and I got Alex his money. 

“Will you be okay if I head out after I get you settled tonight?” I asked.

This piqued Dad’s interest. Which, I had to admit, was a little pathetic in terms of a twenty-something’s social life. I didn’t see my friends very often because Dad was home alone all day, every day, and while he could be alone, I felt bad, leaving him longer than I needed to. Even though Dad tried many times to get me to go out. 

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To meet up with some friends.”

Dad smiled. “Really?”

I hated lying to him, but if he found out that finances were so bad that I needed to pawn my ring, he would try to stop me. And this wasn’t up for debate; it needed to get done and get done fast.

“I won’t be long,” I said.

I cleaned up the kitchen, got Dad situated, made sure he had his phone, water, and the remote control easily within reach, and then headed out to run my secret errand.

I walked several blocks to the “L” station and cringed; I wanted to enjoy my little bliss bubble, but no. When I walked across the platform, three guys locked eyes on me.

“Helloooooo…” 

Here we go. 

These guys harassed every woman at this “L” stop, and it was getting old. Didn’t they have anything better to do with their time than make people uncomfortable? 

Sometimes, they made sexual innuendos about my wavy black hair, chocolate eyes, caramel-colored skin, or thick lips. But most of the time, they were far more explicit than that, reciting what they’d like to do to me if they got me alone. 

The taller guy followed me, looking at me up and down like a piece of meat, and then had the audacity to position himself a mere two feet away.

I clenched my hands into balls.

“You have a beautiful mouth,” he said, licking his teeth. “Know what would make it prettier?” He grabbed his crotch. “Seeing it wrapped around this.”

“How are you out in society right now?” I asked. “Did someone leave your cage open?” 

His two buddies let out a burst of laughter, punching each other in the shoulders as I stood on the platform, watching the train approaching.

Unfortunately, my quip didn’t shut the guy up. 

“You know when I saw you tonight,” he said suggestively, “a thought crossed my mind.”

“Poor thought. Must have been a long, lonely journey.”

His friends let out more laughs as the “L” rounded the final bend with a metallic wail and came to a rest, opening its doors. I stepped onto the train, grateful they didn’t follow me. They never had before, but I always worried one of these days, they might escalate their harassment.

In any case, I enjoyed the ride into the heart of the city, where I got off and began walking the rest of the way.

Tonight, Chicago looked mythical. Seventy-story skyscrapers glistened against a thin layer of fog, stretching toward low-hanging clouds that swallowed their top floors. I could taste the hangover from this morning’s thunderstorm, the air muggy, causing a bead of sweat to roll down my back. The smell of wet concrete blended with the scent of fried potatoes funneling from nearby restaurants while a rumble of engines echoed off the buildings as vehicles chugged along the roads.

When I reached my dad’s old building, I took the elevator up and entered his condo.

As soon as I stepped inside, though, the skin on the back of my neck prickled with an unsettling feeling. I scanned the space, trying to isolate why my sixth sense’s alarm bells were sounding, but there was nothing to explain it. The lights were off, and the only sound was the ticking clock above the fireplace.

I flipped the lights on and looked around again. The condo was like entering a time machine, back to when Dad was in the prime of his life. The blue and gray furniture, picked by some decorator, complementing white cabinets in the oversize kitchen—the kind that closed gently and had organizers galore. Wood flooring, high-end artwork, and even higher-end electronics.

But the pride and joy of my dad’s old place was his sports memorabilia collection. Two dozen white baseballs with red stitching and black signatures proudly sat in a six-foot-tall mahogany case with custom lighting. Some of them were worth a few hundred. Some a few thousand, maybe more. All were a point of contention in the bankruptcy case.

None of his assets had been sold yet, but they would be soon to pay off Dad’s creditors.

With only a couple of exceptions. Like the ring. Since it was a gift to me, I was the legal owner, thus I could sell it. I just needed to retrieve it from the safe in Dad’s office. 

My dad’s ex-wife, Holly, had put it there after I’d thrown it in my dad’s face.

But that was a whole other story I didn’t need to think about right now.

I went into the office and walked around the L-shaped mahogany desk that sat between shelves stacked with books, organized by height and color. On the far wall, a painting of the Chicago River winding through buildings—its primary color an unnaturally greenish teal—hung in front of the concealed safe. I carefully lifted it up and off its hanger, set it on the ground, and started on the combination Dad had shared with me when I’d become responsible for helping with the sale of this condo. Frankly, I should have cleared the safe of any personal effects we had by now, but other priorities kept delaying me.

When the dial clicked on eighty-eight, my vision went black, something pressed against my mouth, and I was pulled until my back pressed into something hard. It took my brain a fraction of a second to realize my screams were silenced by a leather-gloved hand. My sight blocked with another.

“Don’t move,” a man’s voice growled.