Of all the places to run to . . . “How’d you end up there, anyway?”
“That’s where my mom grew up.”
“No shit.”
Gracie reaches for the fresh can of beer I left on her nightstand and cracks it open. “It wasn’t bad when she was a kid. But then the owner sold it to people who don’t give a rat’s ass about anything but getting their monthly fees. It all went to hell after that.”
“So Dina moved from Tucson to Austin . . . and back to Tucson.” Trailer-park girl to stylish Texan wife, to heroin junkie. I’m struggling to reconcile my memories of Abe’s Dina with the Dina I carried out of a burning trailer earlier today.
“To the same trailer.” Tension tightens her jaw. “The one she burned to the ground making her cheese melt sandwiches.”
“At least you don’t have to go back to that life. You can start over somewhere new. Somewhere with good people.”
“My mom’s a heroin addict, Noah. ‘Good people’ don’t want her kind around.”
“Then get her the help she needs. You can do that now.”
She nods slowly. “Why?”
“Why get her the help?”
“No. Why did Jackie want me to have all that money?”
Good question. “I don’t know why, or where it came from. She asked me to bring it to you, and so I did.”
“After she died.” Gracie’s lips purse. “?‘Don’t ask questions. You don’t want the answers.’ That’s what the note said, right?”
“If it can help you, take it.” I’m not going to sit here and brainstorm all the terrible ways that APD could have fucked Abe over fourteen years ago, because they could include my mother. I need to get through this conversation, wave goodbye to Gracie and her big bag of money, and move on.
She turns her focus to the ceiling, her deep inhale drawing my attention to the way her black tank top stretches across her chest, hugging her curves. I quickly drop my gaze.
Definitely not a little girl anymore. And if she weren’t who she is, if she were some girl I spotted at the gym or the bar . . . a hundred bucks says I wouldn’t be able to keep my eyes off her for a hot second. But she is Abe’s daughter, and that reality is a cold shower for those thoughts.
“How did Jackie know where to find me?”
I shrug.
“It wouldn’t be that hard,” she answers for herself.
“Not if this address is listed in your mom’s records.” The bigger question for me is, was Mom keeping tabs on Abe’s family all these years? Watching Dina’s downward spiral? Or had she tracked them down recently? Did she foresee the situation Gracie would find herself in today? Probably.
It makes sense, though, that she would want to give the money to Gracie and not Dina. You can’t give a bag of cash to an addict.
So yeah, Mom definitely knew how far they’d fallen.
Had I not been there, I hate to think what might have happened. Gracie would be curled up in a ball in that hospital waiting area. She’d have nowhere to live.
Then again, had Gracie not found me on her doorstep, she might have walked through that door sooner, might have turned off the toaster oven before it had a chance to catch flame.
Either way, Dina would have overdosed on heroin.
I nudge the gym bag with my foot, pushing it toward her a few inches. “This money couldn’t have come at a better time then.”
“How much is in there?”
Ten thousand. Twenty. What’s an amount that sounds reasonable? What could I tell her to make it easier to accept this, at least until I’m long gone? I could lie and tell her I didn’t count it, but who in their right mind would have driven across two states without counting it?
“Ninety-eight thousand.”
“Holy shit,” she whispers, a gasp slipping through her lips before she covers her mouth with her hand. At least ten heartbeats pass before her face twists with skepticism. “Why didn’t you keep it?”
“Because my mom asked me to give it to you.”
She rolls her eyes. “That wouldn’t stop most people.”
“Some people, no.” I could have kept it. I could have given it away to charity, anonymously. I could have taken it to the police.
I’m not going to say that all those scenarios didn’t run through my mind on the drive here, as I wondered if I was doing the right thing. But, somewhere along that dark, open highway, I came to accept a simple truth. “She didn’t write me a letter. She didn’t give me an explanation, or an apology. She knew she was going to kill herself and she didn’t want to tell me why.” I swallow against that prickly lump in my throat. “The only thing she did do was leave that pile of money and that note. So I figure it must have been important to her that you get this.”
More important than telling her son she was sorry.
I glance Gracie’s way to find her watching me intently, sympathy in her gaze. Maybe she doesn’t hate me, after all.
“What would you do if a stranger showed up at your doorstep with a bag of money for you and no explanation besides ‘don’t ask’? Would you take it?”
“If I were in your situation, with no home and a mother who’s one injection away from never waking up, I’d take that money and never look back.”
Her face pinches. “Even if it’s here because of something immoral? Hell, illegal?”
She has way too heavy of a conscience for a piss-poor girl with no place to live. But I like that about her. It means that despite growing up with a junkie mom and the ghost of a corrupt cop father, somewhere along the way she picked up a sense of integrity.
This is one of those times, though, when you have to take what’s in front of you and not ask questions. She’s smart enough to see that. Maybe all she needs is permission. “What do you think would happen to this money if I gave it to the police?” Besides stir up questions I don’t want to answer. “They’d use it for their department. Buy a new SUV, maybe office equipment. They’d have no issues spending it on their overhead. So why shouldn’t you use it? You deserve a chance to start over.”
It’s a long while before her head bobs in an almost imperceptible nod. She’s going to take the money. She’s not stupid.
“Are you going to be okay?”
She brushes my concern away with an unconvincing, “Yeah. Of course.”
“Listen, I’m gonna grab a few hours of sleep before I have to drive home tomorrow.” I haul my weary body out of the chair, tossing my napkins and cans in the trash can beside the small desk. I’m ready for today to be over.
I make it all the way to the adjoining door, my palm on the handle. Almost home free.
And then Gracie asks the one thing I hoped she wouldn’t.
“Did your mom ever talk to you about what happened to my dad?”
My shoulders sag. I don’t owe her anything, and yet I hate lying to her about this.
“She said something, didn’t she?”
Take the money and run, Gracie. Forget about the past.
The bed creaks behind me. I’m half-expecting to feel the sharp edge of her blade poking into my flesh, but instead cool fingers settle on my forearm in a gentle way I didn’t think her capable of. “What did she tell you about my dad?”
Another long pause and then her touch slips away. “He was guilty, wasn’t he?” Her voice cracks and when I gather the nerve to turn around and face her, she’s blinking away tears. “It doesn’t matter. I already knew he was. This doesn’t change anything.”
I can’t handle the sight of any girl crying. But for some reason, it’s worse with Gracie. Before I can stop myself, I reach for a tear slipping down her cheek, brushing it away with the pad of my thumb.
She turns away with the slightest flinch, and I let my hand drop. I’ve noticed that about her—she recoils anytime anyone goes near her. The only time she didn’t was when she was brandishing her knife against that piece-of-shit Sims guy.
“You’re right, it doesn’t. Take the money and move on with your life.”