I wanted to smash Ryan with my fists. I wanted to press my cheek to his chest. To allow him to pull me close.
Ryan had walked out of his life with barely a backward glance at me. One quick visit. One email. His daughter’s death had been an unimaginable blow. But could I forgive the insensitivity? Would forgiveness just set me up for more pain?
I studied the brave little weed. Felt oddly buoyed. Such optimism in the face of impossible odds.
I had no obligation to explain myself to Ryan. To ever trust him again. Yet the words came out. “My mother is here in North Carolina.”
I could sense Ryan’s surprise. I’d never spoken to him of Mama.
“She’s dying.” A sliver of a whisper.
Ryan remained still, allowing me to continue or not.
Snapshots formed in my mind. Mama’s hand in mine in the dark when she couldn’t sleep. Mama’s face flushed with delight after a binge at the mall. Mama’s suitcase packed with silk scarves, satin nighties, and Godiva cocoa mix.
Mama hunkered with her laptop behind a cart.
The weed blurred into a wavery green thread. A ragged breath juddered up my chest.
No.
I palmed the new tears, squared my shoulders, and raised my chin.
Ryan’s neon-etched face was right above mine.
I managed a weak smile. “How about that sarsaparilla?”
At the annex, Ryan brewed coffee while I went to the study to phone my mother. She sounded tranquil and lucid. She’d gone to the computer center to continue her research. No big deal.
I wasn’t fooled. Even when the demons slipped their leash, Mama was able to coat her actions in wholly believable rationalizations. To convincingly lay on others the blame for overreaction. It may have been the most disturbing aspect of her madness.
“Are you making progress on your end?” A fizz of excitement below her calm.
“Progress?” I was lost.
“With your poor dead girls.”
“Listen, Mama. I—”
“I’m doing everything I can on mine.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “They’re trying to stop me, but it won’t work.”
“No one is trying to stop you. The Internet went down.”
“There are more, you know.”
“More?”
“Poor lost souls.”
Jesus. “Are you taking your meds, Mama?”
“The minute you left, I began pulling up old newspaper stories from Charlotte and the surrounding area. The Vermont girl was killed in 2007, so I started with that year.”
Jesus bouncing Christ.
“I’ve found at least three.” Again, the spy-versus-spy whisper.
I had two options. The smart one, shut her down and call Finch. The easy one, hear her out. It was late, I was exhausted. I opted for easy. Or perhaps I hoped enough of her brain was functioning logically to have actually produced something.
“Three?” I asked.
“I’m putting it all in my journal. In case anything happens to me.” I could hear the gleam in her eye. “But I’ve sent you the names, dates, and locations. In separate emails, of course.”
“This isn’t necessary, Mama.”
“What about your young man?”
“Ryan has agreed to help.”
“I’m glad. If my brilliant baby likes him, this gentleman must be very clever.”
“I’ll visit as soon as I can.”
“You’ll do no such thing. You be dogged until you catch this horrible creature.”
I found Ryan in the kitchen discussing baseball with Birdie. Over coffee and quinoa-cranberry cookies, I gave him the basics.
CHAPTER 10
WHEN I WAS eight, following the loss of my father to an auto crash and my baby brother to leukemia, my grandmother relocated Mama, Harry, and me from Chicago to the Lee family home at Pawleys Island, South Carolina. Years later, after Harry and I had each married and moved on, Gran died at the overripe age of ninety-six.
A week after Gran’s funeral, Mama disappeared. Four years later, we learned she was living in Paris with a maid/nurse named Cécile Gosselin, whom she called Goose.