Chapter 47
Alex’s Bolognese recipe had to simmer for three hours.
Sloane put everything on the stove, dropped the disemboweled body off at Caroline’s, then picked Isla up from Britt and Finn’s.
She let Isla watch the movie she loved. She showered her with kisses, let her stir the pot.
The car’s plastic lining had been moved; not yet disposed of, but that could wait until tomorrow.
In the meantime, Sloane sat with her baby, tickling her feet, pretending to eat her toes. Isla laughed and laughed.
When the sauce was done, Sloane ladled it generously over fusilli, the meat clinging to the twisted grooves. Fresh liver was rich in iron, something Isla sorely needed. Sloane blew on the pasta to make sure it wasn’t too hot; that it wouldn’t burn her precious daughter’s tiny mouth.
“Have a bite,” whispered Sloane, bracing for refusal. The smell in the air was heavy, coppery and rich.
Isla opened her mouth. Sloane slid the pasta carefully inside. Isla chewed and swallowed.
Her eyebrows rose. “Mmmm,” she said. Yum.
Sloane exhaled. “More?”
“Mmmm,” Isla repeated. She held out a chubby hand and Sloane gave her the tiny fork. Frankie the dog was uncharacteristically devout, still glowing with gratitude over his opportunity to lick the spoon.
Isla punctured another noodle, then raised it to her mouth. “Mama,” said Isla. “Mama, mmmmm!”
“Yes, baby.” Sloane’s heart pounded in her chest. “Yes, isn’t it yummy?”
“Mama, mmm!” Isla repeated.
A good meal. Finally.
Finally, Sloane had done it. She was a Good Mother, at last.
There was a sound from the front door then, a scratching. Like someone couldn’t quite fit their key into the latch. Sloane looked up with a frown, waiting, until Max staggered in.
“Sloane.” His voice was hoarse, his pallor near translucent. “I have to tell you something.”
She could read it on his face. She already knew. And they would deal with it.
Tomorrow.
“Later,” said Sloane.
Max looked at her then with adoration. With relief. He took her face in his hands and kissed her hard, almost toppling into her. As if she held in her hands his salvation. A Good Woman. Her future at the price of the girl she’d once been.
Caroline was right. You had to love the food.
“Eat,” said Sloane.
Max pressed his forehead to hers, grateful and unfailing. Saved.
From the sidewalk outside The House, a mislaid cell phone buzzed again, tumbled from the hand of a girl whose abduction no one had witnessed.
The name Nina Kaur lit up across a picture of twin faces laughing, a seventh missed call.
An incoming text sluiced across a black screen: jasleen i’m serious where the fuck ar …
Some games you couldn’t win. That was the thing! You just couldn’t save everyone. It was pointless even to try.
What mattered was dinner, and that everyone was finally eating well.