Free Forever Checking (Checked Series Book 3) by Jennifer Jamelli

towel by the front door. “I’m sure she will.” Shoe disinfecting. Shoe spraying. “Now go rest, Melanie.”
    “I’m going to. Thanks for taking care of Abby today.”
    “Of course.” Lysol back to hall closet. “Talk to you later. Bye.”
    “Bye, Callie.”
    I hang up and head back to the kitchen to wash my hands again. My eyes catch the time on the microwave clock. 9:27 a.m.
    I don’t have much time.
    Upstairs for an I’m bleeding extra bath (which is also a bath to wash off the experience I just had at his office, the experience I don’t even want to think about), some I’m bleeding extra lotion, and an I already picked off all of my nail polish today nail painting session.
    Jeans and another sweater on. Leaving-the-house routine. Black pumps back on.
    10:43 a.m. Off to class to write poetry about something stupid, no doubt.
     
     
    3:15 P.M. BACK HOME.
    Abby and I have been playing Barbies for an hour. Actually, Abby probably played with them while I was at class, so she’s been Barbie-playing for like three hours.
    I don’t blame her. Picking out outfits, dressing the perfectly shaped Barbie bodies, combing shiny, fake hair—it’s so mindless. So relaxing. Maybe I should get some of my own Barbies…
    We are currently getting our Barbies ready for a Miss America -style pageant. We each have three contestants to prep for the competition. The host and judge will be Dr. Ken, although I’m not quite sure who is in charge of voicing him yet. I don’t think that Abby has thought through the ethics of one of us, each responsible for three pageant contenders, voicing (and thinking for) the judge of the competition.
    I don’t have time to worry about that right now, though. I’ve got to get my girls in some swimsuits. And heels? I think so. I hope Abby has enough Barbie shoes to—
    My doorbell is ringing.
    I glance up at Abby, who is currently putting a redhead in a high ponytail. “It can’t be time for Daddy to pick me up already. We haven’t even started the pageant.” She looks panicked.
    “No, honey, it’s not going to be your daddy. He’s not coming until later tonight.” I stand up. “I’ll be right back.”
    Abby, relieved, goes back to creating a Barbie ponytail.
    I walk slowly out of my room, down the stairs, and toward the door. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. I try to convince myself that murderers do not traditionally ring doorbells.
    One. Two. Three. At the door.
    Okay. Peephole check time.
    One. Two. Three. Look while praying that no murderers—
    It’s not the murderers.
    It’s him.
    But we already had therapy today. And shouldn’t he be at work? And—
    And Oh my God. What if now is “some other time”? What if now is “soon”?
    Oh. My. God.
    What if Judy is out there too? What if—
    The doorbell rings again.
    Shit.
     
     

 
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 6
    day two and a half…or two and a third…or seven and a third
     
     
    NAIL PICKING. NAIL PICKING. NAIL—
    The doorbell rings. AGAIN. Third time. Damn it. Gotta open it before it rings a fourth time or else—
    CALLIE.
    Onetwothree. Open.
    Happy eyes. Casual. Jeans and a sweater. A big brown grocery bag in his arms.
    No one else around.
    “I am finished with my appointments for today. Ready for more therapy?”
    That depends. Do you have needles in your grocery bag? Do you—
    “Aunt Callie?” Abby. Shouting from upstairs.
    I turn away from him and his grocery needle bag, and I call up the stairs to Abby. “I’ll be up in a few minutes, Abby. Don’t start the pageant without me.”
    “Pageant?”
    My head spins back around at the sound of his low, quiet voice. And—
    And he’s staring right at me, his eyebrows raised in an amused question.
    I smile. “Yes, a pageant.”
    “Like with evening gowns and little bathing suits and—”
    I nod.
    His eyebrows get higher. “You are going to be putting on a skimpy bathing suit?” He smiles. “I’d like to stick around f—”
    “No. NO.” I