Chapter 35 Aunt Linda (Donald Eric POV)
I'm twenty minutes from Dora's apartment when my phone rings. Linda's name flashes on the screen. I answer through the car's bluetooth.
"Aunt Linda?"
"Donnie! Hi, sweetheart. Am I catching you at a bad time?"
"No, just driving. What's up?"
"Well, funny story. I'm actually at the airport. Just landed."
I nearly swerve into the next lane. "What? You're here?"
"Surprise!" She laughs, warm and bright. "I know, I know. I should've called first. But I was sitting in Phoenix thinking about you, and I just... got on a plane."
"Linda, you can't just, there's a patrol at your house. They're going to freak out when they realize you're gone."
"Oh, I told Officer Martinez I was visiting my nephew. He said as long as I let him know my flight details, it was fine." Her voice drops slightly. "Don, I needed to see you. Make sure you're okay with my own eyes."
I grip the steering wheel tighter. "How long are you staying?"
"Just tonight. My return flight's tomorrow afternoon. I didn't want to impose."
"You're not imposing." I signal, changing lanes. "Where are you now?"
"Outside baggage claim. Should I grab an Uber?"
"No, stay there. I'll pick you up. Twenty minutes."
"You sure? I don't want to..."
"Stay there, Linda. I'm coming."
I hang up and immediately call Dora. She answers on the second ring.
"Hey. You almost here?"
"Change of plans. My aunt showed up at the airport. Can you meet me at my place instead?"
"Your place?" There's surprise in her voice. "You sure?"
"Yeah. I'll text you the address. Give me about an hour?"
"Okay. Everything alright?"
"Yeah, just... Linda being Linda. See you soon."
I hang up and reroute toward the airport, anxiety mixing with something else. Relief, maybe. Because Linda's here, and even in the middle of this nightmare, that feels like something good.
Linda's waiting outside Terminal B, a small rolling suitcase beside her. She's wearing a floral cardigan and jeans, silver hair pulled back in a bun. When she sees my car, her face lights up.
I pull over, popping the trunk. She's already pulling me into a hug before I can grab her suitcase.
"Let me look at you." She steps back, hands on my shoulders. "Oh, Donnie. You look exhausted."
"Thanks."
"I'm not criticizing, I'm observing." She pats my cheek. "When's the last time you had a decent meal?"
"Had dinner an hour ago."
"With who?"
"Rachel."
Her eyebrows rise. "Rachel? Your Rachel?"
"My ex-wife Rachel, yeah. She's been checking in."
"That's... good." Linda's expression softens. "I always liked her. Even after everything."
"Yeah, well." I grab her suitcase, loading it into the trunk. "Let's get out of here before airport security yells at me."
We drive toward my apartment, Linda filling the silence with chatter about her flight, the weather in Phoenix, her neighbor's cat that keeps getting into her yard. Normal things.
"So," she says eventually. "Rachel. You two getting back together?"
"No. Just friends."
"Friends who have dinner?"
"Yes, Linda. Friends who have dinner."
"Mm-hmm." She looks out the window, smiling. "And is there anyone else? Someone special?"
My jaw tightens. "Why do you ask?"
"Because you just got that look. The one you used to get in high school when you had a crush."
"I did not have a look."
"You absolutely did. Still do, apparently." She pats my arm. "So? Who is she?"
I sigh. "Her name's Dora. She's... yeah. She's special."
"How long?"
"Couple months."
"And I'm just hearing about this now?" She swats my arm lightly. "Donnie!"
"It's been complicated. With everything going on..."
"Which is exactly why you need someone." Her voice softens. "Your mother would've wanted you to be happy, you know. She'd be glad you found someone."
My throat tightens. Mom died when I was twelve. Linda stepped in after that, did her best to fill the gap. She's the closest thing to a mother I've had since.
"She's meeting us at my place," I say. "Dora. I called her before picking you up."
Linda's face brightens. "Really? Oh, I can't wait to meet her."
"Just... go easy on her, okay? She's not used to family stuff."
"I'll be the perfect aunt. Promise."
My apartment smells stale when we walk in. I drop Linda's suitcase by the couch, opening windows to air it out. Linda's already in the kitchen, opening cabinets, assessing my food situation.
"Donnie, when's the last time you grocery shopped?"
"I eat out mostly."
"That's not eating, that's surviving." She pulls out a nearly empty box of pasta, some canned tomatoes. "Okay. I'm making dinner."
"Linda, you don't have to..."
"I'm making dinner," she repeats, firmer this time. "Sit. Talk to me while I work."
I sit at the small kitchen table, watching her move around my space like she owns it. She finds a pot, fills it with water, sets it to boil. Starts chopping an onion she found in the back of my fridge.
"So tell me about Dora," she says. "Where's she from?"
"London originally. Moved here a few months ago."
"What does she do?"
"Financial consultant. Works remotely."
Linda scrapes the onion into a pan, adding oil. "How'd you meet?"
"Coffee shop. Just... happened."
"The best things usually do." She stirs, the onions sizzling. "She make you happy?"
I think about Dora's laugh, the way she looks at me like I'm not broken. "Yeah. She does."
"Good. That's all that matters." Linda opens the tomatoes, dumping them into the pan. "Have you told her about Sarah?"
The question lands heavy. "Some of it."
"Not all?"
"No."
Linda glances back at me. "You should, you know. Before she finds out some other way."
"That's what Rachel said."
"Rachel's smart. Listen to her." She lowers the heat, moving to sit across from me.
There's a knock at the door. I stand, heart suddenly pounding. Dora.
I open the door, and she's there—jeans, simple sweater, nervous smile.
"Hey."
"Hey." I step aside. "Come in."
She enters, eyes immediately finding Linda in the kitchen. Linda stands, wiping her hands on a dish towel, smile warm and genuine.
"You must be Dora. I'm Linda, Don's aunt." She crosses the room, pulling Dora into a hug before she can react. "So lovely to meet you."
Dora stiffens slightly, then relaxes. "Nice to meet you too."
"I'm making pasta. Hope you're hungry."
"I... yeah, that sounds great."
Linda releases her, beaming. "Perfect. Donnie, set the table. Dora, come keep me company while I finish up."
I grab plates from the cabinet while Linda ushers Dora into the kitchen. They talk—Linda asking easy questions, Dora answering carefully. The normalcy of it feels surreal.
We eat at my small table, three chairs crowded together. Linda tells stories about me as a kid—embarrassing ones I try to interrupt. Dora laughs, real and bright, and for a moment, it's just this. Just family and food and warmth.
Then Linda sets down her fork, expression shifting.
"Can I tell you something?" she asks, looking at me. "And you promise not to overreact?"
My stomach tightens. "What?"
"I've been getting hang-up calls. Last few days. Someone calls, I answer, they hang up."
"What?" I set down my fork. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because it's probably nothing. Telemarketers, wrong numbers..."
"Or someone checking if you're home." My voice rises. "Linda, this isn't nothing."
"Don..."
"Have you told Officer Martinez?"
"No, because..."
"Damn it, Linda!" I stand, pulling out my phone. "You should've called me immediately."
"Donnie, sit down. You're scaring Dora."
I glance at Dora. She's pale, gripping her fork too tight. I force myself to sit, but my hands are shaking as I dial Phoenix PD.
"Phoenix Police Department, how can I help you?"
"This is Detective Donald Eric, Millbrook PD. I need to speak with whoever's assigned protection detail to Linda Torres, 428 Saguaro Drive."
"One moment."
I wait, jaw clenched. Linda reaches across the table, touching my hand. "Honey, I'm fine. I'm right here."
"Now. But what about when you go back?"
A new voice comes on the line. "This is Sergeant Foster. You're calling about Linda Torres?"
"Yes. She's been getting hang-up calls. I need increased protection. Twenty-four-seven eyes on her house, not just drive-bys."
"Detective, with all due respect, hang-up calls aren't..."
"My family is being systematically murdered. If you think I'm overreacting, check with your captain. This is a credible threat."
A pause. "Understood. I'll assign additional units immediately."
"Good. And I want updates. Every shift change, every suspicious vehicle, everything."
"Will do, Detective."
I hang up, setting the phone on the table. Linda's watching me, expression caught between touched and exasperated.
"Feel better?" she asks.
"No."
"Donnie..."
"Linda, please. Just... humor me, okay? Until this is over."
She sighs but nods. "Okay. For you."
We finish dinner in subdued silence. Dora helps clean up while Linda packs her things, insisting she needs to get back to the hotel near the airport for her early flight.
"Stay here," I offer. "I'll take the couch."
"Absolutely not. The hotel's already booked." She zips her suitcase, turning to Dora. "It was wonderful meeting you, sweetheart. You take care of my nephew, okay?"
"I will," Dora says softly.
Linda hugs her again, then me. "I love you, Donnie. Stop worrying so much."
"Can't promise that."
"I know."
We drive Linda to the train station, closer than the airport for her hotel. The platform's nearly empty, just a few travelers waiting. Linda's train isn't for another twenty minutes, so we wait with her.
"You didn't have to stay," Linda says. "I'm a big girl."
"I know. But I'm staying anyway."
She smiles, squeezing my hand. Dora stands slightly apart, giving us space but staying close.
When the train arrives, Linda hugs me one more time. "I'll call when I land tomorrow, okay?"
"You better."
"I will." She pulls back, touching my cheek. "And Donnie? Whatever you're carrying—whatever guilt, whatever fear—don't let it consume you. Your mother wouldn't want that."
My throat's too tight to speak. I just nod.
She boards, waving from the doorway. The train pulls away, and I watch until it disappears around the bend.
Dora's hand finds mine. "She's wonderful."
"Yeah. She is."
We drive back to my place in silence. Dora stays, curling up beside me on the couch while I flip through channels without watching anything. My phone sits on the coffee table, Linda's contact photo staring back.
I can't sleep. Even after Dora dozes off against my shoulder, I just sit there, staring at that photo.
Hang-up calls. Someone checking if she's home.
My blood runs cold every time I think about it.
Please. Please let the protection be enough.