It's Complicated

Chapter 9: Kacey Eton

I tap the rhythm on my leg. I am sitting in Travis’ car, and he is driving to his house. His layered brown hair is, for once, messy and tousled, and his blue eyes are trained on the road. The bruise on his right cheek looks a little better than it was this morning, but it is still purple and blue.

I am as worried as ever. I decided I should tell him, but now, I’m having second thoughts. Maybe I shouldn’t tell him. It could put him in danger if anyone figures out our relationship and tries to question him. At least now, he can truthfully say he knows nothing.

But I can’t deny that he is starting to piece it together in his head. He’ll occasionally give me a sidelong glance, as if he had a thought, but dismissed it. Even now, as he drives, he keeps his eyes on the road, but they have a distant look to them, like he’s deep in thought, barely aware of the outside world.

My fingers tap aggressively on my leg. It’s irritating not knowing what he’s thinking. He was always so open with me, so this is a side of him I have never seen before. A side that’s foreign to me. A secretive side. A side that he must see from me every day. Suddenly, I feel really guilty for keeping this secret from him for so long. He has the right to know. Another side of me screams that I was just trying to keep him safe.

A few minutes later, we pull into the long, gravel driveway to his house. The large two-story house stands alone, no other houses near it. The large window above the door reveals the stairs that lead up to the second story. The spotless white paint on the house makes it look like it hasn’t seen years of wear. Forest surrounds both sides and the back of the house, making it seem like a hidden fortress. It must be nice to have enough money for such a nice house.

He stops the car and cuts the engine. The only sound is the sound of some birds chirping in the woods on either side of his house. We sit in the car for a few minutes, both of us just staring out the window.

“I’m sorry,” he says, finally breaking the silence. “I know I was a jerk today. I’m still just trying to process yesterday.” He had told me about the heist, but of course I already knew every detail. “All my life, I’d thought that things like that couldn’t happen to me. But when it did, well, I feel like my world got flipped around and that everything about it feels wrong.” He turns and looks at me. “I am sorry.”

“I know,” I say. “I’m sorry, too, Travis.” He takes my hand into his, and I know we’re better, for now. He gives my hand a light squeeze, and I squeeze his hand back.

We climb out of the car, and I sling my black book bag over my right shoulder. He takes my hand into his again, and we walk in his front door hand in hand, him picking up the newspaper on his way in. As we walk in the front door, I shrug my backpack off of my shoulder onto the floor by the front door.

I’ve seen his house plenty of times, and it leaves me speechless every time I see it. Off to the right of the door is a living room with a large couch big enough to fit five people and a flat screen television on the opposite wall. Off to the left is a dining room with a solid wood table and six cushioned chairs surrounding it. Straight ahead is a large staircase that leads up to the second story. The hallway that leads to the back of his house runs beside the stairs. It's all just so huge!

He tosses the newspaper on the dining room table, and a picture on the front cover catches my eye. I walk over to the table and unroll the newspaper. On the front cover, the headline reads:

Jewelry Heist Stopped By Mysterious “Girl In Black”!

I can’t help but smile at the paper’s horrible attempt at giving me a name. I would never go by “Girl In Black”. It’s so tacky. I was much happier the years before I got any recognition for what I did. For a while, the cops had kept me a secret because they couldn’t quite figure out what to do with me. Now, even though I have helped tons of people, the cops are still trying their best to arrest me for breaking and entering. At least, that’s their excuse. I think they are more curious as to who I am and how I know about the crimes.