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“Hi,” she replied, her voice trembling, and she swallowed hard again. “Everything is fine. No need for anything. I wanted to throw it away anyway.” Another step back and she yelled, “Diego!”
My stomach flipped when I saw a dark-haired boy hopping down from the swing and running toward us, blinking at us with his gray eyes, identical to my daughter’s, that accented his tan skin.
However, that was the only resemblance he shared with my daughter. He was a bit taller and bulkier than her and had this deep sadness in his stare that chilled my blood. “Si, Mamá?”
“Nosotras tenemos que ir.”
My limited Spanish allowed me to understand that she told him they had to leave and disappointment flashed on Diego’s face. “Ahora?”
“Yes. Say bye to your friends.”
He gave us a wave and ran back to a group of boys around the swing while the woman plastered on a tight smile, taking another long step back. “Have a nice day.” Before I could say anything else, she rushed to her blanket, packed everything up, grabbed her son, and hastily left the park.
I was just speechless because the woman acted like a fugitive around me when she did nothing wrong.
It was us who committed a crime.
For the rest of the day, I pretended everything was fine and even invited Amanda and her son to sleep over, but they declined. Grayson prefers for them to sleep at home. Our husbands always have been control freaks, demanding to know where and with whom we are at all times. Which is hilarious since they love their fishing trips so much, they go there almost every weekend. Maybe other wives would have been bothered by it, but they always come back so happy and energetic, ready to conquer the world and staying so nice toward us…it’s impossible to doubt their devotion to their family.
I can be calm. I should be calm and just focus on my life. In fact, I should feel relief…because we finally saw each other and nothing tragic happened.
Anxiety, though, is a bitch, so it flicks an image of her over and over in my head, how she paled and wished to disappear as if I were the plaque that had the power to destroy her.
She recognized me. That much was clear. Shouldn’t she want to hug the people who helped her deliver the baby? Chat with them or even pay closer attention to Isla and see a resemblance with her own kid?
Why was her first instinct to run away from me? Is it somehow connected to the sadness in her kid’s eyes?
No matter how much I think about it, the answer doesn’t come, and only one question remains.
Why?
Isla
“You should quit,” Giselle says, and I roll my eyes, adding speed to my morning run and breathing the frigid air into my lungs. “I know you’re stubborn, but sometimes even the most stubborn creatures need to let go.”
Adjusting the headphones better, I turn to the right and focus on my building in the distance while passing by various people either smoking joints or drinking this early, or maybe they just didn’t go to bed, period. For whatever reason, they all keep waving at me every single time, so I have to be nice as well and return their greetings while internally wondering why the neighborhood that generally doesn’t give a shit about anyone stays so polite to me. “He’s doing it on purpose.”
“What? Ignoring you? I think he made that abundantly clear.”
Even though she can’t see me, I stick my tongue out at her. “Hiding crucial information from me.” I grit my teeth. “And ignoring me, yes. At this point, he must be a master at it.”
I think reaching the dead is easier than having a conversation with Octavius, who banned me from all his properties, so I can’t step foot on any land that belongs to the Reeds.
That includes all their buildings, holdings, and even a shopping mall.
“Maybe it’s a sign for you to focus on your work instead.”
I snort a laugh at this. “That’s all I’ve been doing for the past two months.” Working as a private investigator for the old dude proved to be busier than I originally anticipated. The minute I joined his small firm, he had an influx of clients dealing with all kinds of family dramas.
On some days, I was so exhausted, I could barely walk back home and take a hot shower before crashing, and while it would have thrilled me, especially the constant bonus I kept getting from the owner…I knew Octavius was behind it.
He probably supplied all these clients to ensure I’d be so busy I couldn’t think about anything else. Except his plan failed because all I could think about even during my assignments was the Church Killer.
No matter how much I tried to reach Octavius or his friends just to get some answers, a clue to move forward since I’ve gotten nothing in all this time…all my pleas and requests were ignored.
Even Callum told me he could no longer help me, and I didn’t push. The last thing I need is Giselle’s husband getting into trouble due to my problems.
I huff in annoyance, my sneakers slapping soundly against the asphalt as I add more strength to my laps, welcoming the pain traveling through my joints. It temporarily numbs the one pressing on my chest, reminding me how lonely and unfulfilled my existence truly is.
