“Hello, Riley?”
“Henry,” she said, her voice tense, “I need to talk to you. You got a minute?”
I frowned. “Sure. What’s going on?”
“Come over as soon as you can. I can’t explain over the phone. When can you get here?”
“Fifteen minutes. Is everything okay?”
“Just come. I’ll explain.”
I stared at the phone for a moment, then started the car. Whatever this was, it had to be serious.
Twenty minutes later, I pulled into her driveway and was barely at the door before it swung open.
Riley stood there, arms crossed, her expression a mix of annoyance and urgency.
“You’re late!”
“By five minutes,” I retorted, stepping inside.
“Relax, Riley. You don’t have to be such a pain in the…”
“Don’t swear,” she hissed. “My daughter’s around.”
I followed her gaze and saw Mira, her nine – year – old, curled up on the couch with an encyclopedia.
Her tiny face was scrunched up in concentration, her finger tracing the lines of text like a little scholar.
“As expected, you’re my last resort,” Riley said with a sigh. “I need you to watch Mira today.”
“Me? Are you serious?” I asked, nervously glancing at Mira, who didn’t even look up from her book.
“I wouldn’t ask if I had any other choice,” she said, exasperated.