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They both looked back to Redman as Jack said,“Yeah, it’s going to be like pulling teeth to get anything worthwhile out of this guy.”
“You better keep me posted.”
“I will.” He chanced a quick kiss, which Redman was completely oblivious of. “Hopefully Grandma Tate won’t be too hard on you.”
She exited the sedan and got into her own car. She checked the time and saw that it was 1:32… about an hour later than she’d expected to stay out. But she saw no missed texts from Grandma Tate, so she supposed she hadn’t caused too much worry. Just to make sure all was well, she sent her own text.
About to leave the library. See you soon.
She waited as Jack pulled out of his parking space and rounded the concrete pillar that would lead him back down to the primary garage exit and back to the office. If Redman was the killer, she had high hopes that the case would be closed by the end of the day—all depending on how much they could get out of him while he was completely obliterated. How the man had managed to run out of the house in a panic was beyond her.
Rachel pulled out of her spot and then left the garage. And when she was halfway home, she realized that she actuallyneededto go the library to pick something up, just to really sell the story. Grinning like a kid playing hooky, she turned around for the library, wishing more than anything that she could be in the interrogation room with Jack.
***
At home, Rachel discovered that the reason she’d received no worried texts from Grandma Tate was because she was sitting on the patio, completely enthralled in playing solitaire on her iPad and listening to Fleetwood Mac—one of her favorites.
“You young’uns and your rock music and digital devices,” Rachel joked as she joined her on the glider.
“Oh, good for you to make it back home before curfew,” Grandma Tate retorted. They laughed heartily together, and Rachel felt about two inches tall. Seriously… how had she so easily lied to this kind woman? A woman that had, for the most part, helped her raise Paige after Peter had died and after finding out about her own cancer.
As the reality of it sank in, Rachel felt a strange, iron-like determination rise up inside of her. She would never do it again—not to Grandma Tate, not to anyone.
“Was it good to get out?” Grandma Tate asked.
“You know, it really was.”
“Any symptoms?”
“None.” Of course, her two brief episodes of dizziness while running down Seth Redman flashed through her mind. “I will admit, though, that I’m a little tired. I think I’m going to head up and take a nap until Paige gets home.”
“Did you get lunch yet?”
“No. I’ll make a sandwich before I head up.”
Grandma Tate nodded and looked back to her iPad as Stevie Nicks slid into the chorus of“Gypsy.”
Rachel hadn’t been telling a lie when she said she was tired. The short burst of excitement for the morning had taken it out of her—which, she assumed, could technically be considered a symptom of cancer. So she made herself a ham and cheese sandwich and ate it as she made her way upstairs. She set the half-eaten lunch on her bedside table and, though she was quite sure she wouldn’t fall asleep, lay down all the same.
She found herself thinking of what the remainder of her life would be like if she was no longer able to feel the burst of energy and confidence she’d felt this morning. More than that, the idea of being confined to this house, always wondering when the net bout of severe pain or nausea or dizzy spells might come, was maddening.
Considering all of that, she knew what her best option going forward would be. Laying there, she made the decision: she’d call and start scheduling chemotherapy treatments. She knew that the chances of it actually curing her were slim to none, but it would give her some extra time—not just adding months to her life, but maybe even making a few of them more enjoyable and manageable.
There was also Paige to consider. By not taking the chemo, Rachel feared she was showing her daughter that it was okay to give up—maybe even that life wasn’t worth trying to save.
Apparently, finally making that decision had taken immense pressure off of her because she did fall asleep. She didn’t realize this until she heard Paige downstairs, laughing at something. Rachel sat up and saw that it had somehow come to be 3:55 in the afternoon. Paige would have gotten off the bus fifteen minutes ago.
Shaking the remnants of sleep away, she got out of bed and headed downstairs, where Paige and Grandma Tate were sitting at the kitchen table with milk and cookies. Paige was working on a math worksheet for homework and giggling about a joke Grandma Tate had told.
“Mommy!” Paige said as Rachel stepped into the kitchen. “Did you have a good nap?”
“Apparently so,” Rachel said. “I don’t even remember falling asleep.”
“Yeah, but do youeverknow when you fall asleep?” Paige asked.
“That’s a really good question. Good point, kiddo.”
Grandma Tate sat down at the table with them, dipping a chocolate chip cookie into a small glass of milk.“You know, Ms. Paige said she’d like meatball subs for dinner. Should we make some from scratch or order out?”
