Gregory smiles tightly.“No, Annie, we’re not in trouble.”
Something warm clutches at Rachel’s heart as she looks at the young woman, all brown hair and innocence.
“Annie?”Emily asks, eyes glassing over.
The girl and her father both nod, and she moves to sit next to him.He runs a large hand over her shoulders.
Emily smiles widely, almost a laugh, as tears slip from her eyes.“She looks just like her,” she says.
CHAPTER 43
RACHEL
Rachel pulls up outside the Grand Valley Institution for Women and turns off the ignition.Stevens has been her constant travel companion over the six weeks of this investigation, but she’s alone today.He’d offered to come with her, to drive her home after, but Rachel declined.It was nice of him, and he seemed to genuinely care when she confided in him about Mary.But this is something she needs to do alone.As for driving home, well…she’s been through worse.She can handle this.
She makes her way across the parking lot to the visitor entrance, feels the heat from the afternoon sun baking up at her from the asphalt.She hikes her purse up her shoulder in a determined sort of way and heads for the front doors as though she’s visited a thousand times.
But she hasn’t.Not once.
It doesn’t take long to get through security, and soon she’s shown into a large white-walled room scattered with round tables, chairs bolted to the floor.Rachel wills her hands to still in her lap.She’s only ever been inside jails and prisons in uniform, armed, and the sense of vulnerability she feels in her floral midi skirt and tee is doing nothing to help the anxiety raging up from her gut into her throat.She starts to question why she’s come at all, and is just wrestling a panic-induced urged to leave when the guard appears at the door with a line of inmates.
Heart pounding, Rachel stands up, knowing she doesn’t want Mary to approach her sitting down.She needs to be at eye level.
And there she is, fourth in line with all the other women, equalized by their dark-teal prison uniforms.Rachel inhales sharply when she gets a full look at her mother.
Time and incarceration have not been kind to Mary.Her skin is sagging a little beneath her chin and her mouth is lined with wrinkles.She’s pale, and her natural dark-brown hair colour is all grown out, but heavily grey at the temples and hairline now.She’s gained weight.
The guard guides Mary to the table, and she’s visibly surprised to see Rachel standing there.She saunters over, not in any kind of rush, and faces her daughter for the first time in ten years.
“Didn’t think you’d ever show up,” she says.Her voice is lower than Rachel remembered, a little gravelly.Damage from years of smoking and drinking, or lack of use in prison, Rachel isn’t sure.Maybe both.But the tone is the same—indignant judgment laced with self-destruction and hurt.
Mary lowers herself into the hard plastic chair with a little grunt, and Rachel’s feet itch to leave, but she gets a hold of herself and sits down again.They stare at one another for a long moment.
“Well,” Mary says.“How you been?”
Rachel opens, then shuts her mouth.She hasn’t really considered how much to tell her mother about her life now.She’s wondered how Mary would respond to her being here, given that Rachel had testified so strongly against her.But then, she’s the one who’s been writing to Rachel all these years.Rachel has never opened any of the letters, but it must have indicated some desire to talk.
“You married?”Mary asks.
“No.”
“Huh.You do anything for work?”
Rachel swallows, unsure of how her mother will react, but she reminds herself that Mary can’t hurt her here.If she’s ever going to have the upper hand, this is it.“I’m a cop,” she says.“A detective.”
Mary’s eyes narrow, but then she throws her head back and laughs.
“Sounds about right,” Mary says, crossing her arms over her chest now, protective.Maybe a little angry.“You still in the house?”
Rachel doesn’t answer.She doesn’t really want Mary to have confirmation of where to reach her.For all Mary knows, those unanswered letters were tossed out by the new owners before Rachel even saw them.
“Well, good you finished school, anyway,” Mary says with a shrug.“Beats scooping ice cream for the rest of your life.”
Rachel watches her mother, curious about the comment.Mary still sees her as a child, still pictures her in that paper hat behind the counter on Main Street.She can’t even conceptualize Rachel as the adult she is now.Her mother never understood her, and never will.Because she doesn’t want to.And if Mary doesn’t want to do something, it isn’t going to happen.
Rachel decides to dispense with the small talk, and get right to it.“I want to ask you something.Between you and me, here, today, tell me the truth.Did you push your brother off that cliff?”she asks, watching Mary closely.
Mary runs her tongue over her teeth.Slowly.“You don’t actually want to know the answer to that.”
