Chapter Twenty-Six #2
The words hang in the silence between us, but it’s not an uncomfortable one.
Believe. The word at the heart of all of this.
Because I believed him, I didn’t quite play into Annie’s hands.
But when I think about how close I was to ignoring my instincts and blowing up my marriage on top of that, it’s enough to make me question everything I’ve done in my adult life.
“I suppose it’s wrong to play judge, jury, and executioner,” I say.
“There’s nuance,” he says. “But if you ever wanted to take a break from saving the world, I was thinking it would be nice to write that book.”
I look up from my plate. “I’m not really a writer. You know that, don’t you?”
He shrugs. “You’ve heard a lot of stories. You even have a couple of your own. Why not write one of them down?”
“I’ll think about it,” I say. “Interior decorating has never really been my life’s passion. You know, I’m not sure what is.”
“Good time to find out. Better late than never.” Although his appearance hasn’t changed, he seems different somehow. Like he’s letting me see the real him.
So I decide to let him see the real me. Just a little bit of it, anyway.
“You’re the first person I’m telling this to, but I’m about to retire from vigilantism,” I say. “I’ve decided to apply to law school.”
Bertram leans back in his chair, crossing his ankle over his knee. “You don’t say.”
“I’ve been spying from the shadows for most of my life,” I tell him. “I figured I’d try doing it under the unflattering courtroom lights instead.”
“I’m surprised to hear you put it that way,” he says. “You seemed to have zero faith in the legal system.”
I hesitate. His observation isn’t too far from the truth. When my brother and I were accused of killing our parents, I thought there was no way anyone would believe we did it. We were just kids.
But then, over the years, I’ve seen all sorts of cases where families are accused of crimes there’s no way they could commit. The whole world will believe the story the media puts out, if it’s covered enough.
“It’s hard to know who to trust,” I tell him. “But I know I can trust myself. That’s got to be worth something. Maybe I can’t offset all the crooked judges and lawyers out there, but I can make their lives a lot harder.”
“I’ve heard the bar exam can be a nightmare,” Bertram says. “But I bet you know the law better than most. You’ll do great.”
His smile is not quite like that of the heartsick man I’ve come to know. He seems more at peace, not having Annie to worry about, at least for now.
“And you have a sponsor,” he says. “I’d like to pay for your education.”
“That’s—”
He holds up a finger to stop me from protesting. “It’s not a gift. It’s an investment. When you’re done, I’d like to hire you on retainer.”
I raise a brow. “Why?”
“Do you really have to ask? I’ve seen how dedicated you are. Besides, I trust you. That’s worth more than its weight in gold where I’m from.”
“What’s the catch?” I ask.
“No catch. Just fill that brain of yours with all the knowledge that you can, so I can sleep better at night knowing the world is a little safer.”
—
In the weeks that follow, there’s a sense that nothing is permanent.
My brother is well enough to return home, though the police have seized most of his surveillance equipment.
The rest, I arrange to be put into storage.
Bertram—grateful for all we’ve done to relieve him of Annie’s torment—shells out for his in-home caretakers.
My brother is in good spirits. I was worried that the absence of his tech hoard would upset him. But when we enter his home through the front door for the first time in years, he laughs. The living room is filled with empty shelves.
“Is this what a normal house looks like?” he asks me.
I ease him up the stairs. I’ve already been here earlier and made the bed for him. “I think normal houses have fewer shelves.” Then I add, “I’ll talk to Bertram about getting your stuff back. Or replaced, at least.”
“No,” my brother says, sitting on the edge of the bed.
He looks around the room, at the plain walls.
He watches me dig through my purse for the bag of prescriptions I’ve picked up at the pharmacy and lay them out on his nightstand.
“I can’t remember the last time I slept in here,” he says.
“I always worked at one of the computers until I was so exhausted, I just passed out in the chair.”
I sit beside him. “Do you think about it? When you try to fall asleep and it’s too quiet?”
He knows I’m talking about the fire. He nods. “You?”
“It’s worse ever since Waylen started wearing those nasal strips to bed. Now he doesn’t snore, and it’s too quiet.” I bump my shoulder against his. “Maybe we shouldn’t have used spy work as a substitute for therapy.” It gets a laugh out of him.
“I’m glad that you’re going back to school,” he says, his face turning sober again. “I know I won’t be able to look out for you the way I used to. At least, not until this damned cancer goes away or kills me, whichever happens first.”
“Stop that,” I say. “You don’t look out for me. We look out for each other. And that isn’t going to change. The guilt that we both felt after—”
“After it happened,” he says, saving me from having to say the words.
“Yes. We’ve spent our whole lives since then trying to make up for it.
We both hid away from the world. I just did it in plain sight is all.
I love the work we did, but maybe it’s time to stop hiding.
” He said this case would be the big one.
The one I’d retire off of. I don’t know if this is what he meant.
As though reading my mind, he says, “When I researched Bertram’s case, and when I did a background check on Erin, something didn’t add up. I couldn’t figure out what it was. Now I know it’s because Erin really does exist, but that isn’t who I was talking to.”
“Annie is good,” I admit. “She had us both going.”
He shakes his head. “I knew you’d get it. And, not to brag, but I’m always right. I didn’t know whether Erin was telling the truth about the Budgie app, or Annie was alive somewhere. Turns out none of it—and all of it—was somehow true.”
“Give Elodie her credit,” I say. “I’d be dead if it wasn’t for her. Do not tell her I said that.”
“Yeah, I’m working out a way to properly thank her for that,” my brother says wryly. “She could have a bright future in surveillance engineering. Maybe I can pull a few strings.”
I stay until he settles down and falls asleep. Before I go, I tidy up the kitchen and leave a note for him to remember to eat something with his pills. I write it in pen on old-fashioned paper. I think we could both use a break from the internet.
—
Waylen and I fall into a pattern that, to an outsider, would seem like domestic bliss.
A happy couple, a beautiful child, and a glittering Christmas tree.
He still walks tenderly as he heals, and needs carefully measured doses of pain medications, which I bring to him on a charcuterie board of tea and fresh fruit and toast.
Collette clings to both of us like we may evaporate if she turns her head away. Elodie and Finnegan come by for periodic playdates—coffee for the adults. There’s no talk of curing the world’s ills.
It’s not a bad life, I think. I’ll stay here for as long as fate will allow.
The morning after Christmas, Collette snuggles up against me on the couch.
I’m reading a book—a cheesy romance novel loaned to me by Elodie.
It isn’t my usual cup of tea, but I need a break from the thrillers that fuel my usual drive to spy on others.
Elodie was right—I do need a little bit of a pause before I dive into the browser tabs of college prep courses.
I’ve never tried to relax before, and I have to admit that I don’t hate it now that I’m giving it a try.
Collette taps distractedly at her tablet, moving the puzzle pieces of her relaxation game. There’s the occasional chime of a text alert.
I glance at the screen. “Who’s that?” I ask. “A friend from school?”
She shrugs. “Just someone,” she says. “She said she knows you from work.”
I gently take the tablet out of her hands, ignoring her confused look.
I scroll through the messages, which go back for pages and pages.
Vaguely I remember Collette telling me about this new app weeks earlier, right around the time she asked me if we could take a vacation to Oregon to see her grandparents’ graves.
My blood runs cold as I read the latest message:
We haven’t finished our game yet. Tell your mom to catch me if she can.
Annie
—
I wanted to retire, I really did.
But it appears I’m not going to, after all.