Monk bought himself a few seconds as he took a seat. Her feet were crossed under her chair, her hands resting in her lap. The tip of her nose started to pinken, and her eyes, though not yet tearing, were headed there.
“I’m sorry, but yes, she is,” he said.
Kendall blinked several times. He wanted to tell her it was okay to cry; hell, he’d probably cry right alongside her. He didn’t know Cindy from Adam, but her daughter was fucking amazing, so she had to have been a somewhat decent person.
“How?”
He felt the weight of his phone in his pocket. “Do you want me to tell you, or do you want to see what Leo sent?” After they’d spoken, Leo had forwarded all the details he could find about the death of Cindy Jacobs to Monk’s email.
Her gaze flickered to her computer, as if debating whether she wanted a permanent reminder of the details at her fingertips. “Tell me.”
“She died in a car accident between Truckee and Sacramento. No drugs or other substances were involved. Just a reckless semi driver who overcorrected on a turn and caused a four-car pileup. Your mother and a man in another car both paid the price.”
A single tear tracked down Kendall’s cheek, and of all the things he’d seen in his life, nothing had ever, or likely would ever, break his heart more.
“When?” she said, her voice cracking on the question.
“Three days ago. She’d been in Vegas and was, we believe, on her way back for you.”
Another tear. One of his own matched hers.
They sat in silence, Kendall only occasionally twisting her hands in her lap as she stared at some spot behind him. The clock ticked by, minute by minute, but he’d stay until she told him to go.
She cleared her throat, dropped her eyes, then twisted her hands again. “What about her body? She wanted to be cremated. She’d joke about that all the time. Said she wanted her ashes dumped in the ocean so she could travel around the world.”
“Then we’ll make that happen,” he replied, already ready to text Leo. He’d have to liaise with the police and Department of Social Services eventually, but for now, Leo had offered to take the lead.
More tears fell. He wanted to gather her in his arms, hug her, and tell her it would all be okay, but this moment wasn’t about what he wanted. Kendall hadn’t moved from her chair, and he sensed she needed the stillness, the lack of other stimuli, to process the news.
“What about me?” She’d been all fire and challenge when they’d first met. Now he saw the little girl she still was.
“My family and I do some work helping people escape bad relationships. Mostly women, but not all. A few years ago, a woman we helped couldn’t care for her two-year-old son while recovering in the hospital. We didn’t want them separated or traumatized any more than they’d been, so a few of us went through the process of being preapproved as foster parents. Including me.”
“Are you offering to be my foster home?” she said, her mind still as quick as always.
He inclined his head. “Leo has started the paperwork already, but if you don’t want that, we can find another option.”
“Yes,” she said. He cocked his head, unsure if she meant she wanted him to proceed with the application or wanted someone else. “I want to live with you.” Relief flooded in with a strengthhe hadn’t expected. In the few days he’d known her, Kendall had sneaked under his skin. He couldn’t imagine life without her as part of it. Even if Cindy had lived, he would have kept in touch with her, always made sure she had a safe place to land.
“I’m glad,” he said. Her shoulders eased, hopefully at the honesty she heard in his voice. “We’ll have some details to work out, and we’ll need to meet with Social Services, but we don’t have to think about all that right now. Right now, is there anything you need? Dulcie is here, too, and my family is coming later today. It might be overwhelming, so I can keep them away from you, but I didn’t want you to be surprised or caught off guard when they arrive.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know. Dulcie is talking to Mantis right now. Mantis is the president of the club. There are fifteen of us total, but some will have to stay in Mystery Lake to run the businesses.”
She nodded, a slow, contemplative movement. “I’d like to meet them.”
“They’ll be glad. I know they’ll want to meet you, too.” He paused. Outside of the military, he’d never delivered a message of death, let alone one to a grieving girl of twelve who was now an orphan. She’d have a family—the Falcons would see to that—but for now, he could only imagine how alone she felt.
He let out a long, heavy exhale. “I’m not going to pretend to know how you may or may not feel, or what you may or may not need right now, but I will ask, is there anything I can do for you? I can make you an early lunch or some hot chocolate. I can bring it up here or, if you want to come down, I’ve found that staring into the fire has a way of settling me.”
She didn’t answer right away, and he didn’t push. Another tear slid down her cheek. “If it’s okay, I think I’d like to lie down for a little while.”
“Of course that’s okay. Whatever you need,” he said, rising. He paused, taking in her hunched shoulders. With her big-sized personality and brains, she’d always seemed like a force to be reckoned with, even at her age. But now she looked young and so frail. He hated it. Hated she’d had the life she’d had, that her mother was who she was. That she hadn’t had any stability in any way, nothing to ground herself to or feel she could rely on. Maybe it wasn’t fair—he knew very little about Cindy Jacobs and maybe she really did do everything in her power to do right by her daughter. But looking at Kendall now, curling into herself, no doubt feeling so alone and scared, he couldn’t muster any sympathy. It wasn’t only that Cindy had died—she had no control over that, and for that, he was truly sorry. But for everything she’d put her daughter throughbeforedying? Well, it might not be his place, but he wouldn’t be forgiving her that for a good long while.
“I’m told I give good hugs,” he said, his chest twisting at Kendall’s red-rimmed eyes. “Something about being so tall and, well, big,” he said, holding his arms out to the side.
She studied him. “I’ve never really been a hugging person. Not with anyone other than my mom.” He could sense her wavering. She wanted a hug, wanted the basic comfort of one, but didn’t trust it wouldn’t be awkward. Like her new sweater analogy, she wasn’t sure it would fit.
