A tiny flame of guilt had sprung up at the mention of Miranda’s stolen license, but I tamped it out. “Yeah, I want to be sympathetic, Miranda. But it’s a little hard because you put a dead body in the trunk of my car! I have kids, Miranda! Two! I could go to prison!”
“I’m so sorry, Tilly. I’m so sorry.” She let out a sob. “And this is going to sound silly. You probably don’t even remember this. But I’m also really sorry I hid my vodka in your duffel bag at cheerleading camp. It was so stupid. I was drunk and I didn’t think you’d get caught. I should have come forward. I’ve always felt bad about it.”
“It was really shitty,” I said. The old bitterness and grief rose in my throat. “I actually loved being Mr.Potato Pants.” But it felt cathartic and good to actually hear her apologize.
“Your Rump Shaker dance was the best,” Miranda said, sympathetically. “In the alley, I was panicked, I was desperate, and I thought it was his car. Please believe me. I never in a million years would’ve put you in this terrible position on purpose. I didn’t mean to screw you over again.”
And in spite of myself, I believed her.
Miranda could sense I was softening. She expertly swung Tater Tot onto her shoulder and gently patted her back. “I want to help you. We can fix this somehow—together.”
“Fix it by going to the police,” I said, but I didn’t sound convincing. Miranda was a mother now too. I could not make my heart unfeeling enough. Even though I didn’t fully trust her, if we were both going to stay out of prison, we’d need to work together. “If we’re doing apologies—” I pulled my wallet out of my coat pocket and handed over her driver’s license. “The dog pulled your purse off my couch and your license fell out.”
She stared at me, baffled. “You stole my license and used it to rent a snowmobile?” she asked.
“Becausesomeoneput a dead man. In. My. Trunk,” I said. “Another long story but I was trying to get proof I didn’t kill him.” I gave her theReader’s Digestversion of my trip to Burgdorf, leaving out the fact that Layna had accompanied me.
When I got to the part about lobbing the grenade, Tater started to cry. Miranda snuggled and bounced the baby.
“I think she’s hungry,” Miranda said. “Could you—?”
Under Miranda’s direction, I made a bottle. The process of heating the formula and tamping a splash from the nipple onto my wrist to make sure it wasn’t too hot was soothing. As soon as Miranda gave it to Tater Tot, the baby quieted and began drinking happily.
I told Miranda about my unsuccessful trip to Bar Gernika to try and plant a GPS on the Receiver. “I saw you and your mom there. It spooked me and I took off.”
“My mom was craving a lamb grinder so I dropped her for lunch. I had to hurry because I was taking Tater Tot to her pediatrician appointment.”
“That wasn’t a dog sling you were wearing,” I said. “It was a baby sling!”
Miranda laughed. “I promise I wouldn’t wear a dog!” She paused, hereyes suddenly glassy. “I was also trying to get out of there before I committed matricide—my mom had been baiting me about how I shouldn’t get too attached to Tater because she’s not actually mine.”
“Brutal,” I said.
Little Sister whined and scratched at her head. The tattered ear was clearly bugging her. As if I didn’t have enough to deal with already, I was going to have to tack on a trip to the vet.
Miranda paused as if deciding whether or not to make a confession. “I was always so jealous of you.”
“Of me?” I said, flabbergasted. “Why?”
“Your mom was so mellow and cool and loving. I wanted a mom like that.”
“She was the best,” I said, my eyes filling. When the Great Goddess had been handing out mothers, I’d been at the front of the line. Losing her still felt sharp and fresh.
“Then I ran into you in the co-op and you had not one kid but two,” Miranda continued. “Twins! That’s why I was throwing barbs about your career. I don’t care about your career. No offense.”
“None taken.” I cared so much about my vocation that I was always assuming other people were sizing up my failures. It was a relief to know Miranda didn’t care at all. Suddenly I could see my life the way Miranda saw it. Sure, there had been heartache and setbacks. But I’d been raised by a kind, funny, loving woman who always thought I’d hung the moon. And then there was the fundamental fact of my own motherhood. I had identical twins who were amazing—in totally different ways. If Phoebe moved into a sorority house tomorrow, she’d be president in a week, no matter that she was only seven. Meanwhile, Alice had enough empathy and compassion to run an international aid organization. Motherhood was such a wild adventure. I might lose sight of it sometimes in the daily grind, but it was still a blessing of epic good fortune.
“You know what kills me?” Miranda asked. “My mom’s right. I don’thave a legal right to keep this baby yet. I’m just fostering. We’ve been together less than a week. But I know we’re meant for each other.” She examined the bottle. “I think she’s done. Are you done, sweet girl?”
“I have all the legal right to my kids in the world,” I said. “But if law enforcement finds the corpse of the guy you murdered, I’ll lose them.”
“Like I said, we can fix this somehow,” Miranda vowed. “Together.”
“I’ll need your help moving the body,” I said. “Before Saturday. It’ll be hot then. The body will start to decomp—and stink.”
She looked alarmed. “Where is it now?”
“I’m not telling,” I said, in case Miranda decided to frame me after all. “Not yet.”
