All that morning and into the afternoon, Natalie and Elena worked diligently, trying their hardest to find a stiffer paper trail between the Cranberry Cove new-build project and the corruption in Connersville. They called the bank, and they interviewed people at neighboring country clubs. They dug and dug and dug. By four thirty, they were exhausted and strung out with barely anything to show for it. But Elena was invigorated.
“Let’s go get some food,” she said to Natalie. “We’ve earned it.”
On the walk to the little bougie sandwich place down the road, Natalie seemed morose. Elena eyed her nervously, her hands shoved in her pockets as they strolled side by side, past the Christmas tree at the courthouse, past where James held his grief therapy meetings.
“You can’t let this get to you,” Elena said quietly. “It’s a part of the process. We’re getting closer and closer. I can feel it.”
Natalie stopped at the corner and flinched to look at Elena. “It’s the fear that gets to me, I think. Every step that takes us closer makes me feel like I’m putting myself at risk.”
“But if there’s corruption at the root of this, don’t you want to tear it open?” Elena asked.
Natalie nodded furiously. “It’s why I came to your office today.”
Elena was taken aback at Natalie calling her mother’s office hers. Before she could respond, Natalie opened the sandwich shop door and barreled inside, grabbing a chair in the corner.Elena followed and sat, studying a menu that listed pesto chicken sandwiches, roast beef, and tempeh. It was a far cry from Syria, but the frustration felt similar. They needed to break this case.
After a sorrowful and contemplative late lunch with Natalie, Elena ran off to pick up her mother and take her to see Maxine. Elena had been dreading this appointment, but now that it was here, she tried to get her mind around the truth. Her mother was sick, and medication would help her. That was what it was for.
But all the way to the hospital, Carmen fought Elena tooth and nail.
“Tell me everything you’re publishing this week,” Carmen demanded. “I’m the owner of the paper, for crying out loud. It’s up to me to say what goes and what doesn’t.”
Elena listed out what she could remember of the schedule: the Christmas potlucks, the Christmas choir concert, the interview with the church’s organist, who’d just performed Christmas concertos in Rome. Carmen clucked her tongue, as though no list was good enough for her. Elena was crushed under the weight of Carmen’s expectations.
When they parked in the lot next to the hospital, Elena cut the engine but didn’t unlock the door yet. Carmen was quiet, mercifully. Elena wondered whether she should ask her mother why she hadn’t told anyone about what had happened in Syria. More than that, Elena wondered if her mother understood the entire story of what had happened. Elena needed her to know that it hadn’t been Elena’s fault, not entirely. That Elena had trusted the wrong person, and everything had exploded. But before she could say anything more, Carmen unlocked her own door, grumbling that she had to do everything herself. Elena had to run to keep up with her.
In Maxine’s office, Carmen was on her best behavior. It was clear that she wanted to “prove” to Maxine that nothing waswrong with her. It felt tragic, in a way, given the fact that Maxine and Elena had once been young girls in Carmen’s care. Everything was turned on its head.
Maxine prescribed Carmen a number of donepezil pills proven to curb the effects of early-onset Alzheimer’s. She described the pills to Carmen and Elena in simple terms that proved she knew enough of what she was talking about to make things understandable. Elena fought back tears the entire time.
“I have to take them every single day?” Carmen demanded, as though she couldn’t believe it.
“I always suggest setting up as many reminders as you can,” Maxine said. “Alarms on your phone and notes on the fridge.”
Immediately, Elena set an alarm for herself, eager to help her mother through this next stage. Her blind and silly hope was that the minute her mother got accustomed to the pills, she’d be better. She’d go back to work.
Elena tried to tell herself not to think such optimistic things, especially given the nature of this disease, but she couldn’t stop.
When the appointment was over, Carmen barreled toward the door, eager to get out of there. She hated being the topic of conversation. When she went into the hallway, Elena hung back to thank Maxine.
“Don’t mention it.” Maxine’s eyes glinted. “By the way, do you want to come over for dinner sometime soon? I know you have responsibilities to the paper and to your mother. But I’d love for you to meet my husband and children. They’ve heard so much about you over the years.”
Elena took a breath, surprised and touched that Maxine had ever mentioned her to the people she loved now. It meant that their childhood friendship and love had really mattered.
“I’d like that very much,” she said.
It wasn’t till she got into the car that she felt tears drip down her cheeks. Beside her, Carmen was quiet, as though she werestewing over what Maxine had said. But by the time they got home, it was clear Carmen had forgotten. Elena had to remind her to take the pills first thing.
Chapter Twelve
Just as Maxine had warned, the medication made Carmen very tired, so much so that Carmen was still fast asleep when Jemma came by the following morning. It was a Tuesday, the second week of December, but already it felt as though Elena had been back in Millbrook for a whole lot longer than a week and a half. It was when Jemma entered the house, crowing her hello, that Elena thought of her Chevy, which Marvin the mechanic had sold for auto parts. She wanted to head down to the shop, collect the cash, and thank him. She donned her winter coat, explained her mother’s medication to Jemma, then headed out into the snow.
As Elena walked to the auto shop, she made a point to pass by James’s place. Since he’d stayed at the house far past midnight on Friday, listening to her stories, she’d felt sheepish around him. She’d attended another grief therapy meeting on Sunday (leaving her mother at home, this time, to avoid disaster), but when he’d asked her to coffee afterward, she’d made up an excuse and headed home instead. It was strange to have someone carry the weight of your past like this. More than that, she felt uneasy, as though she shouldn’t have trusted him.
Timothy had done a real number on her heart—and had permanently affected all of her future relationships. She was intelligent enough to know that he was to blame. But she wasn’t clever enough to overcome it yet.
Elena walked the rest of the way to the auto shop. Although she knew that Marvin had sold her car for parts, that it was broken up and would never again be driven, she wished she could see that clunky vehicle one last time. She’d purchased it after her return to Syria and driven it around the city only a few times. She’d had visions of driving it all over the East Coast, discovering a world she’d always ignored as she’d pursued journalism, the art of the story. But she’d never really made it out of Queens. In that way, she’d failed both herself and the car.
But the car brought me all the way here, she thought.
