Chapter 66. Micah
MICAH
She takes off after my murderer comment. Real smooth, Micah.
I click the deadbolt. The sound reverberates off the foyer’s narrow walls and low ceiling. I lean my forehead on the door. What if I’m wrong? I inhale sharply, unlock it, and yank it open. Yet my feet don’t move.
I blow out a long breath and text Dr. Val.
Brynn’s pleading eyes, her swearing that she wasn’t involved in Cody’s plan to off her parents, eat at me. Have I been sleeping with a conspirator to murder or the victim of a deranged boyfriend?
I pace around the kitchen and living room; the walls inch closer, the air thickens. I escape out the French doors to the back patio, check my phone. No response. Dr. Val must be in a session.
I walk through the English-style courtyard between rows of square hedges, grateful that it’s midday on a weekday and I have the garden to myself. I get to the end and turn around. My limbs feel like lead.
I can’t go back in there, in particular my bedroom.
I recline on the grass, my hands behind my head, staring up at the sunless clouds. A memory floats by of lying with her in Sheep Meadow. Her words: I’m not sure I deserve to be here.
She made a mistake. I’ve made plenty. This one cost her everything.
My phone chimes.
Not Dr. Val.
With wet hair and different clothes, I fly down the stairs to the kitchen, trying to remember where I last threw my keys. The greenish sky looms menacingly through the window; the awning across the street flaps around, matching its anger.
A tall blonde dressed in black hurries underneath it.
I hustle outside, dart across the street, and follow her into the café—and inexplicably lose sight of her. I wipe the light rain from my face. The place looks empty. Maybe she’s a new hallucination. I go to leave.
She reappears, tying an apron around her waist, walking toward me. Her eyes widen at the sight of me.
“Dahlia.”
She swallows her lips when I say her name.
I want to reassure her that I’m not here to be confrontational. If anything, I need answers. I introduce myself.
Her forehead wrinkles. “You live in the lavender building across the street.”
Her comment stops me. She doesn’t ask if I’m that singer. And how does she know where I live?
“Next to where the great Bob Dylan once lived.” Her blue-green eyes twinkle.
I smile. “My father performed with him once.”
She points toward the espresso machine. “Are you ordering anything?”
“Coffee works.”
“Coffee to go, again?” She smiles a little.
Her meaning escapes me.
She motions to one of the tables and heads behind the counter.
Rising from the ground and without warning, the Woman in Black’s massive henchman emerges, blocking my path. I thought I’d gotten rid of him after weeks of ECT. He’s come alone. Grumbling for me to leave, he takes a swipe at me.
I draw back, my reflexes slow. I need the Woman in Black here to temper him. I shield my face and back up toward the exit.
“Here. Take my hand.”
I grasp Dahlia’s fingers and step through. My face warms; I look away from her.
She walks back behind the counter.
I glance at the exit. It wouldn’t take much to slip out of here and never see this girl again.
But she did just save me.
A moment later, she returns with two steaming cups and sits across from me. She rests her forearms on the table, her callused fingertips tapping her mug.
Shifting in my seat, I blank on better words to say to her. “How did you know?”
“That you see ghosts?” She tilts her head.
“Something like that.”
“You just looked like you needed help. So . . . you still with Brynn?”
My eyes snap to hers.
She shrugs. “I see you two around.”
Huh. “I’m supposed to meet her. I don’t know why I came here first.”
She nods and sips her coffee.
“Brynn said you rode in the car with Cody the night of the accident.”
Her eyes drop. “Yeah.”
“And she mentioned that the police discovered he used a location-sharing app on his phone. Was he tracking them?”
She clears her throat. “Cody saw the car flip and stopped to help.”
“What Brynn said to me made it sound like she and Cody planned it.”
Her eyes blaze into mine. “Cody didn’t cause the accident. He would never harm a soul. He was the kindest person I’ve ever known. Always putting himself out there for people.”
“Including you?”
“Especially me. He was my brother.”
I blink rapidly. “What?”
“We grew up together in foster care. When you grow up without a family, you create one. Cody and our other best friend, Teddy, became mine.”
“Brynn didn’t mention that.”
Her eyes tighten. “I’m not surprised he latched on to her. He craved stability and assumed the Gallardos could give him that. In foster care, you get attached to people, and what sucks is, you never know how long you have together.”
“How did you end up there?”
Her face twitches. She looks down at her cup. She moves her long legs to the side and crosses her ankles.
“My bio mom blacked out at a party in high school. Months later, she found herself pregnant. No one believed her that it was rape. Her family and the girl she loved wanted nothing to do with her . . . Mom coped with handles of Smirnoff. After I got taken away from her, I was shipped around to different foster homes for years. If it wasn’t for Silas, I don’t know where I’d be. ”
“Silas?”
“Director at St. Ignatius, the church that works with the Department of Social Services to run foster care in Westchester. He steered me toward a good high school. Got me my first guitar—used, but I didn’t care. The rest has been up to me. I work three jobs now; I’m trying to make it as a singer.”
“Brynn thinks you’re stalking her.”
She smiles a little and takes another sip. “She’s not exactly my favorite person. She sure was quick to blame Cody for everything to save herself.”
“The detectives said she’s the main suspect in the wrongful death of her parents.”
Her mouth falls open. “I hadn’t heard that they’d narrowed it down to her.
I wonder if Teddy knows.” She exhales, and tears form in the corner of her eyes.
She picks up a napkin from the table and blows her nose, sounding like a trumpet.
“I hope this means Cody’s name will be cleared. ” She sniffles.
“Well if it wasn’t him, who caused the accident?”
“Another car. Not Cody.”
“Come on,” I scoff. “You’ll swear to that if called to testify?”
She lifts her chin, presses her shoulders back. “He was my brother.”
I let out a sharp exhale. “Your loyalty is admirable.” The guy’s dead. Why not bury him with the truth. Whatever that may be.
She folds her arms. “So, what’s your story, Micah?”
I don’t need to tell this girl anything. Apart from working in my neighborhood, it’s not like I’ll ever see her again. But there’s something about her.
“Well . . . I never knew my mother. She died of an amniotic fluid embolism giving birth to me.”
She watches my face, her eyes rapt.
“I don’t think I’ve uttered those words aloud to anyone except for my therapist,” I admit. “It feels kind of freeing.”
She doesn’t cringe. Cool.
“My dad’s a musician. You listen to country?”
“Not a fan,” she says with a snicker.
“Same. He wasn’t around growing up. My granddad became my guardian, and the other day I discovered he suffers from a psychosis similar to . . . well, similar to what you saw a few minutes ago.”
I wait for the worried look, the backing away.
“Call me insane. Looney Tunes.” I stare at her. “Nothing?”
She crinkles her nose. “I’m listening.”
“I don’t know why I’m telling you this. You’re easy to talk to.”
The rain blankets the café windows. The dimly lit restaurant suddenly feels cozier.
She looks up from her coffee. “You know, in all of this, Micah, you’re not the one who’s crazy.”
I crack a smile. “Best thing I’ve heard in a long while.
” Out of nowhere, a hearty laugh rises from my belly.
My ribs contract. I make a wheezing sound, my eyes tearing, reminding me of how I used to laugh with my friends.
It’s been far too long. I hold the sides of the table, trying to regain composure.
She looks at me; the skin between her brows puckers and her uneasy smile loosens as trickles of her laughter join mine.
I’m not the one who’s crazy.
I sigh—and my laughter bubbles up again.
She chuckles at that too.
I feel like I could talk to this girl all day. But I’ve got somewhere to be.
I catch my breath and push myself back from the table, reluctant to leave. I stand and shake her hand. “Thanks for taking the time.”
She holds on for a moment. Her brows rise. “Got a date?”
“Yeah, uptown with a singing cowboy and an aging astronaut.”
“Better get to it.” Her lips press together like she wants to say something else.
“What?”
“We’ve met before, you know.” She lowers her eyes.
I squint, trying to remember.
“You rescued my twenty-dollar tip that blew off one of the outdoor tables.” She motions toward the window. “In the middle of MacDougal.”
“When? I’m not exactly the helpful kind.” Or is that just the story I tell myself?
“You ordered a coffee, then proceeded to have a whole conversation with yourself.”
“As I do.” I grin.
She grins back. Hmm. The corners of her mouth turn up like mine.
The bells above the entry door jingle.
“Dahl, you forgot to flip the We’re Closed sign around.” A broad-shouldered, Sicilian-looking guy with dark, curly hair steps inside, wringing out the bottom of his T-shirt and shaking the rain from his arms. His face looks familiar. He’s accompanied by a girl in a pink minidress.
His eyes move from Dahlia and then to me like I’m a predator in his territory.
She smiles at him.
He visibly relaxes.
“I got distracted.” Dahlia gestures toward the pair. “Micah, meet Tess and Teddy. I told you about him. He works here and for Falcon Messenger.”
“Ah . . .” I nod.
“Yo, I’m da muscle of dis operation.” He offers up a fist-bump.
Both girls chuckle. Must be an inside joke.
“Guess I’m the insider, the one closest to the target.” Tess, a dark-skinned girl with large, expressive eyes, winks at me. She shakes out her matching umbrella and leans it next to the door.
“Don’t forget address getter and party planner.” Dahlia smiles at her.
“Yeah, that last one was not so great. She never showed up.” Teddy snorts.
“Oh yeah? Who almost got caught dropping off the boxes?” Tess flutters her lashes at him, swings one of her shopping bags into the front booth, and slides to the middle facing her back to the window. “I’ll take my usual, Dahl.”
“And you?” I look at Dahlia.
“I’m the mastermind, of course.” She winks at Teddy. “Strange to admit after years of underestimating myself. But—change the line, change your life. It’s my new motto.”
I laugh. “I have no idea what you guys are talking about. How do you all know each other?”
Tess looks to the other two. “They went to high school together. We met through a recent acquaintance . . . our buddy, Clive. We learned we shared a mutual dissatisfaction with someone . . . that there was an injustice that needed to be righted.” She swings her hair behind her shoulders before balancing her chin on her hands.
“I flew back into town to see it through. I love a good drama.”
“Nice to meet you.” I glance at my phone. “I got to go.” I frown toward Dahlia. Our eyes stall on one another’s. I make my way to the door. I glance back and snag her gaze one final time before stepping outside.
Buckets of rain wash the sidewalk to either side of me. I duck into a cab and give the driver Granddad’s address.
He swings a left onto Houston, heading in the opposite direction from where I was supposed to meet Brynn over half an hour ago. The cab straightens out of the turn.
A levity in my chest overcomes me. It travels down my arms and through my fingers. I hold on to my seat and my breath.
A few seconds pass. No change. Then a full minute.
I exhale. My grin widens.
Besides the driver, I’m alone in this cab. Blissfully, utterly alone.