Page 63 of Fixed Asset

“Was,” I confirmed. Then to put her mind at ease, I quickly added, “Now she lives in Alaska. She worked for a big pharmaceutical company in Durham. She fell in love with a pilot. After they got married and she got pregnant, they decided to move to Thorne Bay, where Craig grew up. Now she’s got four kids and twenty acres, and every time I talk to her, she’s got a kid screaming in the background, and she’s never been happier. Her husband still flies, but he does medevacs, wilderness flights, things like that. My mom passed away five years ago. Somehow, my sister convinced my dad to move up there. After all the years he bitched about the snow when I was a kid, I thought he’d pick a beach for his retirement.”

“I’m sorry about your mom,” she whispered.

“So am I. She was a good mom, the best.” I had to stop and breathe through the pain that five years later had not lessened. “I miss her.”

I felt Catarina’s hand on my shoulder before it slid down my arm and wrapped around my wrist. Then I gave her the rest.

“My dad retired a year after my mom’s heart attack, and Anna went to work on Dad. It took her another year and another grandchild for him to sell the house in Minneapolis. Now he lives about fifteen minutes from my sister and sees his grandchildren pretty much every day.”

“What about you? Do you go to Alaska to see them?”

“I went up for a visit before I moved down here. If Craig’s not available to fly you up from Ketchikan, it’s a pain in the ass to get there. A ferry ride from the airport over to the mainland, then another four-hour ferry over to Hollis, then you’ve got another hour and a half up to Thorne Bay. Last time I went up, he was out flying. It took me almost six hours to get to my sister’s place after I landed in Alaska. I swore I’d never go back unless Craig came down in his seaplane to pick me up.”

“I don’t believe that.”

I loved my sister, my dad, and my nieces and nephews, so she wasn’t wrong. I also liked my sister’s husband, and the fishing wasn’t bad. Though I didn’t like it enough to move there, which was my sister’s constant refrain.

“What about you? Where’s your family?”

I felt her hand on my wrist spasm and chanced a look over at her. She was staring out the windshield, her expression completely devoid of emotion. I twisted my wrist free, reached for her hand, laced our fingers, and rested our hands on my thigh.

“I’m an only child. My parents died when I was four. Snowmobile accident. They went away for the weekend for their anniversary. I was with my grandmother. After they died, I stayed with her.”

“Damn, baby, I’m sorry.”

I couldn’t imagine losing both parents at such a young age. Losing my mom in my thirties had been torture on me and my sister.

“I don’t remember them,” she softly confessed. “I remember the stories my gran told me. I have pictures of them. But I don’t have any real memories.”

Christ, that was rough. I had a memory bank full of good times.

“Growing up, I knew I was missing out, but I didn’t feel like I was. That probably doesn’t make sense, but I didn’t. I didn’t have my parents, but I had my grandmother. She did everything she could to make sure I knew how much she loved me. I can’t really remember losing my parents. I can’t remember if I cried for them, though I’m sure I did. But I was four. All my childhood memories are with my grandmother. Now, when she died, that hurt. I didn’t think I’d ever stop crying.”

“How old were you?”

“Fourteen. She had type one diabetes. She’d had it her whole life. She took care of her health the best she could—stayed active, was vigilant with her diet and insulin. She went to sleep one night and never woke up.”

Holy fuck.

“Baby.”

“I looked it up—nocturnal hypoglycemia—it’s called the dead-in-bed syndrome. Her blood sugar dropped in her sleep. Almost half of severe diabetic shock episodes happen at night while sleeping. If I had known, I would’ve slept next to her. I would’ve watched over her the way she looked out for me. But I didn’t know, and she died in the room next to mine while I was asleep.”

“Catarina.” I squeezed her hand.

My attempt at support was lame. But I knew firsthand no well-meaning words could take away the pain of losing someone you loved.

“After she died, I went to live with my uncle and his family. That’s my mom’s brother. By this time, my parents’ life insurance had run out. My uncle tolerated me being in his house, having another mouth to feed, but his daughters and wife did not. Especially his oldest daughter, who now had to share a room. I lasted there about a year. Then I moved in with my aunt—my dad’s sister and her husband. They didn’t have children. That was by choice, and neither were happy to have a fifteen-year-old with a chip on her shoulder and an attitude problem.”

What the fuck?

My hand on the steering wheel tightened.

“They said that shit to you?”

“Every chance they got. Though it was more her than him. My aunt thought my dad had a stick up his ass while they were growing up, and she said I’d inherited it from him. I might not’ve had memories of my parents, but I didn’t like her talking badly about them. One night there was this huge blowup. She called CPS and had me removed from her house.”

“I don’t know what to say.” Well, I did, but none of it was good. “Actually, I do. Your aunt’s a world-class bitch.”