Sickness spun.
Spun and spun and spun.
Riding an agitator that fully wrung me out.
“Does he know?”
Grief constricted my chest. “No.” It was a wheeze. “I finally told him last night what’d happened. But he has no idea it was her.”
That was when I hadn’t thought it would matter. When the name and face meant absolutely nothing because the only thing remaining had been the scars.
Those scars had been ripped wide open.
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. She’s...she’s over there now, and I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m supposed to do. She’s her mother.”
It dropped from me like a stone.
Sorrow.
Dejection.
Regret.
Janel was Frankie Leigh’s mother. That was a fact I couldn’t change. One I couldn’t stand in the way of, no matter how much I loved that little girl.
“Ryn, I’m so sorry. Tell me what to do. How can I make this better?”
“I don’t think there’s anything you can do.”
“I can’t stand the idea of you clear across the country hurting and no one there to feed you gallons of ice cream.”
I choked out a soggy laugh. “I wish you were here, too.”
“If you need me, you know I’m on the first plane. You say the word, and I’m there.”
“I know, thank you.”
“Just...hold tight, Ryn. He’s probably as shocked as you are. See what comes of it. What he has to say.”
I nodded. It was the only rational thing I could do.
Wait.
And I thought the waiting just might kill me.
* * *
Three hours later, I was at the diner. It turned out I couldn’t wait. Couldn’t sit idle while Janel was directly across the street with Rex and Frankie. Not when I couldn’t see through the walls or hear what they were saying.
Torture. I couldn’t find another word to describe the turmoil that seethed within. Pulling and ripping and grinding. It felt as if I were being torn apart, rended by white-hot agony.
So, I went to the one place I would find solace. I stood holding a sledgehammer in my hands, blinking into the dimness of the old restaurant as if I had any clue what to do with it.
As if I could make a difference.
A thick coat of dust had settled on the floor, and plastic sheets covered the booths that had been moved against one wall, waiting for the contractor who’d been hired to reupholster them. The old tabletops ripped out, the empty spaces waiting for new tables to be delivered.
