Nadia:How do you feel about Southern California?
Chapter Thirty-Five
My flight is in anhour, but I’m desperate for answers. Desperate for anything even vaguely resembling help. I’ve dropped the girls at Graham’s, telling him I plan to fly in and surprise Brian with a romantic evening on the beach. I’ve taken Bear to Piper’s apartment (much to her annoyance—Oh my god, she’ll get dog hair on my sofa, Nadia!), locked up the house, and thrown my overnight bag into the van. I have one more stop before I go to the airport.
“Gran?” I knock gently on her door, let it ease open as I peer into her room.
“Nadia! Come, come.” The woman who greets me is one hundred percent my grandmother. Her eyes light up where she rests in her sitting chair, a tray table beside her with small plates full of only vaguely identifiable food.
“I brought you Torchy’s Tacos.” I hold up the white-and-red paper bag and she grins.
“Myfavorite.” She claps her hands together. “Queso too?”
“Of course.” I hand over the bag and sit on the edge of her bed, taking her in. I haven’t seen her so alive, so herself, in years,maybe since before Brian and I helped move her in here. We had a little birthday gathering at her place, a two-story farmhouse on half an acre where she and my grandfather had lived for decades. But with him gone, she decided she’d change it up, raising goats and adopting every cat who crossed her path.Your grandfather hated animals,I remember her saying,so now I’ll have a farm, I think.It wasn’t quite a farm—more a menagerie of whatever strays came her way. But she created the life she always wanted, that apparently, he hadn’t been willing to let her have while he was alive.
“You know, this is always better with two certain little girls to share it with.” She gives me a side-eye, which I reply to with a sigh.
“Sorry, they have school.”
With a little shrug—she’s not fooling anybody, she loves her great-granddaughters, but hates sharing her tacos—Gran digs in, and another fact hits me: that often, people have terminal lucidity, a short period of energy and an ability to remember clearly, just before they die.
My heart almost pops in my chest, like a balloon shattering into a million pieces.
Please, Gran, not you too. I couldn’t take losing you on the heels of Brian…
“Ah, you can really taste the lime.” She holds up a chip to me. “Want one?”
“No, thanks.” My eyes travel to the clock, its ever-presenttick-tick-tick. I want to stay. I want to soak in Gran’s personality, her energy, but I don’t have time. “Do you happen to remember when I was talking about Brian the other day?”
She stops, a bite of taco halfway to her mouth. “Of course,” she says, as though offended I’d dare think she’d forgotten. She drops the food in her lap, leans forward. “Why?”
I hurry, because who knows how long her clarity will last.
“I’m terrified, Gran. He’s going to San Diego for what he’s saying is a business trip, but I think it’s for something else. And you always told me to stay in control, to keep myself—satisfied.”
She nods along, brows furrowed, listening.
“I’m afraid what he’s doing is bad. I’m afraid I’m going to have to kill him. And I’m terrified that when I do—that I’ll lose it. That the monster inside me will take over. And she can’t. I have to stay here, be me, Nadia,Mom. If she takes over, she’ll put killing first. She won’t be a good mom.Iwon’t be a good mom.” I finally remember to take a breath, and my chest heaves with the effort. I stare at her. “How did you do it? You were a wonderful mother. But you also—I mean, didn’t you…?” My mouth opens and shuts, like a fish desperate for air. “Gran, tell me how to make it all okay.”
“Oh, Nadia.” She leans forward, carefully scooches until she can press her fingers to my forearm. “You are a good mother, dear. And nothing will ever change that.” She drops her voice. “No matter who you kill.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
“I thought San Diego wassupposed to be hot.” Ian crosses tanned, toned arms over his chest, clenching his teeth and shivering as the wind whips his t-shirt.
“We live in Texas. Nothing will feel hot compared to that hellscape.” I say it lovingly. Mostly.
He shoots me a look as I make a show of getting comfy in my newly purchased sweatshirt. My hood is pulled up because Brian sits a mere fifty feet away on the patio of a seafood restaurant, sipping a beer and tapping away at his phone. We stand on the beach, facing the water, surreptitiously glancing over our shoulders every few minutes to keep an eye on him. Meanwhile, the wind swirls around us, the air off the ocean coming in cool, like a storm is brewing in the distance.
If this were a literary novel and not my life, that might be symbolic of something.
A message comes through: Graham has sent a photo of Eliza and Evie. They’re on a tire swing in his backyard, mouths open in delighted shrieks as they spin. My heart hurts, looking at their expressions—wishing I could hug them, that things could go backto their boring normal state, where my husband is a mere management consultant, and I lie to him about where I’m going when I leave for work. It was so much easier.
“Hungry?” Ian gazes at another restaurant, this one painted a bright green and red, with signs advertising margaritas, burritos, and chips and salsa. “We’ll blend in better,” he adds.
“Sure.”
We go to the patio, and while he talks to the hostess, I cast another look Brian’s way. We took a different airline and got in thirty minutes before he did—and yes, heactuallygot on the plane this time. I realized after booking our flights that it might once again be a ruse. It was a relief when I saw Brian arrive with his carry-on. From there, it was easy enough to follow at a distance as he took a taxi from the airport to the beach, checked into a fancy hotel, then changed from a suit to casual beachwear and made his way through the La Jolla boardwalk to the restaurant.
