Sure. Another Drake in prison for manslaughter, whose selfish act left the family in even more dire straits. Great plan, dumbass.
So Angela pushed away the sunny daydream and focused on the present. “You told me—told yourself—that you always loved Dad, but never more than when he went to prison for you.”
Emma managed a smile. “I’m glad you understand some of it.”
“Don’t be glad. You’re the one who doesn’t understand. He didn’t go to prison for you. And he sure as shit didn’t go out of love. He went because the person he loved best was dead. His escape hatch was gone. He never gave a shit about you—”
“You’re wr—”
“Which he proved when he practically sprinted into a prison cell. And he hasn’t changed his mind, Mom. Not in ten years. Think about it. Every hour of every day, he is showing you that life in prison is preferable to life with you.”
She opened her mouth . . . then shrugged and looked away.
“Do you know what is honest to God the most aggravating thing?” Angela kicked at a tuft of grass. “Jason and I wasted all that time cleaning a tombstone that wasn’t even my dad’s! If I’d known he wasn’t dead, we could have gotten straight to the picnic! And the napping!”
“What?”
“And yes, I’m aware that my priorities are screwed!” More kicks. More tufts of dirt. “But for some reason that’s the part that really bugs me right now!”
“It doesn’t matter.”
They both looked around and saw Jason standing fifteen feet away.
“That wasn’t half an hour,” she called.
He spread his hands. “I was worried. And it wasn’t a waste. I was glad to spend time here with you. There will be other picnics.” He smiled, flashing that dimple as he walked closer. “And other naps.”
Angela jabbed a thumb at her mother, who was glaring at him like a Scooby villain. “It’s way more fucked up than you knew, Jason.”
“Of course it is.”
Angela went to him, put her arms around his waist. Was more than a little relieved when he let her. “I’m gonna need so much therapy.”
“I have an excellent therapist. We can share.”
“I’ll have to move out.”
“You can’t stay with her now,” he agreed.
“And I have to think about Jack, he’s the only minor, he’ll have to come with me.”
“I have three bedrooms.”
She blinked. “Yeah?”
“Yes.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“I think the woman who used the real-estate section to date might have been onto something.”
He laughed.
She pointed at her mother again. “This. This is the kind of obsessive madness you’re risking if you want to be with me. We’re all various degrees of crazy. I could actually turn into this woman.”
“There will be days I won’t get out of bed because my brain chemistry went haywire. Times when I’ll miss a birthday because I’m literally wading through blood at a crime scene. And I have nightmares.”
There was a pointed throat-clearing behind them.
“Oh, me, too. Not the wading-through-blood part. The bad dreams part.”
“Excuse me?”
“My father-in-law faked his own murder.”
“Excuse me.”
“My mother talked him into it,” Angela added, in case Jason wasn’t fathoming the full horror.
“We are fucked,” he decided, and she laughed.
“Angela! I’m not finished with my story.”
“It’s not your story anymore, Mom,” Angela replied without looking around. “It’s ours.”
FIFTY
“You warned him that you could turn into your mom?”
Angela could see Leah was trying not to laugh. “You bet I did. He deserves to know the cauldron of madness he’s gonna be swimming in.”
Archer snorted. “I’m sure he already knew.”
“Yeah?
“What, you thought it was a big mystery? Some huge reveal that you kept from him? I can’t imagine he didn’t figure that out half an hour into the Drake file.”
“Isn’t that something?” Angela knew she sounded pleased. “From day one he was in it up to his elbows and he never backed off, he never ga—” She cut herself off. She was the one who had given up. Except it was worse than that. She never had the courage to try in the first place, and shut it down the minute she realized the depth of his interest. Not so much out of concern for him, as terror for herself.
Tried to shut it down, anyway. He made it clear(er) on the way home that he wasn’t having it. What could she say? “You don’t really know me.” Sure he did. “I have a complex family history.” Yeah, he was all caught up on that, too. “Your dysthymia and my controlling streak will clash.” Again: They both knew this. “What if we’re not compatible in bed?” They could check that box off, too.
She didn’t think a decision to open herself up to love could be so . . . logical. She’d been surprised to find that agreeing to explore a relationship with the dimpled detective was as joyful as the news of her mother’s betrayal and her father’s cowardice was devastating.
“Yes, you might turn into your mom,” Leah allowed. They were back in the kitchen. Jason had driven Angela home, and she would see him tomorrow. Their mother wasn’t back. No one knew where she was. No one wanted to go looking. “But no more or less than any of us. Or your mom could turn into you.”
“That’s—what? I’m not following.”
The smaller woman shook her head. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be cryptic. I want to—” She cut herself off and looked at Archer. “Do you mind if I tell her?”
“Jeez, sure. You can tell anyone you want, hon. I haven’t said anything because I figured on this one, I’d take my cues from you.”
“Such restraint!” Leah cried with faux wonder. Archer laughed at her.
“What’s—what is it? Is the baby okay?”
“Absolutely. In fact, we’re having a daughter.”
Angela smiled at Archer. “Congratulations, Dad. The good news is, the Drake men have set the bar incredibly low for you.”
Archer groaned. “You’ve never said anything more true or more horrible.”
“Sorry, I—”
“In fact,” Leah said, raising her voice, “we’re having my mother.”
Annnnd Angela’s smile was stuck. “I’m sorry?”
“The baby I’m carrying is Nellie Nazir reincarnated.”
“Wow.”
“Yes.”
“I— Wow.” This was obviously the month for incredible world-shaking news that Angela couldn’t immediately wrap her head around and might not ever wrap her head around. “I. I got nothin’. I’ve never heard of such a thing. Is there— I don’t think there’s anything in the literature.” She looked at the expert hopefully. “Is there?”
Leah shook her head. “Uncharted territory. But does it mean my daughter is doomed to be the stage mother from hell? That I’ll hate and fear her? That she’ll be psychotically vain? And will value her career—whatever it will be—over everything else in her life? Will I be a bad mother to a bad mother? How much can we change each time?”
“I don’t know.” Her brain was still trying to digest the idea of giving birth to a parent. Because pregnancy wasn’t gross enough? “What does it mean?” Because if the entire purpose of reincarnation was to fix past mistakes, what does it mean when your imperfect parent comes from you? There were radicals who insisted that reincarnation was because there were a finite number of souls in the world, and they kept getting recycled. Their mantra was brutal in its simplicity: “Everyone’s a rerun.”
Angela had never subscribed to that notion, mostly because it didn’t bear thinking about. “Leah? Do you know what it means?”
“No idea. But we’re going to muddle through. We’ll parent my mother and somehow we’ll . . . um . . . No idea.” She shrugged and Archer grabbed her hand and planted a noisy kiss in the middle of her palm. Angela suspected he did so because Leah had a downright delightful giggle. She was so
(dour? no, not quite that, but . . .)