by Ren Richards
Seeing Oleg hold a copy of her work made her feel self-conscious, though she wasn’t sure why. Over a million copies had been sold over the years. But to see Oleg with a copy made her feel as though he could see clean through her words, to the girl she had been when she’d written them. It made her feel as naked as her body under his borrowed cashmere sweater.
She wrung her wet hair into a towel. ‘You keep a copy of my book just lying around?’
‘Of course.’ He set it on the desk with care. ‘It’s the reason I’m here.’
He looked at her, and his eyes were the palest, clearest blue in the morning light. ‘Are you feeling better now?’
‘Yes, but I must look like a mess,’ Nell said, laughing. She always laughed when she was frightened. It was strange how one could feel fear even after the thing to cause that fear was over.
‘Hey.’ Oleg moved towards her and circled his hand around her wrist. ‘You’re shaking.’
Nell shook her head. ‘I’m fine. Everything is fine.’
‘No it isn’t,’ he said. ‘But it will be. I promise. Maybe we should skip breakfast and go straight to the police.’
‘No,’ Nell answered too quickly. ‘No,’ she said again, trying to sound calmer. ‘Breakfast will help. I need time to sit and think.’
‘All right.’ His voice was as serene as his eyes. ‘All right. It’s just across the street. We can walk there.’
20
THEN
On what would be her last Christmas, Reina was three years old. Eleven months later, she would disappear forever.
It was also the first year Nell went to visit Bonnie without Lindsay, who had practically surgically attached herself to Matthew Cranlin.
Nell brought Reina along instead. Ethan had offered to come too, but Nell knew he was hoping she’d refuse, which she did. ‘I can’t make you ride out all that way,’ she said, standing in the driveway with her hand on the car door handle. ‘You wouldn’t like my mother anyway. You’ve heard the stories.’
‘Yeah,’ Ethan said. ‘Drive safe. Call me when you get there so I know you’re okay.’ He hoisted Reina over to her. A second ago, Reina had been latched to his hip with her head tucked against his shoulder. She’d looked like a baby koala in her puffed mint-green coat, staring impassively at the lightly falling snow. But once in Nell’s arms, she went slack and uncooperative. Nell had to tighten her grip so Reina wouldn’t slip through her arms like a heavy bag of groceries.
She dreaded the drive without Lindsay there to balance things out. Lindsay’s pettiness and contrarian nature didn’t yield for toddlers. In Lindsay’s mind there was no difference between a stubborn child and a burly mugger in the back alley behind a bar. If someone provoked her, she responded in kind and there would be no exceptions. If Reina threw one of her screaming fits in the grocery store, Lindsay would crouch down before her and scream too. If Reina pitched her cereal at the wall, Lindsay said, ‘Is that all you’ve got?’ and threw her drink. Whenever Lindsay brought Reina a present, the first thing Reina did was break it. So Lindsay bought more challenging and resilient things: a cast iron bank shaped like an alphabet block, a Rubik’s cube whose little square buttons would not come apart no matter how Reina pulled at them.
It became its own sort of weird affection, and both participants got a kick out of it. Nell envied this. Lindsay had found a way to bond with her niece, even if she did consistently maintain that the child was a terror. It was something. Nell had observed the way Reina studied her aunt; doubtless Reina recognised someone who would challenge her – someone who didn’t fear her tantrums or feel devastated when her gifts were smashed or peed on. They were playing a game.
Nell didn’t even get that much out of her child. Reina had always known how to break Nell. Sometimes when Reina sat catatonic in front of the TV or in her car seat, Nell suspected it was out of boredom. Nell was such an easy mark that there was no sport in it.
For the first hour of the drive, Reina slept, lulled by the thrum of the engine and the heat. Nell’s gaze flitted to the rear-view mirror. She so rarely got to have a good, uninterrupted look at her daughter’s face. She avoided looking when the baby was awake.
Everyone else looked at her, though. When Nell pushed her stroller through the grocery store or stood in line at the bank, there was always someone who remarked on what a beautiful child she had. Of course they only caught Reina in glimpses, and probably dismissed her permanent scowl as a moment of moodiness that would later be assuaged by a nap or a snack.
But it was true. Though everything about Reina’s behaviour was grotesque, Nell had seen from the first day that her daughter was pretty. A perfect little machine with pink lips and cheeks, and lashes that were dark and heavy.
Watching her daughter sleep, Nell allowed herself to feel a bit of pride.
Her eyes turned back to the road just in time for her to see the rows of brake lights. Traffic had come to a stop.
She slammed the brakes; the car screeched and bucked and Nell jolted forward.
Her eyes closed in dread. She knew what was about to happen.
Reina awoke with a gurgling hiccup, and it turned into a shriek.
‘Really?’ Nell muttered. She wasn’t talking to Reina, but to whatever grand force seemed to hate her so much. The gust of hatred she felt was strong enough to make her believe in God.
Reina screamed all through the traffic jam. She tugged at the seatbelt that wove through her car seat, trying to free herself. But Nell had safety-pinned it in place because she was on to her daughter’s tricks by now.
As Nell eased the brakes and let the car roll forward in yard-long increments, she wondered why she went to such lengths to save her daughter from herself. Bolting the windows when Reina proved to be a little climber, installing a pressure lock on the fridge so she wouldn’t drink the condiments until she threw up, pinning the seatbelt behind the car seat so she wouldn’t rip out the buckle.
She imagined what would happen if she hadn’t taken the extra measure of pinning the seatbelt down. She imagined Reina ripping herself free and pulling up the door lock and running out into traffic.
What would happen then? Maybe she would realise that cars and strangers aren’t as easy to manipulate as her mother. Maybe she would realise that the world was vast and unforgiving, and that her mother was continuing to inch along the traffic jam without her, and she would return to the car before it was too late.
Or maybe she would run along the yellow dotted lines as far and as fast as her little red suede shoes would carry her.
Nell’s fingers flexed and tightened around the steering wheel.
Reina’s stamina was impressive. The screaming maintained its pitch. The pauses for breath were short and measured. Her face wasn’t even red from the strain. There were no tears in her eyes.
By the time they reached the prison Nell had grown used to it, the way she always did if she was subjected to a long tantrum.
She was also used to the indignant stares she got in the visitors’ queue, and the way the screaming echoed.
The worst part was carrying her. Reina knew how to make herself twisty and slippery like a snake, and she had mastered the art of throwing a tantrum while keeping her body miraculously limp.
Finally fed up with having to readjust her grip, Nell tried something new and draped Reina over her shoulder. She clamped down on Reina’s ankles with one hand to keep her from sliding away. All this effort to hold on to something that hated her.
When at last it was her turn, she was led to a tiny room filled with tables and chairs.
This was a rare treat. Most visits with Bonnie were no-contact visits, because she was on probation for violating a rule or there simply wasn’t room. Especially on holiday weekends.
Nell deposited Reina onto a chair, and the tantrum stopped. Reina had never been in this part of the prison before. She had only seen her grandmother through a sheet of shatterproof glass, which she would crawl up on the counter and lick so that sh
e could spread her saliva around into nonsense shapes.
But this place was new. There wasn’t much that should interest a toddler; no colours, nothing to grab or play with. But Nell knew that contemplative look in the child’s eyes. She was going to find some way to sabotage this visit.
Bonnie was led to the table by a CO, and she sat slowly, grunting. She was not an old woman. Only forty-three but already arthritic with smoker’s lung. Nell had watched her mother wither more with each visit. Her brown hair had turned grey, then silver and limp, and then it began to thin. Her skin had leathered. But she always took care of her teeth; they were bright and smooth and straight.
‘Hi, baby,’ she said to Nell, with a resigned weariness.
‘Hi, Momma,’ Nell said. ‘This is a surprise, getting to see you without the glass.’
‘Oh yeah.’ Bonnie coughed. A wet, rattling sound. ‘Delightful. I’ve been a good girl.’ She looked to Reina, who was sitting upright in her chair and staring at her. ‘Hey, kid.’ When there was no response, Bonnie turned back to Nell. ‘She still ain’t talking, huh?’
‘Yes,’ Reina said, her cheeks fat with a scowl.
‘Sometimes she speaks,’ Nell said.
‘She still smearing caca all over the house like a barn animal?’ Bonnie asked.
This was a new word for Reina. Caca. It made her laugh. It wasn’t a playful, little girl laugh. It was the same sort of laugh Matthew let out when Lindsay tripped or spilled something.
‘Don’t give her any ideas,’ Nell said.
Bonnie’s pitying look said that Nell looked as tired as she sounded. Seventeen years old and Nell felt haggard and sore.
Bonnie reached across the table and tucked a piece of hair behind Nell’s ear. ‘You’re so pretty,’ she said. ‘This isn’t what I wanted for you, baby girl, you know that.’
Nell held her tongue. Reina had taught her that level of restraint. What she wanted to say was: if you cared to raise me, why did you fuck it all up? Why was I born on the floor of your cell? What sort of future did you have in mind if that was my start?
‘Caca,’ Reina echoed, swinging her feet. She kicked at a table leg, and Nell ignored it, letting the table bounce against the floor. If she made a move to steady it, Reina would know she had found her new game.
Bonnie seemed to know it too. She knew a lot about babies, given how little attention she’d given her own. ‘Where’s your sister at?’
‘She’s not speaking to me,’ Nell said.
‘What crawled up her ass this time?’
Nell shrugged.
Bonnie leaned closer. ‘That boy hits her, doesn’t he?’
Nell preferred not to divulge Lindsay’s private matters to her mother. The truth was that she wanted desperately to save her sister, not only from her husband but from herself. But Lindsay was a novelty finger trap – the more Nell tried to pull her away, the tighter she latched on to her convictions.
Her hesitation was her answer.
‘Lindsay ain’t mad at you,’ Bonnie said. ‘That’s just an excuse so you don’t come around and see what he did to her face.’
Nell hadn’t considered this, but upon hearing the words she knew they were true.
Bonnie’s jaw clenched. She shook her head. ‘That girl’s gonna end up in a body bag.’
‘Mom,’ Nell scolded. She glanced to Reina, using her child’s presence to veer the conversation to something lighter. But Bonnie wasn’t having it.
‘I thought Lindsay’d be more the shotgun type,’ Bonnie said. ‘Thought she’d put a bullet in that son of a bitch and end up living here with me. But she’s just gonna let him kill her.’
Nell could have lied and said this wasn’t true, but Bonnie would see through it anyway.
‘Don’t you try nothing,’ Bonnie said, pointing at Nell. ‘Don’t get yourself locked up trying to protect your dumbass sister. There’s still hope for you.’
‘This is why Lindsay doesn’t want to visit you,’ Nell said, trying to sound amicable. ‘She thinks you play favourites with us.’
‘I ain’t playing,’ Bonnie said. ‘I love Lindsay, but you’re the good one. You’re gonna do the big things. I’ve always known that. You’ve had yourself a little setback, but you’ll get back on your feet.’
Getting pregnant at fourteen had not been a setback. Having a child like Reina was the setback.
‘Mom,’ Nell said, and leaned closer. ‘What was Lindsay like when she was little?’
‘She was like a cat,’ Bonnie said, not without affection. ‘That girl got into everything. Wasn’t much of a talker, but that’s because she was always planning something.’
‘But was it ever more than that?’ Nell asked. ‘Was she like –’
‘Like this one?’ Bonnie nodded at Reina. Reina had a finger up her nose, and she was digging so hard that blood was dripping from her nostril. Nell didn’t try to clean it up; she didn’t want to provoke another screaming match, and she would rather a messy child than a loud one. With Reina, she had to take what choices she was offered. And Reina was always scratching herself anyway. Her nails were long and sharp. Mrs Eddleton was the only one Reina permitted to cut them, and only when it suited her, like when she tore one apart trying to scale a tree or had gotten a splinter wedged in her nail bed.
‘No, Lindsay was never like your kid,’ Bonnie went on. ‘If I had a kid like yours, I’d have left her with your father. Woulda been a better punishment than trying to shoot him.’
Nell could never be sure how much Reina understood. She plopped her bloody nail into her mouth and sucked it like a pacifier as she stared at her grandmother. Reina had only ever seen Bonnie behind a sheet of glass; maybe she had thought her to be a television show. But now she liked her – as much as she could like anyone.
‘Do you like this place?’ Bonnie asked Reina. She didn’t bother to make her voice sweet or melodic the way that most adults did around children. Maybe that was part of Reina’s fascination.
Reina nodded. It was a short, rapid little gesture that made her curls bounce over her eyes.
‘That’s good,’ Bonnie said. ‘I’ll see you here when you grow up. Maybe if you’re nice to me I’ll show you how to make hooch.’
‘Mom!’
Bonnie folded her arms and sat back. ‘What’s true is true,’ she said.
21
NOW
Nell cupped the warm mug in both hands and took a sip of her coffee. It was bitter, but it was hot, and that was all that mattered. ‘Have you spent much time with Mr and Mrs Hamblin?’
‘Is this for your book?’ Oleg asked.
‘No. I’m just curious.’
He covered his mouth to stifle a yawn. Nell wasn’t the only one who hadn’t gotten enough sleep. ‘I spent a few weeks of my summers there after my sisters were adopted,’ he said. ‘I knew they did this for my sisters’ sake. I could tell that sometimes I had worn out my welcome.’
‘I find that hard to believe,’ Nell said. She would never make such a leading statement in an interview, but this wasn’t an interview. For the first time, she was having a simple conversation with one of the subjects.
‘I think Mom Esther liked having me there,’ Oleg said. ‘She’s the type of person who likes to take care of people. Mr Hamblin was the one who wanted me to leave.’
Mr Hamblin’s title stood in contrast to Oleg’s affectionate nickname for Mrs Hamblin.
Oleg smiled at her. He canted his head. ‘Shall I ask the waitress to bring a pen and paper so you can write some of this down?’
‘This isn’t an interview,’ Nell reminded him. ‘And anyway, I never forget anything.’
‘How do you manage that?’ Oleg asked.
‘If it’s the truth, you don’t need to remember much,’ Nell said. ‘The pieces will all fit together no matter how you turn it over.’
‘That’s such an interesting sentiment,’ Oleg said, and took a sip of his own coffee. ‘And what about you, Nell? Do the pieces of your own life fall tog
ether as neatly as the events in your books?’
The question stirred up her anxiety again. Here was Oleg, giving so much of his time and his honesty to her, and she couldn’t afford him the same.
He must have seen the change in her expression, because he added, ‘I didn’t mean to ask you anything personal. I’m sorry.’
‘No, you’re fine,’ Nell said. ‘It’s just – my head’s a mess after last night.’
Mercifully, the waitress brought their food at that moment. They ate in silence. The croissant was buttered to opaqueness and the scrambled eggs were dry, but Nell began to feel better as she ate.
The waitress came and took their empty dishes. She left the check, and Oleg grabbed it before Nell could reach for it.
She watched him for a moment as he read the piece of paper and began calculating the tip in his head.
Nell didn’t know what made her say what came next. ‘To answer your question, the pieces of my life do always come together eventually. The problem is getting others to believe me.’
‘Can you think of anyone who would be targeting you?’ Officer Rayburn asked.
Once again, Nell found herself sitting in the hard plastic chair of an interrogation room.
Oleg was beside her. He didn’t have to come along; he could have waited in the lobby, or just dropped her off outside the station and driven away. But without a word he had followed her when her name was called. Nell could smell the lingering cologne in the sleeve of his cashmere sweater when she brought her knuckle to her lips.
‘I write about controversial things,’ Nell said. ‘The press release for my latest book just came out. It’s sparked some outrage, but that’s pretty normal. True crime writers get that all the time.’
Officer Rayburn raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that so.’ It wasn’t a question. ‘You live in the Ocean View apartments, right? The good news is that building has the best security in the city. My suggestion would be to stay home until there are new leads. We’ll do what we can on our end.’