Chapter 16 #2
“She loved. People were drawn to her for it. It was hard being a single mom. My grandparents passed before I was born so she did it all by herself. She never complained. She never treated me like a burden. She just built this life for us. A happy one.”
Genevieve dropped her chin, sniffling. I stayed quiet, the emotion clogging my throat, as she wiped her eyes dry. When she looked up, she forced a smile.
“I should have called,” I said. “I’m sorry. I’m here, surprising you. I should have called first.” Goddamn it. Draven had been right about that, hadn’t he?
I’d let the weeks of silence from Dash irritate me. And now I was here bothering a young woman who’d lost the most important person in her life.
“No, I’m glad you’re here.” Genevieve took another cookie.
“I haven’t talked about Mom in a couple of weeks.
It was a flurry after she was . . . you know.
Everyone was so shocked and I was so busy getting her memorial arranged.
People talked about her then. But after it was over, it got quiet. People went back to their lives.”
“And you’re here.”
“I’m here. Heartbroken.” She took a bite and chewed it with a quivering chin.
“But it’s nice to talk about how wonderful she was.
And not about how she died. The only person who’s talked to me about her this week is the prosecutor in Clifton Forge and that’s only because I want to keep tabs on the trial. ”
“It’s not scheduled yet.”
“I know. I want him locked up. I want him off the streets and away from the world. Maybe then I can forget. I get so angry and . . .” As she trailed off, her free hand fisted on the table, her knuckles white. “I want to see her grave. Did you know we buried Mom in Montana?”
“Um, no. I didn’t.” I hadn’t kept up on Amina’s funeral arrangements. The obituary I’d included in the paper had been vague on the topic, stating the family was having private services in Denver. I’d assumed those services had included the burial.
“She wanted to be buried in Clifton Forge. Let me tell you, that was a shock to learn from her will. But I think she wanted to be by her parents again.”
“So you were in Clifton Forge?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t go. I wasn’t ready to face it yet. I went to Montana to pack up her personal items and get her house on the market. But that was as close as I could get. I wasn’t ready to be in that town where she was . . . you know. But I’m going there next week.”
“You’re coming to Clifton Forge?” My eyes widened.
She nodded. “I want to see it for myself. The funeral home sent me a picture of her gravesite and the mockup of her tombstone but it’s not the same. So I’m making a fast trip out of it next Sunday. Get in and get out. I don’t want to risk running into him.”
Yes, seeing Draven would be bad. “If you need company, I’d be happy to go with you.”
“Thanks, Bryce.” She looked at me with her kind, brown eyes and that pang of familiarity hit again. “I might take you up on that.”
“Please do.” In our short time together, I’d become strangely loyal to Genevieve. If I could help by standing at her side while she visited her mother’s grave, I would.
Not for my story. For this woman who already felt like a friend.
I’d meant what I’d told Genevieve. I’d write something special for Amina. I’d include the cookie recipe. Maybe that would appease some guilt for unexpectedly showing up at her doorstep.
Genevieve took her empty glass to the sink to rinse it out. I stood and brought mine over too, handing it to her. “Can I ask you another question?”
“Sure.” She laughed. “For a reporter, you haven’t asked many.”
“I was just warming up.” I winked. “Did your mom have anyone else she was close to? A best friend? Or a boyfriend? Others who’d want to talk about her for the story.”
She blew out a long breath. “Mom was dating a guy. Lee.”
I froze, ready to soak up every word about the boyfriend. “Lee.”
“Lee.” She said his name with a curled lip. “In all my life, Mom didn’t date. Not once. But she was different lately. Quieter. And I can’t help but think it was because of him.”
“Were they serious?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s the crazy part.
She acted differently but never talked about him.
The only reason I even knew about him was because I flew to Bozeman to surprise her one weekend and she had to call Lee and cancel plans.
Whenever I’d ask about him, she’d brush it off.
Say it was casual. But if you knew Mom, you’d know nothing about her was casual.
She held people tight. Her friendships lasted decades. ”
“So you didn’t know him?”
She shook her head. “No, we never met. I didn’t even know his last name.”
And there went my lead. “Maybe she was worried you wouldn’t like him.”
“Yeah. That’s what I think too. It was weird for me, her having another person in her life. Mom was good at sensing when I was uncomfortable. I just couldn’t picture her with a boyfriend.” She looked over her shoulder from the sink. The light from the window caught in her eyes, making them glow.
Gah! What was it about her eyes?
“What else can you tell me about her?” I asked. “Something nice you’d like to have other people know.”
“Her smile was always full on. All wide, white teeth. It was like she didn’t know how to give a half smile.” The pain in Genevieve’s smile came back along with a sheen of tears. “She was beautiful.”
“I’d be honored to write that about her. Do you have any pictures? I’d love to include some of your favorites.”
“I’d like that.”
For the next hour, I sat beside Genevieve on her couch as she went through plastic tubs of old pictures and mementos from her childhood.
They’d all been at Amina’s house, and though she’d packed them up and brought them to Colorado, she confessed to not having the courage to have gone through them yet.
“Thanks for sitting with me.” She fit the lid on the last box. “I’m sure this was more crazy than you were expecting when you came here. Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I put my hand over hers. “I’m glad I could be here.”
The truth was, the longer I sat with Genevieve, the more I liked her. She told story after story about her mother as we looked at old pictures. Ones from road trips the two of them had taken. Photos of a few special camping trips in the Colorado mountains.
Genevieve had told me about how Amina would always give a few dollars to a homeless man begging on a corner, even though as a single mother, she hadn’t had much extra to spare. She’d taught Genevieve to be strong, never quit and to live an honest life.
After hearing it all, I knew my accusations in the garage that Amina could have been in on the setup with Draven were off base. Amina hadn’t been a deceiver.
And she’d raised a lovely daughter.
In every photo, Amina’s bright, smiling face was present. When she stood by her daughter, the two were always touching—a hand hold, an arm over the shoulder, one leaning on the other. Their bond was special and seeing it through the pictures made me more determined to tell Amina’s story.
For mother.
And daughter.
Amina deserved to be remembered for more than her death.
“This was actually perfect,” I told Genevieve. “I feel like I know your mom now. I hope my story can do her memory justice. May I ask one more question, off the record?”
“Sure.” She pivoted on the couch, giving me her attention.
“In all these photos, it was mostly just the two of you.” Even as a baby, the photos had been of only Amina and Genevieve. There’d been the occasional friend or neighbor included, but the vast majority of the photos were of mother and daughter. “What about your father?”
“Mom never talked about him. Never.” Her shoulders fell. “I’d ask. She’d say he was a nice man but not a part of my life. She always said he was a mistake but that he gave her the best gift in the world. And you know, I didn’t push. I was good with that answer because I had her. She was enough.”
“I can see that.”
“Except now that she’s gone, I wish I knew who he was. If he’s even still alive. It would be nice to know if I had another parent out there.”
My gut was screaming that Amina’s secrecy about her daughter’s lineage and the secret boyfriend were not a coincidence. Could this mystery boyfriend be Genevieve’s father?
“Did she ever tell you his name?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No.”
If Genevieve’s father was the boyfriend, it would explain everything. Why Amina didn’t want Genevieve to meet Lee. Why she hid him from everyone. Because she wasn’t ready to introduce father and daughter.
My mind was racing, wondering how this man fit into the picture. Was he the killer? Would he try and contact Genevieve now? Did he even know he had a daughter?
More questions flew through my mind when Genevieve destroyed my theories with a single sentence. “Mom didn’t tell me his name, only that people called him Prez.”
Prez. Where had I heard that name before? No, not a name. A nickname.
Prez.
My racing mind screeched to a halt.
We’re with you, Prez.
In our meeting in the garage, Emmett had said that to Draven. He’d called Draven Prez.
I looked at Genevieve, focusing on her eyes. I knew those eyes. Like Draven had given his brown hair to his son.
He’d given those brown eyes to his daughter.