“How’s Drew liking Tucson?” I ask Roxie.
“He likes it, I guess. He’s taking a photography class and his Instagram is full of cactus photos. Looks boring to me.”
“But we’ll drive down so she can visit this spring,” Andi says, and Roxie nods.
“And you?” I ask Andi, who is zoned out watching Ray across the room sobbing into his handkerchief while some older woman I don’t know hugs him.
“Huh?” she says, missing the question, but I don’t repeat it. It was a stupid question.
“I just stopped in to pay my respects, but I’m gonna just say hello to Ray and then head out. Jack has a doctor’s appointment.” And then I hug them both and slide my drink to Andi. On my way out, I dodge a few people who want to ask me questions about the whole tragic night that I have no intention of answering, and I just make sure Ray sees me wave to him before getting out of the crowded bar and heading back home.
It’s a strange feeling, not knowing which place I want to be in less—surrounded by friends and loved ones at O’Malley’s, or home spending time with Jack. Before, either option would have been top on my list of favorite things to do. Now I’m looked at differently by people, bombarded, praised or judged or pitied. Everyone has an opinion about my life. And going home... it’s changed.
When I walk in the door with burgers from Kellers, Hallie has Jack’s feet up on a pillow on the coffee table and they’re watchingCurious Georgewhile she makes tiny ponytails in his hair with rubber bands. She’s careful not to jump on him or get close to his wounds. She understands on some level what’s happened, but I don’t know how much.
“Hi, Mom!” She beams and then giggles when she sees me notice the glitter nail polish Jack has let her paint his nails with.
“You should open your own shop,” I say, handing her the bag of takeout. She opens it and starts plucking out the food, looking for her waffle fries. I sit down next to Jack and hand him a burger.
“Thanks.” He kisses me on the cheek, and we eat while we watch George learn how to paint with watercolors on the television for a few minutes. All I’ve ever wanted. This. I would have given up just about anything in life to have one more day like this with Jack—just his presence and the minutiae of the day-to-day, the simple things that aren’t in themselves exciting but having him close makes them perfect. Why can’t I feel that anymore?
I know why he did what he did. I know that it destroyed him and that he thought it was the right thing to do—the only thing. I can’t really hate him for that, because it wasincredibly selfless. Not only was he looking over his shoulder every day, running constantly, trying to survive, but he gave up the only family he had and went through mourning all of that alone. He should get a medal, if anything.
But there is a part of me that deeply resents being abandoned. It feels like a betrayal no matter how many ways I look at it—no matter how understanding I try to be.
“We should get ready for your appointment,” I say after everyone finishes eating. I pull his walker from the hallway and set it next to the couch. Then I give him his afternoon meds before I go to warm the car up and pull it around. Hal likes to help him put his coat on and run ahead to open the car door.
“It’s a long road to recovery,” Hallie says, not for the first time today, repeating something she’s heard us discussing. She wants to take care of him, and it’s heartwarming. As we pile into the car and pull away for another doctor’s appointment, I look over at Jack and smile. I want to feel something different. He’s a hero, really. I want to see the sacrifice and love when I look at him now, but...
He’s a stranger to me.
Epilogue
Sasha
Six weeks later
It’s finally sunny. I sit in the courtyard of Raffy’s rehab center at a stone-carved table, eating a cheese sandwich in the bright sunshine. Tucson had the best dual-diagnosis facility, and so we came here. I’ve always wanted this warm, happy climate but would never have believed the road I’d take to get here.
Chloe adores her school, and of course it’s difficult, but she’s adjusting to this new life. Drew has taken up photography and seems a little lighter—sometimes I even see a glimmer of something resembling a regular teenager who’s excited about stuff, playing pickup basketball and talking about colleges. We don’t turn on the news or follow the updates on Al Blanc’s trial or all the coverage on Tom’s heinous crimes overthe years. We go to the state park and botanical gardens, we watch British baking shows, we grow lemon trees in pots on the patio, and we watch fireflies blink in the backyard of our tiny rented house. And I visit Raff every afternoon when the kids are at school.
I’ll likely have to testify, but I don’t let myself think about that now. I won’t be a good witness anyway because I never suspected a thing—not one of the horrors going on right under my nose. I just want to put it all behind me.
It wasn’t hard to walk away from the very comfortable life I was used to. It was the easiest thing I ever did, because it never felt quite right no matter how much I convinced myself it did. I suppose I wouldn’t have lied and spent so much time at Raffy’s if I’d felt... safe.
Everything was in Tom’s name, so it will be seized by the state, and even that can’t possibly be enough to pay his lawyers and debts to the families he’s destroyed—victims that seem to surface one by one with each passing day.
The state can have it. I don’t want it anyway. I never really did. The little house on the cliff that Raffy and I bought was modest and had wooden shutters and flower boxes and a vegetable garden in back, and that was home. I wonder if I should have fought harder to keep that all together—if I helped him enough or gave up too easily.
I won’t give up on him this time. We’re selling the cliff house and the money will get us by while I look for a job. We’ve been left with next to nothing, but I couldn’t be happier. The man who ruined Raff’s life and held him emotionally captive all these years is gone, and he finally can be free now. Maybe letting go of that will finally allow him the space to recover.
I sit across from him, the sun on his face, light in his eyes for the first time in many, many years. I push a bottle of lemonade Chloe made for him across the table. He smiles. We eat our sandwiches and watch a goldfinch hop from branch to branch of the desert willows above the courtyard, and I pray to myself, silently... a quiet plea that Raff stays with me. That I don’t lose him again. That he doesn’t lose himself.
I stay until dusk, hanging out in the rec room and pushing pieces of a jigsaw puzzle together and talking with him about his plans—the business he could rebuild, the fruit trees we could grow, the years we still have. Then, when it’s time for him to go, I walk inside with him. I hold his face between my hands and kiss him goodbye before he walks down the long hall leading to the group therapy room, and I turn to go back out to the lobby and leave. It’s dark outside and I’m excited to pick Chloe up from her ballet class and bring dinner home for Drew. I feel something I haven’t felt in a very long time—something like happiness, I think.
When I pass through the lobby to the front door, I stop when I hear my name. It’s the news playing on the TV above the waiting area chairs near the front desk. They are talking about the events that happened—the tragedy, and the arrest of two seasoned killers. I moved far away from Connecticut, but I know the story has made some national news outlets. But this time what I hear is different, urgent, horrifying.
I look up at the screen and see the face of a young reporter with a microphone saying words I cannot believe I’m hearing.
