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What would he say to her, if he’d had the chance?
Good night. He wished he could take her on a date and tell her, “Good night,” at least once, but of course as far as tonight went? There wasn’t a damned thing good about it.
* * *
Two days.
Didi had been gone for nearly two damned days.
The house wasn’t cold, but Remmi, chilled from the inside out, had turned on the gas fire, watching the flames flicker and hiss as she rocked in the tattered chair, the baby in her lap. She wanted her brother to fall asleep, but that wasn’t happening. Adam was fussy, not taking the bottle she offered, instead staring up at her and gumming the nipple, chewing on the rubbery tip as if he knew something was wrong. He was right, of course. Didi hadn’t returned. Not yesterday, as she’d promised, nor today. So when? What had happened? As Remmi stared at the flames, she had the eerie and unwelcome feeling that she might not ever see her mother again.
At that thought, the lump in her throat grew, and she swallowed it back and refused to give in to tears. Miserable, her worry inching toward fear, she pushed against the carpet with her bare toe, keeping the motion slow and steady. She smiled down at the baby, hoping to comfort him, while inside she felt a deep, welling fear. What had happened to Didi? She’d flown out of here on a mission, but . . .
Please, please, let her walk through the door, Remmi had silently prayed for hours, but so far, her pleas had fallen upon deaf ears. God wasn’t listening.
Seneca, too, had disappeared. Remmi had called her. Seven times yesterday, and ten today. Seneca wasn’t answering or returning Remmi’s panicked calls. She fed Adam from the store of bottles and watched the clock. Her mother had said she’d return within twelve hours.
She’d either lied or been detained or . . .
Don’t even go there; don’t think like that! Remmi told herself, as the clock in the kitchen ticked away the seconds of her life; Didi was fine. Okay. Just delayed or maybe . . . distracted. But she’d show up. She always did.
And she always called. Right? So why hasn’t she?
Remmi glared at the phone, willing it to ring.
But the house remained silent, the only sounds the tick of the clock, the creak of the rocker, the rattle of the windows as a desert storm kicked up and the wind raced through this hardscrabble neighborhood, and the ever-increasing beat of her heart.
Had Didi planned to ditch her oldest daughter, leave Remmi with the infant for good? No, Remmi didn’t believe that, wouldn’t believe it, despite Didi’s erratic behavior.
But she lied, didn’t she?
About the meeting in the desert.
About Ariel being with Trudie.
About so many things.
All of your life, Didi has bent the truth to suit herself. Take, for example, that she’s never told you anything straight about your father. Or her own family. It’s been lie after lie after lie.
How can you trust her? How?
“Oh, shut up!” Remmi said, startling Adam. The nipple fell from his lips, and he screwed up his face, beginning to cry in earnest. “Oh, honey, no, no, no,” she whispered, picking him up and cradling him as she walked—paced, really—in front of the fire. “It’s all right. It’s gonna be all right.” She kissed the downy top of his head.
What should she do?
Call the police?
No. Not yet. Didi would kill her if she found out . . . well, if she ever returned. And then they’d take Adam from her and shove her through Social Services into some strange foster home, a separate one from her infant brother. No thanks.
Call Noah?
What good would that do? Besides, she’d tried several times and had never connected with him. If he wanted to talk to her, he could call or come by. Obviously, he wasn’t interested in her, probably never really had been.
Her heart cracked a little, but she ignored the pain. She barely knew the guy. Besides, he was a loser. Otherwise, he would have checked on her when she hadn’t shown up the other day.
Unless he thinks you stood him up when you didn’t show . . .
For the millionth time, Remmi glanced at the fire. Stared into the flames. Thought of the fiery blast in the desert. And the gunshots. Someone had died last night, Remmi was sure of it. Died! Violently. Didi had switched out the babies—that much was certain—and whoever had been in that other car, the man whom Didi had referred to as the twins’ “daddy,” had expected to be handed a baby boy. Not a girl. That’s why the twins had been dressed in the wrong clothes. It had to be. Remmi was almost sure of it—that Didi had switched out the babies on purpose to fool the “daddy” and probably make him pay more for his son. But the guy had cheated Didi, pulled a scam of his own, conning her just as she’d conned him, by leaving her with a briefcase of phony, useless bills.
