Proof that somebody had paid her because she had worked.
She arrived home and found Diane asleep.
Leah moved quietly through the trailer.
She checked the medicine on the counter.
The bottle was nearly empty.
She looked at the electricity notice again.
Friday.
Tomorrow.
She sat beside her mother.
Diane opened her eyes.
“Hey, baby.”
“Hey.”
“How was school?”
“Okay.”
“You eat?”
“Yes.”
It was the first lie.
Diane smiled weakly.
“What'd you eat?”
“A sandwich.”
The second lie.
Her mother did not answer.
Leah looked down.
After a moment, Diane reached for her hand.
“You don't have to protect me from everything.”
Leah squeezed her fingers.
“Yes, I do.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Diane smiled sadly.
“You sound eighty.”
“I learned from you.”
That made Diane laugh.
The laugh became a cough.
Leah immediately reached for the water.
“Slow.”
“I know.”
Diane took a sip.
When the coughing stopped, Leah looked toward the kitchen.
“Mom?”
“Hmm?”
“What happens if they turn off the power?”
Diane was silent.
“We'll manage.”
“That means yes.”
“It means we'll manage.”
Leah hated that phrase.
Adults used it when they had no answer.
That evening, someone knocked on their door.
Leah froze.
Diane looked toward the sound.
Another knock.
Harder.
“Diane!”
The voice belonged to a man Leah didn't know.
“You got until Friday.”
Leah moved closer to the bedroom.
Diane whispered, “Don't open it.”
“I won't.”
“You hear me?”
“Yes.”
The voice outside returned.
“You can't keep ignoring us.”
Leah's hands curled into fists.
The man left.
She listened to footsteps retreat across the dirt.
“Who was that?”
Diane closed her eyes.
“Nobody you need to worry about.”
“You're lying.”
Diane looked at her daughter.
“I owe money.”
“How much?”
“It doesn't matter.”
“It does to me.”
“No, Leah.”
“Why?”
“Because you're ten.”
Leah hated hearing that.
Ten.
As though the number erased every problem.
She was ten.
But ten did not stop her mother from being sick.
Ten did not make the cupboards fill themselves.
Ten did not stop the lights from going out.
Ten did not keep strangers away.
She went to the bathroom later that night and cried without making a sound.
Then she washed her face and returned to the kitchen.
The dollar was still in her pocket.
She unfolded it.
Looked at it.
Folded it again.
Across town, Reaper was having his own conversation.
Bones had discovered the name of the landlord.
He had also discovered that the problem was larger than missed rent.
Jesse's crew had been forcing several residents to pay so-called protection money.
Anyone who refused found tires slashed or doors kicked in.
The police had been called twice.
No charges had held.
Witnesses disappeared.
Information became contradictory.
Bones sat at the bar while Reaper stood opposite him.
“This is bigger than the girl,” Bones said.
“I know.”
“Her mother's sick.”
“I know.”
“They've been watching the trailer.”
“I know.”
Bones looked at him.
“How?”
“Because I saw them.”
Reaper's voice had become almost flat.
“That means they know something changed.”
Bones nodded.
He drummed his fingers against the counter.
“We don't want a war over one trailer.”
Reaper leaned forward.
“Then don't make it a war.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Make them understand they picked the wrong people.”
Bones studied him.
That was the difference between Reaper and most men.
He rarely raised his voice.
He did not need to.
His calm could be more frightening than shouting.
Then Tommy walked in.
“More bad news.”
Bones turned.
“What?”
“The dealers know there's a biker asking questions.”
Reaper's expression did not move.
“Which biker?”
Tommy looked directly at him.
“You.”
No one spoke.
For several seconds, the clubhouse remained silent.
Then Bones pushed his chair back.
“From now on, nobody goes to Sunnyside alone.”
Reaper nodded.
“Agreed.”
“And we check on Leah.”
Reaper looked at him.
“Quietly.”
“Absolutely.”
There was one more thing neither man said.
They both knew that quiet protection did not stay quiet for long.
Especially when people who survived through fear sensed that someone was trying to take that fear away.
By the end of the night, Jesse knew the Hells Angels had become interested.
And that changed everything.
The next morning, Leah walked to school carrying the same backpack she had carried for three years.
The zipper was broken.
She had tied it shut with string.
Halfway down the road, she heard footsteps behind her.
She kept walking.
The footsteps followed.
Leah looked into the reflection of a dark store window.
A sedan was moving slowly behind her.
She recognized it.
One of the cars from Sunnyside.
Her pace quickened.
The sedan followed.
Leah turned the corner toward the school.
The vehicle continued past.
She stopped breathing for a moment.
Then exhaled.
At school, she told no one.
She had learned early that fear became more powerful when spoken aloud.
But someone had seen her.
A teacher named Mrs. Alvarez noticed Leah's pale face.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“Leah.”
“I’m fine.”
“You look tired.”
“I didn't sleep much.”
“Why?”
Leah looked down.
“I had homework.”
Mrs. Alvarez did not believe her.
But she did not press.
She handed Leah a granola bar.
“Eat this.”
Leah stared at it.
“You can keep it.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
She put it into her pocket.
That evening, when she returned home, the lights flickered.
Then went out.
Leah stood still.
“Mom?”
Diane looked toward the ceiling.
“They did it.”
Leah's heart dropped.
She found a flashlight.
Its batteries were nearly dead.
The trailer became hotter by the minute.
Without air conditioning, the metal walls trapped the heat.
Diane tried to breathe slowly.
Leah sat beside her with a damp cloth.
“You need a doctor.”
“I need money.”
“That isn't the same thing.”
“I know.”
Leah pulled the dollar from her pocket.
“Look.”
Diane frowned.
“What is that?”
“A man paid me.”
“For what?”
“Cleaning his motorcycle.”
Diane stared at her.
“You did what?”
“I cleaned his bike.”
“Leah!”
“He gave me a dollar.”
“You went near a stranger's motorcycle?”
“I was careful.”
“I told you not to—”
“I needed food!”
The room fell silent.
Diane stared at her daughter.
Leah's voice broke.
“I needed something.”
Diane closed her eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
Leah's anger disappeared.
“I'm sorry too.”
Diane held out her hand.