The restaurant grew very quiet; you could hear a pin drop, as all the patrons stopped and stared at our table after my outburst. Pausing, my gaze raked over the restaurant, seeing the many eyes taking us in. Making a scene was not my first choice, but it happened. Shyly, I apologized to everyone as Zeke grabbed my hand and gently tugged me back down in the booth beside him. Smiling gently at me, he placed his hand on my leg; I wasn't sure if it was to comfort him or myself. His demeanor was calm compared to the storm inside me, where my insides still felt like they were in a spiral, adrenaline spiking. Calm was not in my vocabulary at the moment; chaos or turmoil was, and it was overwhelming.
Zekes' composed demeanor was the complete polar opposite of mine; his gaze was steady, and his relaxed posture contrasted sharply with my stiff demeanor and frantic energy. Sitting in the booth beside him, close to the wall with no outlet, was inconvenient; it made me feel confined; every part of me urged me to leave and go home. But how? I couldn't push him aside; that would be rude. Crawling under the table felt strange, plus uncomfortable for everyone, and he wasn't moving, standing his ground, making me eat. This made me question whether I was like a caged animal or just overreacting because of recent events. No, that couldn't be right—I'm not that dramatic. Or am I? That's a lie. I can be very dramatic, but I refuse to admit it, especially when his calmness only made my internal chaos more intense.
He was freaking me out; he should be worried, too. This is everything we have found or collected so far on my family's disappearance. All I could do was stare at him, trying to decipher how he managed to stay so calm. My face must have betrayed my confusion-eyebrows raised, lips pressed tight-as I tried to figure out how he found his Zen. Scenarios started to run through my head: maybe he was an alien? That one had me smirking, definitely not an alien. Did he fall and bump his head last night? No, that didn't happen either. I was running out of reasons for how he found his Zen. He must have noticed my puzzled expression, which probably looked like a mix of suspicion and curiosity, because he chuckled at my face. I'm told my face is pretty expressive, which often gives away my emotions without me realizing it. What is the expression: Oh yeah, they can read me like a book, I thought, feeling exposed.
"Rocky, eat first. Then we will head to the house, I promise," his voice was very gentle with a trace of humor as he uttered the words. It almost felt like he was trying to calm down a scared animal or child, as if I could spook at any moment and bolt. I took a deep breath to calm myself down and then faced him, hoping I could reason with him. We needed to go home; I needed to be there.
"Z, I can't eat, all I can think of is going home and retrieving the paperwork," I stated as calmly as possible, hoping he would give in. My voice must have betrayed me, as it still sounded stressed. He nodded his head, conveying he understood, but he wasn't budging. We stared at one another, trying to get the other one to back down. Neither of us is backing down. Our standoff lasted until the waitress brought the food and set it down in front of us.
Sharon broke the silence, "Roxanne, honey, listen to Zeke. He's just worried about your health, and you two have been through so much lately. We all need you to take care of yourself," She says, with Andy sitting beside her, nodding his head in agreement. Obviously, I wasn't going to win this argument; no one would listen to me until I met their demands. Reluctantly, picking up my fork, I ate my omelet and half of the pancakes I ordered. When I say I ate them, I mean I shoveled them down. My great idea was that the faster I ate, the quicker we could leave. Not the most graceful moment of my life, but it didn't matter at the moment. My thoughts were consumed with my house; this obsession couldn't be healthy.
"Slow down, kid," Andy laughs. At first, I didn't realize he was talking to me until I saw the horrified yet concerned look everyone was giving me. Embarrassed, I stopped mid-bite and lowered my fork, placing it on my plate. Instantly, my face felt hot, probably looked like a cherry tomato, making me turn toward the wall in humiliation. I could only imagine what was running through their heads at my unladylike eating. For a moment, I hid my face, trying to calm myself down enough to face them. I wasn't sure whether I needed to laugh it off or cry, but either way, I had to face them. After a deep breath, reluctantly, I turned to face them, and they were smiling at my awkwardness. Instead of dwelling on the embarrassment, I laughed with them, which brought me relief. My eating pace slowed, even though my nerves never calmed. The overwhelming feeling of going home kept racking my body.
After breakfast finally ended, they decided we could head back to the house. We needed to assess the damage caused by the intruders and the deputies. The sheriff's department also asked us to check whether anything was stolen so they could add it to the report. Although the ride was only fifteen minutes to the house, it felt like an eternity. My body felt like it was on edge the entire time, as if at any moment disaster could happen. Not the most incredible feeling.
As we turned onto our road, the house and driveway gradually came into view. The closer we got, the better I felt. Once we entered the driveway, my anxiety began to fade, as if crossing an invisible barrier that washed away all my nervousness. Suddenly, the tightness in my chest relaxed, shifting from an intense sensation to calmness. It was strange how approaching the house made me feel more at ease — a feeling hard to put into words. Many might think I've gone crazy; honestly, they might be right, which has been how I've felt since moving in here. But everyone's a little crazy sometimes, right? Walking into the house brought a renewed sense of relief. The foyer welcomed me with its warmth and familiarity, and moving through each room felt like a comforting hug from an old friend or loved one.
After walking through the downstairs room, we saw that a minor cleanup would be necessary. The sheriff's department called Zeke to tell us they didn't believe it was a robbery. They thought the intruders were mainly aiming to kill us, because our valuable items, our wallets, jewelry, and expensive items, remained untouched. As I headed toward the stairs, I realized I needed to check the attic to see if they had found the packet of paper. In my happiness of being home, my earlier urge to look for it had gone away. It was back now with a vengeance. Quickly, I headed toward the stairs; my only objective was to get to the attic. Zeke noticed where I was headed and followed closely behind, knowing I'd be devastated if it were gone.
As soon as I reached the attic door, my body switched into mission mode: my objective was to see if the paperwork was still in its hidden place. Swinging the door open, I quickly ran to the floorboard that lifts. Dropping to my knees, I lifted it and placed it against the wall. Slowly reaching my hand into the hole, the packet of paper brushed against my fingertips. Grabbing it, I lift it from its hiding space. Seeing it and holding the packet with my own eyes made me sigh in relief; they had not found our hiding spot. Thank goodness. Handing the packet of papers to Zeke, we headed back downstairs to our room. We had just bought a lock box for this reason. Sliding it into the box, we each took a key. Zeke carefully picked the box up and slid it under our bed. Hopefully, it would be safe there.
This made me think of my mom's diary; I still had more entries to read. Opening my nightstand drawer, the worn leatherbound journal lay there waiting for me to pick it up and read it aloud again. It was a blessing to me. Through this beautiful book, I got to know my mom during her teenage years through her own words. The sacrifices she made for me and the hardships she endured as a single mother for our safety left me in awe of her resilience. I ran my hand over the leather front of the book one more time before shutting the drawer. Zeke stood up from the bed and held his hand out to me. Grabbing it, we walked back down to the living room. Andy and Sharon were still sitting there on the couch, talking softly. As soon as they saw us enter, they both started smiling, happy to see us.
"Is everything ok? Was anything taken upstairs?" Andy asked. We knew what he was referring to: the papers.
"Yeah, everything is fine," Zeke replied. "It doesn't look like anything was disturbed upstairs."
"If you don't mind, we thought we could stay at your house tonight with you all and leave early tomorrow,' Sharon said hopefully, glancing worriedly at us. "I mean, if that's okay? Sorry, I didn't mean to invite ourselves," she replied apologetically. We weren't opposed to them staying; in reality, we still felt a bit shaken from the previous night. What was the saying 'there is safety in numbers.'
"Of course, it's fine," I said, delighted they were. When we all went to sleep that night, it was quiet—no surprise attacks or strange dreams. Just good uninterrupted sleep, which we hadn't had for a while, and so desperately needed it that night.
The next morning, instead of heading home early, Andy and Sharon decided to spend the day with us and go home either tomorrow or the day after. Throughout the day, Sharon and I cleaned up the mess while Andy and Zeke replaced the locks and installed additional cameras outside and in the attic. Even though we were busy, the day dragged on, and by evening, we were all exhausted.
Zeke laughed at me as I threw myself on our bed; my legs and arms felt like jelly. I playfully glared at him, which made him laugh harder. Obviously, I wasn't very intimidating. He threw his hands up and walked over to my dresser. He pulled out a pair of sleep pants and then grabbed a t-shirt from his dresser. He threw them to me on the bed and blew me a kiss, still laughing as he exited to the bathroom. Lazily, I dragged myself into a sitting position and got dressed for bed. By the time he came back in, I was already under the covers with my eyes closed. The mattress dipped as he lay down beside me, pulling me into his arms with his face nuzzling my throat. We stayed like this for a while, just wrapped in each other's arms. It has been a while since we could breathe and enjoy each other's company.
Eventually, we drifted off to dreamland, not knowing where it might lead us. As soon as my sleep-heavy eyelids closed, I was transported to a beautiful room painted in soft baby blues. A circular white oak table was set in the center of the room with four chairs. Each chair was occupied except one. It looked lonely, empty, as if it had been waiting for me to fill it up. With each cautious step I took toward the table, the faces of the seated occupants came into focus.