“Mom, sorry.” I switch the phone to my other ear and hold it up with my shoulder so I can wash my hands before I start cooking. “How are you?”
“We’re good. Your dad and I are good. How are you?”
“I’m…” I bite my lip, looking down at my hands and the towel I’m using to dry them. “Hanging in there.”
“Brynn? Are you sure?” Worry creeps into her voice.
She’s always worried, especially since what happened, but never enough to come home. They came right after the accident, but eventually they had to go back to Mexico. Their livelihood is there. When the press coverage became brutal, I was happy they were gone and didn’t have to see what I saw, but I wouldn’t mind a hug from my mom, or my dad ruffling my hair.
After that last letter, it’s imperative they stay gone.
“Mom, I promise, everything is good. I found a job and I’m saving my money. Everything is going according to plan.” When I first told her what I was going to do, she agreed I needed to find a new path. I guess that’s the bright side of having adventurous parents.
“A job? That’s great, honey. Where?”
I laugh softly. “You’ll never believe it, but I’m working with a handyman.”
She snorts disbelievingly.
“I know. It’s not quite what I’m trained for, but it pays cash.”
“Enough said.” She laughs. “It’s probably not the worst thing in the world for you to learn how to take care of things around a house. How is your boss?”
Connor… He’s a lot of things. Handsome, for starters. He’s better-looking than any of the men I met in clubs, and I’ve met more than my fair share. Connor doesn’t have to try, and I think that’s what makes him even more attractive. He has gentle eyes that crinkle when he’s trying to hear everything I’m not saying. I know how he holds back, how he tries to ask questions that aren’t intrusive, but will tell him something about me. Like I’m an orange that has already been emptied of juice, but maybe he can squeeze a bit harder for the last few drops.
“He’s okay,” I manage to say through all my thoughts. “Sometimes it’s hard not to say too much, you know?”
“I’m sure it is, especially for someone as personable and outgoing as you.”
I bark a bitter laugh. “You’re talking about someone who doesn’t exist anymore.”
“Hidden, maybe, but I bet she still exists.”
“Survival changes a person, Mom.” So does character assassination.
“Honey,” Mom breathes the word, her voice full of emotion.
The pain of it sweeps through me, thickening the base of my throat and filling my eyes. “Can we stop talking about this, please? Tell me about you and Dad.”
Swallowing, I will myself to calm down while my mom talks about their days fishing. She’s telling me a funny story about a woman who tried to wear wedges on their last tour, and how she refused to take them off when they told her the shoes wouldn’t be good for being on a boat.
“I think she was picturing cruising on a yacht, and she really should’ve listened, because she wasn’t too happy when she fell and got her white pants dirty.”
I laugh along with my mother, grateful for the distraction. My dad calls for her, his deep voice saying something about the next charter, and she tells me she needs to go. As much as I don’t want to, I tell her I love her and say goodbye.
I miss her more than ever right now, but I’m happy she and my dad are far away. I didn’t tell her about the last letter. In the beginning, when the first letter arrived, she begged me to tell the police what Eric Prince was doing. I refused. He’d already been through so much, how could I put him through more? He needed time to get over his suffocating anger.
The last letter was the push I needed to do what I should’ve done right after the accident and I was cleared of wrongdoing.Get the hell out of that place. In a handful of months, I’ll disappear, and Eric Prince will hopefully find his peace.
In the meantime, I’m going to learn how to make sour beef and dumplings, despite what Connor might have to say about it.
* * *
When I’m done cooking,I make my way over to Walt’s.
I’m only halfway up his front walk when he opens his front door. He’s wearing a gray newsboy cap and a frown.
“What do you want, Bryan?”
