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Shit. “Oh, I’m sorry. Were you close?”
“Very. She was kind and beautiful. We miss her very much.”
I don’t doubt it if she’s anything like her daughter. “Sounds like you have some good memories. That’s more than I can say.”
“You can still have good memories if you try.” Quinn looks up at me. “You should try, not just for Rose’s sake, but for your own. Before it’s too late. You never know how much time you have.”
We ride in silence the rest of the way back to Scottsdale, her profound words puncturing the self-made armor around my tortured soul. She’s right, but I’m still too stubborn to just forgive and forget. Quinn may be young and inexperienced, but she has a bigger heart than I’ll ever hope to have. I know she’ll be a great mother someday for some lucky child. Luckier than Rose or me.
I turn onto our street, and my pulse quickens at the unsettling sight of strobe lights from a police cruiser up ahead. Quinn sees them too and straightens herself for a better look.
“I wonder what’s going on up there?” she says.
As we get nearer, my stomach drops into my toes when I realize it’s parked in front of my house. “What the fuck…” I swear under my breath.
“Oh my God, there’s my dad.” Quinn cups her hands to her mouth in horror.
I pull over, and not only is Frederick standing on my lawn talking to the cops but Lila as well. “And there’s my mother,” I say, equally freaked out. Where the hell is Rose?! my panicked mind screams. The lights are on inside the house, and the door is wide open. I jump out of the truck and make a beeline for Lila. Frederick spots Quinn get out of the passenger side and moves off to intercept her. He’s going to be furious, but I can’t get involved in that altercation right now.
“Where’s Rose?” I shout. Lila turns, and with a wave of relief, I see she’s holding Rose bundled up in a blanket, half-asleep.
“Oh, Logan, thank God you’re here,” Lila cries.
“What’s going on? Why didn’t you phone me?”
“I did. It went to voicemail,” she says defensively.
I swear and grab the cell phone from my pocket. Dead as a brick. Fuck. “What the hell is going on?” I ask the cop.
“Sir, there’s been a break and enter. Your neighbor witnessed it and called us to investigate,” the young constable explains. “Whoever it was has left the scene. A window was broken, but no other apparent damage. If anything’s been stolen, make sure you report it to us immediately.” I look over at Frederick, who is questioning Quinn over on their side of the lawn. Shit. He thought she was babysitting. We’re sprung for sure, and I hope he doesn’t own a shotgun.
“It was Jolene,” Lila pipes up. “She came to my place, demanding to see Rose. She was furious that you’d moved but still had my address. Luckily Rose was already in bed, so I told her I didn’t know where she was and asked her to leave. She’s crazy, Logan. Her eyes were wild, and she was screaming her head off.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. But how did she find the house? You didn’t give her this address did you?” I asked, my voice rising in concern. Lila’s mouth was easily loosened with a few glasses of wine, but surely she wouldn’t be drinking when she had Rose in her care? She knows I’d revoke the grandma card in a heartbeat if she did.
“No.” Lila shakes her head emphatically. “But there was a pile of mail by the door that I’d collected from your old place. I’d readdressed it all and… she grabbed it and ran off. I’m so sorry… I had no idea she’d turn up.”
“Of course you didn’t.” How could she? I’d never even told her Jolene was out of rehab. I take Rose from her, a sleepy whine issuing from inside the blankets.
“I got Rose up and drove over here. I was afraid Jolene would set the house on fire or something,” Lila continued.
I wouldn’t have put it past her. In spite of the messy outcome, Lila had made a good call. “Looks like everything’s okay. Don’t worry about it. You go on home, I’ll put Rose to bed.” I turn to the officer. “Thanks for your help. I’ll be sure to call if anything is missing.”
“Goodnight, sir,” the cop says and returns to his cruiser.
Lila wrings her hands, clearly distressed by the whole ordeal. “Screwed up on my first try as a grandma. I’m so sorry, son.”
Son. She’s never called me that, and I’m not sure I want her to start. Choosing booze and her lowlife lovers over me for nearly three decades hasn’t earned her that privilege. I’ve been calling her by her first name for as long as I can remember. But she’s trying, and I’d rather have her in my daughter’s life than whacked-out Jolene.
“You’ll give me another chance, won’t you?” she asks anxiously.
You never know how much time you have. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” I say. “Goodnight, Lila.”
Lila gives me a relieved smile. “Goodnight, Logan.”
I turn away and start toward the house, the first seeds of forgiveness beginning to sprout. I have to start somewhere. But as I see Quinn and her dad still arguing, my guilt meter spikes off the chart, bringing me back to reality. I’m involved whether I like it or not, so I walk toward the pair of them to set the story straight, and at least thank the man for calling the police.
“Frederick,” I say with a nod. “Thanks for calling the cops. What did you see?”
