I sit back down.
And I feel nothing.
“Thayer?” she asks. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes, Mom.” I remind myself that Granddad may have been a deplorable person to me, but he was never anything but wonderful to his daughters. They knew him as their loving father. Their protector. Their everything.
“I’m so sorry.” I’m sorry for her loss, but I’m not sorry that the asshole died.
“Beatrice found him in bed. They’re thinking heart attack, but of course we won’t know yet until …” she stifles another sob.
“Is Dad there with you?” I ask.
“He’s on his way home. He should be here any minute.”
Good. I don’t want her to be alone. I could leave now, but it’d be at least another three hours before I could make it to Bridgeport.
“You’ll come home, right?” she asks. “Please tell me you’re not going to work at a time like this. I know you love your job, but you loved Granddad even more. It’s okay to mourn, lovey. You need to mourn.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I say. The thought of sacrificing perfectly good work days pretending to be upset over Granddad’s passing makes me sick to my stomach.
“They’re planning the funeral for Thursday,” she says. “Visitation is Wednesday. It’ll be here in Bridgeport.”
“I’ll be there,” I say, but only to support my mother.
I end the call and grab my suit jacket off the back of my door, and then I make my way down the hall to talk to my partner, Jackson, about taking some time off for the foreseeable future. Fortunately we’re heading into the summer, so we’ve got interns to pick up some of the slack and handle the more tedious parts of our job, but he agrees to cover my cases for as long as I need.
I let my assistant know what’s going on, and I promise to check my email while I’m out in case there’s anything urgent, but as soon as I’m out the door and hitting the pavement, I have one priority and one priority only.
Chapter 52
Lila
“Girls? I made goulash. Would you like some?” Ms. Beauchamp asks Tuesday evening.
MJ shoots me a look that Ms. Beauchamp can’t see, but I ignore it.
“Sounds amazing. Smells amazing too … we’ll be down in a few. MJ’s just finishing up her homework,” I say.
“Mom.” My daughter hates goulash with an unreasonable amount of passion.
“MJ, we’re guests here, and being a good guest means eating what your host has prepared for you. We’re only here for a little while. We’re going to make the best of it and show her how grateful we are to be here. Understood?”
MJ closes her social studies textbook and places it on an old roll top desk in the corner of her temporary bedroom. We brought only the essentials over here since Ms. Beauchamp’s house is already fully furnished, and I managed to find a medium-sized storage unit in town for fifty dollars a month. While I carried boxes upon boxes of clothing and keepsakes across the street to Ms. Beauchamp’s pastel green split level, her nephews loaded up all our furniture in the back of a truck and hauled it to the storage center.
“Come on. Let’s get some dinner,” I say before leaning down, “if you eat at least half, maybe I’ll take you out for ice cream later …”
She smirks. It’s an old trick I haven’t used on her since she was much younger, but I’m hoping it still works just the same.
“Deal?” I ask.
“Deal.”
The smell of pasta and peppers and garlic bread fill the air, and while Ms. Beauchamp tends to the oven, I begin to set the table. Passing by a window in the kitchen that overlooks the front yard, I steal a quick glance at our old house.
Just like Bertram promised, a man came yesterday morning, took my keys, and changed the locks.
Despite the origins of us living in the house, it was a bright, cheerful, happy place ninety-nine percent of the time.
I brought MJ home to that house.
She took her first steps there.
Said her first words.
Blew out her first birthday candle.
I force myself to stop reminiscing, and I tell myself it’s just a house. I’m about to glance away when I spot a black SUV pulling into the driveway, so I stop and let my gaze linger. The man who came yesterday drove a small white car. No one else has any business being there right now that I know of.
A moment later, the driver side door opens and a man in pale jeans and a white v-neck tee steps out and makes his way to the front door. When he lifts his arm to knock, I spot the sleeve of tattoos.
It’s Thayer.
Chapter 53
Thayer
Lila’s car isn’t in the driveway and I’m sure she isn’t home, but I knock anyway. I stand back a couple of steps and wait, but it’s only then that I realize the curtains on the large window beside the front door are pulled open wide and the entire house is dark—not so much as a stove light on.