Henry won’t understand any of it. He’s never been poor. Desperate. Lost. Henry, above all else, has always been consistently, unflinchingly found. Certain. Linear.
I think of Joan then, my sister tucked in her childhood bed, only about ten miles away. If I truly believe I am in danger, that someone has come back for me, then so is she. We’re twins, the same faces, mere miles apart. It’s a reach, but it worries me. I can’t help but feel a small thrill, that soon I will meet her. Then a stab of fear that my life will smear into hers, that whoever is after me will somehow find her first. Because I know now, there is someone, some nameless, faceless person who is watching me. Coming for me. I have no idea what they want, all I can do is wait.
I can’t fix Evelyn. I can’t go back and make right what I’ve done. I left her, first to die, then to rot. The woman who loved me, raised me. I could never right those two wrongs.
I think of Caroline with a sweet baby boy. Six years old, with sticky hands, gap teeth, and shaggy hair. She is a mother now, a real one this time, with responsibilities, playdates and schedules, kindergarten, and T-ball. Whoever called Caroline is watching me. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being monitored. They could find Joan. It’s possible. Technology has made everything so incredibly possible. The world is smaller than it’s ever been.
I calculate the distance between Cash’s apartment in the Village and Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. It’s not far. Twenty-five minutes by cab, maybe? My heart picks up speed.
Cash wanders into the kitchen at seven, as I’m sipping my third cup of black coffee. My eyes feel tacky behind the lids, sore and scratching.
“So, today, will you call your sister?” He opens his mouth wide, half yawning, half stretching.
“More than that—I’m going there.” I run my fingertip along the lip of the coffee cup.
He covers his surprise. “Really? When?”
“As soon as this coffee kicks in.”
“Why?”
“I haven’t been entirely truthful with you.” I stand up, blow out a breath, sit back down. “When I lived in California, I got mixed up in some really terrible things. I was a mess. I did drugs, I even sold drugs.”
“I can’t tell you how this blows my mind.” Cash smiles. He stands up and retrieves a plate of cinnamon rolls from the refrigerator and motions for me to take one.
“You don’t seem shocked?” I tuck one foot under my leg, touch the icing with my index finger. It comes away white and sticky.
“Zoe, a lot of people do drugs, sell drugs, clean up their lives. Change their lives. It’s really not that shocking.”
I turn this over, the idea that maybe the life I’ve been desperate to bury under layers of silk Chanel isn’t as awful as I’d thought.
“I’m a different person, sometimes I think maybe that person didn’t exist, or at least I wish she didn’t. She wasn’t a particularly good person, I don’t think.”
“You’re too critical. Young people do stupid things. It’s the basis for every coming-of-age romantic comedy I’ve ever seen. It’s the plot of most novels. The basis for a zillion rock songs.”
I say nothing. Being forgiven for my choices has never been an option. I pull a piece of gooey iced roll apart and pop it in my mouth. It melts on my tongue, perfectly flaky and sweet. “Holy shit, did you make this?”
“Give me a break,” he says, his mouth twisted in a smirk. “My father was a baker. I learned from the best.”
“It’s amazing.” I pull another piece and chase it with a swig of hot coffee. Sitting here, in this cozy kitchen in the dim light of morning, I feel comfortable. Accepted. “Anyway, I wasn’t done. I ratted out what ended up being a high-profile sex-trafficking ring. I testified in a grand jury and was . . . threatened. Nearly killed because of it. That’s why I ran. Changed my name, left everything behind. Left Evelyn.” The words slide out almost easily, these words that I haven’t said to anyone in five years. It’s surprising. Cash has a stillness about him that begets confessions, like the bulk of his body can absorb shocking words, pulling them away from the source the way a tributary shunts water. It’s why I told him about Evelyn in the first place, back in the car.
“You think they’re back? These men who . . . threatened you?” Cash asks softly.
“I really do. I know it sounds crazy and I can’t prove it. Officer Yates was looking into it after the first break-in. I called the old detective from the case but he’s retired and the case is old and things get lost.” I shrug. “But now, I’m certain of it. The careening car, the missing credit card, my ransacked apartment, and the break-in last night. It’s all too coincidental. I can’t shake this feeling. And all when I’m finding Caroline, too. Then she gets this threatening phone call?”