Chapter 9 #2
I look at her in the mirror. No advice about patience. No promise that a man will come to his senses if I wait long enough.
"Thank you," I say. "For being specific."
She checks the mirror and pulls away. I keep my eyes on Clem.
More than twenty minutes. That's how long Taz has been gone.
By the time he gets back to the room, we'll already be on our way.
The drive takes almost two hours. Clem sleeps through most of it, and I stare out the window at the hills turning golden in the late summer light.
I text my lawyer, the one Maggie found for me the morning after the barbecue, the one I told myself I'd never actually call, that we're safe, that she shouldn't give anyone our location.
I text Maggie the same thing, because she deserves to know her granddaughter isn't missing even if her son is an idiot.
Then I turn off my phone.
When we pull up to my grandmother's farm late that morning, the place looks abandoned. Overgrown and quiet, the way it's looked since she died and I moved to LA with a man who promised me the world.
My old farm truck is still in the barn, and I leave it there with the doors dragged shut.
Miguel took the hives to his orchard across the valley when we left for LA; nobody but me has had a reason to come up this drive in two years.
From the road, you'd never know anyone cared about this place at all.
That night, Az appears around nine with a casserole, her blonde hair knotted on top of her head and her green eyes already sweeping the room for what needs doing.
The first thing she does is carry in the bags Rosa left stacked on the porch, one by one, in the dark, without once reaching for the porch light.
Then she takes one look at me and the bag still by the door.
"Food first or a place to collapse?" she asks, already toeing off her boots.
"Can I vote for both?" I ask.
"That's the standard package," Az says. "Give me Clem, and sit before your knees make the decision for you."
I settle onto the couch while she takes my daughter, supporting her head against her shoulder.
"No lights on the road side," I say. "Please."
"I'll close the curtains," Az says, already crossing the room with Clem tucked in the crook of her arm. "You don't have to sit in the dark inside your own house."
"I just don't want him coming up the drive," I tell her. "Not tonight."
"Then he doesn't get tonight." She says it like she's drawing a line in the dirt. "Is there anyone you want me to call?"
"Maggie knows we're safe," I say. "The lawyer knows. That's enough."
Az draws the curtains and turns on the lamp at the back of the room. Its shade is crooked. My grandmother used to threaten to replace it every spring, then spend the money on seeds. I stare at it until the familiar little tilt blurs.
"He brought flowers," I say.
Az sits opposite me. She doesn't fill the silence.
"Sweet peas," I tell her. "He remembered. He practiced with the car seat. For a few minutes I thought maybe I could get through the ride home with him. Maybe that was where we'd start."
"And then he left," Az says quietly.
"I told him what would happen." I dig my thumbnail into the cushion seam. "I said it clearly. No hints. No expecting him to read my mind. He heard every word, and he still asked me to wait five minutes."
"You don't have to convince me you warned him enough," she says.
I pick at a loose thread on the cushion. "I keep hearing myself say it. Trying to find a different sentence that would have made him stay."
Az shakes her head. "There isn't a password you failed to guess, Molly."
Clem makes a small sound against her shoulder. Az rocks her gently, and I have to swallow before I can speak again.
"I don't know how to do tomorrow," I say. "I know where the diapers are. I know when she ate. But beyond that, it's just this enormous blank page."
"Tomorrow can start with breakfast," she says. "We don't need to schedule the rest of your life before you've had a sandwich."
"I used to be competent," I tell the ceiling.
"You got yourself and your baby somewhere safe while you were exhausted and hurting," Az says. "That looks fairly competent from this chair."
"I'd like to stop being brave now," I whisper.
"Good." Her mouth quirks. "I'm terrible company for inspirational speeches. I brought a casserole, not a banner."
A laugh escapes me and immediately turns into a sob. Az shifts forward, but waits until I hold out my hand.
"Could you stay?" I ask. "Just while I sleep a little?"
"Eli has June," she says, already settling deeper into the chair. "I've got time. Tell me where you've put Clem's things, and then put your feet up."
"The bag by the door," I say. "Nothing's unpacked."
"We can find a diaper in a bag," Az says. "Neither of us is applying to run an airport."
I lean back against the cushion. "Thank you for not asking whether I'm sure."
"You can tell me if you change your mind about anything," she says. "Tonight you asked me to stay. I can do tonight."
I close my eyes. The farmhouse is dark and silent around me, hidden from the road, hidden from everyone.
From the outside, this place looks like nobody has lived here in years.
That's exactly how I need it.