My eyes grow heavy. Against all odds, unconsciousness finally claims me.
chapter 19
Taio
The Carrington house looks different in February.
Last time I was here, it was summer. The lawn was brown and crispy from drought, the flowerbeds wilted, the whole property radiating a kind of exhausted defeat. Now, in the gray light of a New York winter, there’s something almost hopeful about it. Someone’s hung a wreath on the front door. The walkway’s been shoveled clean. Through the window, I can see warm light glowing from the kitchen.
I can’t move from the driver’s seat. Five minutes tick by on the dashboard clock while I finger the edge of the check in my pocket. Fifty grand. Half of what Charlie’s team promised me; the other half comes when I finish the job. But right now, this promise is all I have to show Anne that I haven’t given up, that I’m still chipping away at the mountain of debt my father left behind.
It’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. But it’s something.
I finally force myself out of the car and up the walkway. The doorbell chimes inside, and I hear footsteps, then the rattle of a chain being slid down.
To my relief, Anne opens the door. I didn’t want to deal with Mr. Carrington’s judgy stare tonight. Everything he thinks about me, I do too. Spoiled little rich kid whose dad fed him with the stolen fruits of labor. I get it. Doesn’t mean I want to be reminded every five minutes.
“Taio. Honey, what are you doing here? Come in, it’s freezing this morning.”
She’s wearing an apron dusted with flour, and I can smell something baking—cookies, maybe, or banana bread.
“I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“Nonsense. I just put coffee on. Mr. Carrington is out of town on business, and Joy is still sleeping.” She widens her eyes. “Teenagers, right?”
“I’m assuming Alaina is?—”
“She lives with her fiancé.”
Huh. Interesting.Why didn’t that sting?I keep waiting for the usual emotional pinprick every time I get information about Alaina, but for some reason, it just doesn’t hurt.
I step through the door. “Whatever you’re cooking smells delicious.”
“Then you’re just in time, honey. In, in,in.” She waits for me to kick off my shoes, then ushers me through the living room to the kitchen nook. I slide into the booth side of the round table, my old spot.
Before I can blink, a large mug of warm coffee is beside me. Cream and sugar magically appear alongside. Anne was always the best host. I used to love dinners at her place. She and Mom used to cater holidays together. I miss them arguing over pretentious appetizers and color schemes for Christmas spreads.
The house is warm and smells like cinnamon. There are new throw pillows on the couch, fresh flowers on the side table, a few new pictures, and I think a new area rug by the front entrance,but otherwise, this is the second home I remember from my childhood and adolescence.
I’m so glad, at least, they got to keep the house. It was paid off. The one thing the bank couldn’t seize.
“You look tired, honey.”
“Red-eye flight.”
“From where?”
“Miami. Work.”
Her eyebrows rise slightly, but she doesn’t pry. Instead, she pours herself a cup of coffee, then slides into the seat across the table.
“So what brings you here?”
I reach into my jacket and pull out the check. I set it on the table in front of me, then slide it across with two fingers like I’m making her a written offer. Anne looks at it but doesn’t touch it.
“Fifty thousand,” I say. “I know it’s not all of it, but I wanted to give you some peace of mind. I’ll have the rest in about three more months. In plenty of time for Joy to start school.”
Anne is quiet for a long moment. She picks up her coffee cup, takes a slow sip, sets it back down carefully.
