Zia Carter… Family Home, southern outskirts of Alice, Texas

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“They’ve found me. Got to disappear.”

Zia Carter whispered her prayer. She petitioned invisibility to grant her request. The former local teen beauty queen and currently displaced bakery owner was in life-crisis. Shame and embarrassment bullied and crowded in. They drove her to distraction.

Her mojo had fired her, and her feelings disrespected her on a minute by minute basis. She had to hide, become small and invisible.

Zia’s hands rubbed sweat from their palms onto old jeans. Until now, her former “fat jeans” from her teen closet and a bygone fashion trend had given Zia a boost to her ego. The message had championed her need for little wins. It assured her that she could still fit into clothes from high school.

Flashes of the “winner” she used to be accused and agitated the loser cowering here now. Clamminess surrendered to a fresh heat wave.

No, no, no, not now. Keep it together, Zia.

If she didn’t fight, this would be a big one. The beep of her smartwatch confirmed the assessment.

A thin equilibrium between survival and descent into darkness threatened to pull her down. Air grew standoffish and fickle as her airways begged for more. Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

Zia’s breaths struggled to perform their task. Void of any grace or control, they stumbled out shallow and too damn fast. Air wheezed in and out in overtime to stave off the boogie man of panic.

Come on now; you got this! Snap out of it. It’s all in your head. They can’t get to you anymore.

Instead of acknowledging or accepting her new pesky little mental malady, her body fought and forced itself into compliant normalcy. Zia’s construct of optimal health demanded obedience.

Damn it. She’d to act normal if it killed her.

At a little shy of thirty-years-old, Zia shouldn’t be this out of breath. The quick dash she’d made into the sunny room in the back of the house dealt an efficient beatdown. Heat pushed outward from a relentless furnace from her depths. Sweat beads tried to compensate as they rolled down her skin in itchy trails.

Zia flapped the uneventful blouse in fast repetitions to usher in more air. Delusion played its part as her mind refused to acknowledge her predicament.

Frantic reason supplied plausible arguments for why this wasn’t a false alarm. That guy was up to something. She was on to him.

No way this had anything to do with panic and anxiety. She was a badass; always had been, always would be. Trickles of oxygen entered to pay down the deficit. Relief was on the hunt.

Yeah, bitches.

What was healthy was her skepticism that tipped toward paranoia. Nothing was a coincidence. What if they’d sent him? It could happen. What she’d witnessed erased all doubt that there was another world hiding in plain sight. This visit wasn’t on the up-and-up. Everything in her gut screamed to be heard.

Danger!

The intrusive presence of the outsider seeped all the way back there. Confined to that showcase of southern comfort, Zia tried not to focus on the scenic view of the clear Texas early afternoon.

The impromptu visitor threatened to disrupt her tentative grasp on a not-so-good day. She couldn’t allow her sense of self to crack without a fight. Zia held onto her declaration of safety by a worn thread.

No one would see her, not like this.

Telltale signs of anxiety seeped into her body. The treadmill of her mind sped up to race thoughts of what-ifs. She ran quick rundowns of six degrees of separation to figure out how the unwelcome visitor might know anyone from her recent past. Memories became a convoluted maze of dead ends. Her smart watch beeped in warning of impending catastrophe.

Shake it out.

Zia’s hands flailed in a frenetic tempo in a valiant effort to dispel the anxiety attack. It marched forward dedicated to the pursuit of overtaking her mind and body.

No, no, no.

Her breaths sped up faster in a demented race with her mind. If she embarrassed her mother, Zia would never hear the end of it.

As the adult daughter of the local success story family, she’d trained to be flawless in public, to never let them see her sweat, and to always show strength. Today would add another item in the fail column if she had to prance like a pony.

Zia’s presence was supposed to be low key. Two weeks and she hadn’t left the house. No one should know she was here. Leave it to Leila to blow the one request she’d asked out of the water.

At her parent’s sprawling Texas home and as a reluctant convalescent, Zia had come here to escape and regroup. Now, one of her greatest failures from the past stood in the foyer, ready to gawk, point, and clown her.

She had shown her ass by cussing him out and calling him everything but a child of God the last time they’d seen each other. Spying on her might be his payback for her behavior all those years ago.

Her heart beat too fast. Large gulps of air did nothing but agitate her nervous stomach. On cue, an audible churn wailed its discontent. Great, she might need to dash for the toilet, and she was stuck back here in her mother’s colors-of-happiness sunroom. Zia’s stomach continued to protest as bile rose.

Confidence, that’s what she had to regain.

Zia focused on recouping her ability to be chill. She forced long breaths down her throat as her fingers wedged their way into the gap between the expensive drapery and the glass in the door.

The high-end custom-made coverings of one of the French doors put up resistance from their taunt application. Curiosity won the struggle as one eye peeked through the space. She managed to snatch a glimpse. Questions and elaborate scenarios of dark intent ran together in a jumbled mass of a mess.

Whispered and slow, her shaky voice gasped out her reservations. “Nah, man, there’s poison in the cookies. I don’t know you like that. I smell fuckery.”

The breath of her words ricocheted off the heavy fabric to bounce back off her face. Flashes of the plexiglass box and expansive wings of leathery skin and veins clouded her sight. The instant regression to that night overwhelmed her sensory inputs. Buckets of sunshine pouring into the room couldn’t combat the wave of darkness that crashed in.

Did he know anything? Who showed up out of the blue after so many years? He had to know something to come here. That must be it. Everyone must know.

Her forehead collided with the well-crafted door as it opened to allow the other woman entry.

“Ow.”

The shorter woman squeezed in through the narrow space Zia allowed into the room.

“Sorry, baby, but you shouldn’t hover like that around the door. You ready?”

Zia rubbed the throbbing spot and ignored that last part. “Why won’t you let me get my spy on in peace?”

“Because you’re making a big deal out of nothing.” The answer came too fast to be anything but an admission of a premeditated machination.

Zia looked down at the other woman, making sure to scrutinize her features for any tells. “I’m not buying it. Not after all this time.” When Zia had the woman’s face deadlocked in her sights, she leaned in and whispered, “I’m on to you, Leila.”

“On to what?” The woman rocked the innocent look and voice better than Meryl Streep on her best day. “I don’t know all the stories you make up in your head about me, but they aren’t true. I’m not out to do anything but wish you every happiness.”

“Um-hmm,” Skeptical Zia was front and center. She didn’t believe that tired saying her mother always used when she was up to something.

“Aw, my baby, don’t do that. Respect your mother. You’ll miss me when I’m gone.” Leila said, adjusting Zia’s blouse to cover her muffin top that pushed down hard on top of her victory jeans.

Zia launched a silent protest. Defiant rebellion ruled and guided her actions. She unbuttoned the top two jeans buttons to take in a much-needed breath. The torture devices had tattooed themselves on her fleshy stomach. The exposed reddened skin rebounded in joy as Zia made a great show of rubbing her gut.

Leila refused to acknowledge the symbol of Zia’s independence.

“Baby, please? Cover up.” She stepped closer to try to fix Zia’s clothes once more.

“Uh-uh, not so fast, Leila.”

Her mother’s face fell for a split second. “Call me, Mami, not Leila. I’m Mami. It hurts when you shut me out.” Hazel eyes softened and pleaded as they looked at Zia. She took a breath before her next words. “Zia, please? I need you to calm down for me, Okay? You’re at home where it’s safe. There’s no need to be on guard. I promise you. Look at me.” Leila used her soft voice as she continued to smooth Zia’s hair down.

Zia swatted away her mother’s fussy hands. She tried to sidestep around the woman. Her mother anticipated the duck and run she was about to pull off with a fake to the left that would make any NBA coach proud.

Startled by her mother’s agility coupled with how much the woman seemed to have shrunk from the last time Zia was home, she decided to not go there today with her. Where was her father to run interference when she needed him? Oh yeah, that’s right, working as usual.

“You don’t know what I’ve been through.”

“Tell me. I’m here for you.”

“You can’t handle it.”

Leila looked down. Her daughter’s words had hit their intended mark.

Zia turned in the other direction. She slunk along the length of the room looking for a better line of sight. Her mother adopted a sentry’s stance at the door. So like her to push Zia into the deep end of the pool. This time Zia wasn’t so sure she’d make it back to the edge of safety.

Perched at a new position, the view, like Zia’s attitude was no better. Danger rode her hard. Never again would she lose focus. “Nope, I’m not here for it. Not today, Satan.” The foyer was obstructed from a clean shot at the entryway, but Zia wouldn’t be deterred. A sliver of a form clad in a dark colored suit winked back at her. “Uh-uh, absolutely not.”

“What are you going on about? That man is harmless.” The person responsible for her current flirt with a panic attack came to stand next to her.

“What does he want?”

“Seems to me that he finally realized his mistake and is trying to make amends.” Her flippant response proved her mother wasn’t as innocent as she claimed.

This was the worse time for a drop by visit and from this man of all people. She was on the struggle tip trying to keep her head above water.

“All right, Mami,” Zia stressed the name. “Today isn’t a good one. I’m in a dark place.”

Contrary to her mood, the overtly optimistic sunlight continued to stream in all around her. Zia looked out of the windows of the sunroom.

Located at the back of the palatial home, it gave a panoramic view of her family’s sprawling land. She’d successfully avoided this view since being back until now.

When the doorbell rang, she’d made a mad dash back here to avoid being seen. Haunts of times long past sandwiched her in between the foyer and backyard. The biggest ghost lingered at the edges of the sun-drenched room, just beyond the backyard. It damned her in subtle reminders of what she’d done.

“Mami… I’m dealing with the, you know. I can’t seem to shake it off. It’s like I’m back there that night when I—”

“There, there, don’t get yourself worked up.” A wave of the hand to wipe away the direction the conversation was about to go into was all the warning Zia received. Her mother wasn’t going to go there with her, not today or any day. They didn’t speak of that time.

Her mother’s trademark laughter floated in to smooth out the disturbance of peace from Zia’s last words. Nausea was a quick rumble away as Zia’s stomach churned to process what she couldn’t speak out loud.

Okay. Her mother’s laughter meant to keep it moving. Zia changed course.

“Why did you invite him? I told you I’m not ready for visitors.”

“Because he wouldn’t take no for an answer.” Her mother gave Zia a look that said to behave and play nice.

“I haven’t seen him since I moved to Atlanta.”

This side of the house was no good to see the foyer. Zia tiptoed to see past the shorter woman. She tried to locate where the visitor stood. It had been a long time since she’d last talked with him.

Would he be the same as she remembered? Unable to gain even a sliver of a glimpse from the impossible angle of this side of the room to the entryway, Zia gave up and leveled a look at her mother.

“Why is he here anyway?”

“How should I know?” Leila hunched her shoulders and played like she had no clue. “You can ask him that yourself, as soon as you go in there and greet him. I didn’t waste all my time teaching you how to have proper home training for you to blow him off without at least a greeting.”

“I’m not dressed for company, and I’m still healing. You should have told him I was asleep. That’s it, go in there and tell him I’m sleeping.”

Zia gave her mother a little shove to no avail.

“Oh, baby, never you mind. I know you can handle anything he throws your way. Remember what I taught you. You know how to handle a man. Go out there and handle this one.” Her mother leveled an eye of warning her way. “Don’t make me out to be a liar. I told him you were home. Give the man at least ten minutes. He drove all the way here.”

Maybe her mother was right? It could be all in her head. Self-doubt reestablished residency. Compliance to social norms paraded to the front. She was so tired of fighting anyway. Zia would conform to what was expected of her. A quick thought of prayer formed. She hoped her mother was right.

“Fine, but you don’t get to be in the room when I do. I want to handle this on my own.”

“As you should, baby, as you should.” Her mother patted her on the back with one hand and pushed her out the sunroom with the other. Before the cunning little woman retreated into the kitchen, she said loud enough for only Zia to hear, “Don’t forget what I always tell you. Follow your heart but take your brain with you.”

Zia stumbled into the hallway from the back of the home to see the handsome man standing in the foyer of the main entryway. She wondered if he’d heard her conversation with her mother. A quick reminder that he was the interloper buzzed around in the back of her mind.

Yeah, she didn’t need to worry about what he thought. This was most likely a nosy call to see how bad her injuries were. For all Zia knew, he was here at the behest of his mother and her gossipy friends.

He stepped forward, dressed in an expensive and impeccable suit.

“Zia, how beautiful.” His eyes swept over her in a fluid swoop. Appreciation shone brightly in his hooded but pleasantly alluring eyes. “It’s good to see you up and about. May I?” he asked, extending a hand for her to take.

Caught off guard, Zia took his hand and allowed him to guide her into the living room. Once there, he turned to face her and gave her an impressive gift.

“For you.” Full of grace and poise, he extended to her what had to be a peace offering.

There went her plan to put him out. Zia southern hospitality upbringing foiled her plan as she accepted and smiled. Why was she such a wuss?