Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
After joining the road—not the gravelly path I drove in on—I take my burner cell from the glove box.
“Good work,” I tell Russel, an old team buddy.
“Narco, piece of shit,” Russel grunts. “You didn’t even have to ask.”
“Where’s you-know-who?”
I’m talking about our other team buddy, Trent. They’re both involved with The Answer, though on a lower scale. I’ve thrown myself into the work because it’s what Jack did. Maybe I’ve been too mindless in that way. Perhaps it’s time to settle down.
“Hit the road when I popped the cork,” Russel says. “I’ll be doing the same. In the meantime, find yourself a lady to settle down with.”
I laugh gruffly. Russel and Trent were married and had children when we served together over a decade ago. “Maybe I’m just a late bloomer.”
“There’s being a late bloomer, brother, then there’s this.”
I laugh again, maybe insensitively since Simone is breaking down in the back seat, sobbing into her hands. It’s how we always used to deal with things. Laugh it off. Try not to let it eat away at us. “I hear you.”
“Stay safe.”
“And you.”
I hang up, then guide the car with my knees as I quickly dismantle the phone and seal it in a plastic bag.
“Th-thank you, Jamie,” Simone says from the backseat, her voice distraught.
“Are you hurt?” I ask.
She flinches as if she’s stunned at my bluntness. It’s not fair, not after what she’s been through. Maybe I’m bitter about what she told Lena, but I can’t take that out on her. “No. Not physically. My ears are ringing.”
“That will go. Don’t worry.” What I don’t say is she’s lucky Russel is such a good shot. A bad aim could’ve resulted in the shot injuring her. “Lena’s waiting for you.”
“L-Lena.” Simone slumps against the seat, a small smile touching her lips. “How long have I been gone? Days? It feels like weeks, but all I had to do was close my eyes and think of her—my perfect daughter. I don’t deserve her. I failed her. God help me. Jesus can’t save me from this. I failed her.”
She’s hyperventilating, dammit. I bring the car to a slow stop, looking in the rearview. “Simone, you need to listen to me. I need you to count your breaths with me.”
“I c-c-can’t… I’m a t-t-terrible… m-m-mother…”
“Simone,” I say fiercely. “Breathe in for two seconds like this.” I breathe in slowly. “Then blow out slowly, for two seconds if you can, like this. Nothing else matters. Not right now. Just your breath, okay?”
Thankfully, she lets me lead her through it. The whole time, an unfair question is niggling at me. Why did Simone have to tell her? Why did she have to say that?
Once she’s able to breathe normally, she clasps her hands in front of her, a small cross hanging from a gold pendant. She starts praying with more zeal than anybody I’ve ever seen, probably more zeal than Antonio Romero had for the old narco with the whalebone wallet.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Lena
I can hardly believe it’s her voice when I stumble down the hallway into the living room, but she’s right there, her hair bundled up in a ponytail and covered with what looks like Jamie’s baseball cap. Or a man’s baseball cap, at least. No, I won’t let myself feel a stab of jealousy now just because she’s wearing his hat.
I run toward her. We collapse into each other’s arms, both crying so hard we can’t hear each other. I’m saying I love you; I know she’s saying the same. Finally, we sit together on the couch.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” I say, holding her hands tightly.
“It’s my fault.” She squeezes me just as desperately. “I’ve had time to think, to pray. Oh, Lena, it’s all my fault. After your dad passed, I let my mind get all twisted up. I forgot about God. I forgot myself.”
I don’t care where Mom’s getting her strength from, only that she looks far tougher than I expected, ready to face the evil of what happened to her.
“You can both stay here tonight,” Jamie says, but I keep my eyes fixed on Mom.
I can’t look at him, not entirely. He’s at the periphery of my vision, looming. He’s just saved my mother. In an ideal world, I’d be able to rush to him, throw my arms around him, kiss him, and thank him in other ways.
Then Mom turns with that familiar smile touching her lips, her Jamie smile. “Thank you.”
Another sick wave of jealously washes over me. I need help. I need to get my head straight. It’s not like I can do anything about it tonight. She’s just happy to be alive. I can’t ask her if she lied.
“Are you hungry?” I ask. “I can make us something.”
Mom gives me a look when I stand, almost like she’s saying, Oh, comfortable here, are you? It’s a look that makes me sick, almost like we’re competing.