“Then would you open the door just enough to take this?” he said. “And look at the first page. Just the first page. And then, if you want me to leave, I’ll leave.”
I looked at the envelope.
Then I looked at the SUV.
The back window rolled down a few inches. I could see a woman’s face in the gap. Dark hair. Tired eyes.
The woman from the Walmart.
And next to her, a teenage boy. Fifteen, maybe. Dark hair like hers. Staring at my house.
He had a scar on his face. On the left side. A big one. Shiny and pink. Running from his jaw down his neck and disappearing into the collar of his sweatshirt.
A burn scar.
I opened the door. Just as far as the chain would let it.
David Reyes handed me the envelope through the gap.
“The first page,” he said quietly. “Please.”
