Page 68 of Bad Intentions

I pass her my phone.

“Smart watch?” she asks.

I shake my head, confused.

She then takes the phones to the other room.

“What are you doing?” I crane my neck, trying to figure out what she’s up to.

She comes back to the kitchen and sits down at the table across from me. “Making sure no one is listening. Now, here’s the deal. You can’t talk about this. Ever. Not with anyone. Not with me. We don’t bring it up. We don’t ask my nana questions. Your car is old and doesn’t have GPS. Neither does mine. We left the bar around the time that we did. I was tipsy, so we drove your car. I called Nana, and we drove here so I could introduce you two.”

I nod in agreement. “Oh-kay?”

“Don’t stare at me like an owl, Boots. That’s what happened. We had tea.” She nods toward the stove. “I’ll make you some in a minute. We chatted. And then”—she looks at the clock in the kitchen, almost identical to the one Grams has in hers—“you went home, leaving me here.”

“What time?”

“Yet to be determined.”

“Where did your grandmother go?”

Rika stares at me for a long moment. “Nowhere. Which part did you not understand? We were having tea and talking.”

I got it. This is a drill. I need to remember it.

Rika makes us tea, pours two cups, sets sugar on the table, then grabs cookies from one of the cupboards, all without saying a word. Her face is grim, but she seems calm, whereas my head is about to split from all the thoughts and stress.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask, staring at the steam rising in the air from my cup.

Rika resumes her seat at the table and slumps in her chair. “Who else would do it?”

I shrug. “You barely know me.”

“Our grandmothers were best friends for decades.”

“I know that.”

“Then have faith in the women who once ran this town. Trust me, my nana knows what she’s doing.”

“They used to run bars.”

“Nana used to say that, back in the day, a church and a bar were where people brought their problems. But unlike a church, a bar had the people who put their morals aside and solved those problems.”

“That’s all cool, but I feel bad for dragging you into this.”

“You didn’t. Our families have already been simmering in this mess for decades.”

“But not you. You didn’t deserve⁠—”

“Listen, Boots,” Rika interrupts me sharply.

She leans on the table with her elbows, her blue braids shifting forward. She’s so beautiful, and I can’t believe she’s getting involved in something horrible like this, saving my butt.

“I’ve had some…” She licks her lips, taking a moment. “Let’s just say, I’ve been in a lot of strange situations in my life,” she says, her eyes locked with mine. “I’ve helped others, and I’ve had my ass saved by others. It’s the Golden Rule. The honor code. A little goes a long way. Some people I’m grateful for went above and beyond to help me at different times in my life. Because they could. Because they cared. If you’ve never had such people, I feel bad for you. But maybe you’ll learn something from this. More importantly, I don’t think you know what happened the night of the bar fire decades ago. What really happened.”

“What happened?” I echo.

“Your grandmother saved our moms from going to prison.”