“I have no idea. I’ve never met him. I work for an on-call cleaning service. Me and Yvette are here working. She’s in the back somewhere. We go wherever we’re sent. Can I help you with anything?”
“No,” I say. “No, thank you. Happy cleaning.”
She smiles brightly. “Thank you. Have a good evening.”
“You too,” I say, but I hesitate, confused by their presence, before I back out of the door and head upstairs.
I’m standing at my island, staring at my message thread with Adam, willing him to reply when an ugly thought hits me. This is what he wants, for me to fear his silence. He’s teaching me to never defy him again.
Hours later, I lie in bed and do what I have not done in too long, what I always did each night with my father before bed. I pray and not for myself. I vow to never defy Adam again if only Akia survives the night.
Chapter Seventy-Eight
I barely remember falling asleep, but the next morning I wake with a jolt to a sitting position with the realization that the buzzer for my door is going off. Someone is holding down the button. I grab my phone and check the time, which reads forty-five minutes before my alarm is scheduled to strike its attack on my slumber.
This has to be Adam-driven in some way, and even as the buzzer assaults my ears, I check my messages, expecting something from him and finding nothing.
For a whimsical, wonderful moment, I dare to think maybe he’s gone.
Could he be gone?
I reject the stupidity of my own thoughts.
No, he is not gone, and whoever is at my door is probably holding another delivery from him, which is a daunting prospect. Somehow I doubt it’s clothing this time.
My cellphone begins to ring in my hand with Jess’s number. I decline the call and throw away my blankets, walking into my closet to pull on sweats, a tank, and slippers. The buzzer is still going off, and my phone dings with a text.
I grab it to read a message from Jess:I’m downstairs, woman. Answer your door.
Relief washes over me. The buzzer has nothing to do with Adam, but good Lord, Jess is so melodramatic. She probably has muffins, warm from the oven, and doesn’t want me to sleep through the delight. This wouldn’t be the first time she woke me in crisis over baked goods.
I walk down the stairs and hit the button to allow her entry, then walk into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. I’ve just filled the water carafe when the door opens, but Jess isn’t alone. Jack is with her, both of them looking like they rolled out of bed and threw on whatever was nearby. Jess’s bare face confirms as much. This was no planned, organized visit. My two Js are not only together; their faces are etched in shadows, the kind that speak of tragedy. My chest freezes, air locked into my lungs. I set the pot down and step to the island, bracing myself on the counter for something horrific, something I may not survive.
I can feel my body quaking, my heart beating at warp speed, a panic attack threatening to claim control over me. What has Adam done? “Please tell me it’s not my parents,” I whisper.
“No,” Jess says, rounding the counter to stand in front of me, catching my shoulders, and turning me toward her. “Akia was stabbed to death last night in a bar fight.”
I blink at her, not quite digesting the words she’s just spoken.
Jack joins us, shrinking the size of my little kitchen with his large body. “You didn’t wish this on him, Mia, but I know you’re going to blame yourself.”
I rotate out of Jess’s grip to face Jack, still not fully processing what has happened. “Akia is dead?”
“Yes,” he confirms, and I swear I hate myself for the avalanche of relief that crashes over me, for just how thankful I am that it’s Akia who is dead, and not my parents, or even one or both of my two Js.
I turn away from them both, afraid they’ll see the poison Adam has created in me, the ability to be happy that one man is dead versus another. I tell myself that I’m not cold. I’m not heartless. I’m just—trying to digest it all, trying to survive Adam’s menace, his reign of terror.
I grab the counter by the kitchen sink, holding on to it as if I were holding on to the last of my own soul, and maybe I am. Adam is changing me. I feel it in my bones. “Apparently there was a big brawl in the bar,” Jess explains from behind me. “It’s not Akia’s first fight. He’s apparently an instigator, but when it broke up, something happened in the bathroom. Someone stabbed him. It’s all over the news.”
I rotate to face them both. “Do they know who did it?” I ask hopefully, truly hopefully. I need this to end. The right camera footage could deliver that gift.
“There was no camera footage,” Jack replies, as if he’s read my mind. “The police opened up a tip line.” He moves toward me and the sink. “I’ll make the coffee.”
I nod, in shock, I think, because I don’t seem to be capable of reacting with anything more. I’m not crying. I’m not screaming. I’m not speaking, not more than I have to, but I’m also not numb.
There is an icy tightness in my chest that feels as if it might squeeze the life out of me at any moment.
“I’ll turn on the news,” Jess offers, rounding the counter and walking to the living room, where the remote rests on the coffee table.
