“Yes, she loved you to an extreme, Mia. She was obsessed with you. She wanted to make your life better. She even believed she could tell you Adam was her gift to you and that you would thank her when all of this was over.”
My hand goes to my throat. “Thank her? She thought I would thank her for killing people?”
“You did nothing to create that belief in her. She thought the world would thank her for getting rid of her father, too. He was a monster, a molester of children, who would hurt someone else if she didn’t deal with him.”
“And her mother?”
“An enabler who was almost no better than him.”
“Was he a monster?”
“We have nothing to support or disprove that accusation. You didn’t drive her to do this, Mia. You are a victim. It wouldn’t hurt for you to talk to someone yourself.”
I shake my head. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I might do that.”
“What else can I say right now to help you deal with this?”
“How did I not see her spiraling?”
“The therapist said she was very good at acting normal.”
“But this was me. I lived with her for years.”
“But you didn’t live with her in the past few years. Cut yourself some slack. What else can I answer to help you deal with this?”
“This sounds silly, but it’s bugging me. I had an Uber driver named Jack. Any idea if he was DC9?”
“Yes. Jess mentions him in her journal. She was trying to surround you with symbolism and help you decide what repeating themes had to end in your life.”
“Jack,” I whisper. “Was he going to be next?”
He gives a small, sharp nod. “Yes, Mia. Yes he was.”
My eyes shut, and I pant out a harsh breath. “I need some time alone.”
“Of course,” he says, surprising me by patting my hand. “You got this. You will get to the other side of this hell and be stronger for it. I believe in you.”
His confidence is remarkably comforting, perhaps because Jess was my cheerleader, and now she’s gone.
As for Jack himself, he comes by to visit me often, and he even brings Sara with him one day. I like her. She is pretty and sweet, and when she screams at a spider in my father’s workroom right along with me, I decide she’s no killer. Therefore I like her even more. And it seems Jack isn’t invisible to Sara at all.
It’s two weeks later, and I’m feeling better, at least from a physical perspective, up and on my feet, but at present actually sitting in the lounge area of my father’s workspace. I’m reading a book, trying to find my happy place again, when he joins me with two cups of steaming coffee in hand, one of which I happily accept. It was only a week ago nowthat he signed the backup offer on his patent, and it’s a life-changing offer. Five million up front and 40 percent royalties on his product sales.
“We’ve decided to stay here,” he says. “The house next door is up for sale. We’re going to buy it and turn it into my workspace. Then remodel the main house.”
“Well that’s fun,” I say, thankful that neither he nor anyone else has any idea what really happened to Big Davis. I don’t want his dream to become about guilt and shame. No matter what has transpired, outside his understanding or knowledge, he has absolutely earned this success. “I can’t wait to see it all.”
“Also,” he adds, “there’s a house two blocks away. If you love it, your mom and I would like to buy it for you. We’ll pay for you to remodel it and make it perfect.”
“Y’all don’t have to do that, Dad.”
“We have the money,” he says. “I’ve worked for this dream. Your mother held on to the dream with me for a lifetime, and so did you. Treating you to this is part of that dream. And I know you don’t want to go back to the loft. I can tell. I mean, you’re here, hanging out, with your mother.”
I laugh, but the laughter fades quickly, honesty at the forefront of my reply. “No,” I say. “No I don’t.” I hug him. “Thank you. Thank you, Dad.”
“This came for you by certified mail,” my mother announces, entering the room and offering me a large envelope. My brows furrow at the name of an unfamiliar law firm in the corner address area. I open it quickly, my hands trembling, and I don’t know why. I swallow hard and read the letter addressed to me.
Dear Ms.Anderson:
