Robinson had to think the entire Nettles family was crazy or halfway there.
She hazarded a peak at him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
His focus stayed on whatever her mom was doing. Amanda turned.
Eileen Nettles reached for a pot hanging from the rack above the stove, where she stood. Then she shredded some bread and deposited the pieces inside. A second later, she flicked on the gas range, next to her.
Not now. Amanda abandoned her progress, knocking a few scraps of paper to the floor, in her haste to reach the stove before her mom set herself on fire. With a flick of her wrist, she turned the burner off. “Mom, do you have Glenda’s number?”
“Who’s Glenda, dear?” A smile graced her mom’s face. She added a healthy dose of mayonnaise and pickles to the mix. The urge to snatch the items from her, was strong. Right now, the battle wasn’t worth the risk.
“Never mind.” Injury by condiment was unlikely, so she moved back to her search. To Robinson’s watchful gaze. The last time Eric had come to the house with her, had been a disaster. It had ended with insulting words she’d never heard her mother utter before. Eric hadn’t been back since.
Amanda looked back at her mom, now mixing the food with her bare hand. Today, looked like a perfect day for a repeat. A fantastic day for another heartbreaking moment neither mother, nor daughter—or stranger for that matter—should bear.
What if they hadn’t come by today? What if her mother had hurt herself, gotten confused and lain alone until her father came home?
Robinson placed two receipts on the counter, near her piles. “What can I do, A.J.?”
“Find the home health aide’s number, erase the last week—no, make that a year—and find a cure for Alzheimer’s.” She focused on him, then. “My life would be peachy-keen.”
Not even true. Did she even know what defined her ideal lifestyle anymore?
Robinson shifted, but not with uncertainty. Real concern sat in his eyes, his posture relaxed as if her mother weren’t fixing them the most disgusting meal ever, but from the bottom of her heart.
“That’s a tall order. Even for me.”
“What’s the matter?” A grin tugged at her mouth as she returned to her mission. “Super Spy can’t handle it?”
“I just need to better understand it. Are we wiping the time from your memory or calling a redo?”
She puffed out a breath. Erasing a year. Interesting concept. Goodbye to the last few days. Good riddance to the disease slowly eating away at her mother. “Redo. Definitely, redo.”
“What would you chang—”
“Found it.” She held up a scrap of paper with a number scrawled across it. Thank you, God.
The clang of metal, against the tile flooring, filled the space with a hollow reverberation. Amanda spun around. Condiments splattered the nearby cabinets, in an array of white and yellow, a few flecks of green thrown in. Eileen bent near the open flame, a cigarette hanging from her mouth.
For the love of Pete.
“Mom.” Amanda circled the island. Her mom lit it and took a puff, then exhaled. A pungent odor gathered in the room, half stale, the other lending a leafy, plant-like redolence to the space. A smile lit the older woman’s face as she closed her eyes. Amanda sidestepped the mess of food and the cooking utensils on the floor.
“Where do you keep getting this? It’s illegal.” She grabbed the joint from between her mother’s lips and smashed it in the sink, behind them.
Her mom tried to shove her away from the area, irritation sliding over features that always held kindness. The hand covered with remnants of a meal, no one would eat, brushed across the front of Amanda’s shirt.
“You didn’t have to waste it.”
Where was she getting the stuff? Amanda shook her head and turned the water on, the weed sliding down the garbage disposal. In these moments, she fought to remember this wasn’t her mother with her. It was a faction of the disease. “You don’t need it.”
Eileen stepped back, her hand resting on the island, a short slip from the active burner on the stovetop. Crap. Why hadn’t she turned it off on her way by?
She tried to step past her mom, but the other woman moved into her space, arms crossed and mouth pinched tight. Amanda braced herself for an onslaught of verbal abuse.
As if he could read her mind, Robinson rounded the space and shut it off. Eileen shot him a glare, so frosty, Amanda expected him to bow out and leave. Eric had before. And she couldn’t say she blamed them.
This was her mother. Her flesh and blood. She’d never leave the woman who’d raised her. Not ever, especially in her time of need.
Robinson didn’t move. Didn’t even seemed fazed by the whole scene.
“A little M.J. never hurt anyone.” Eileen turned back to Amanda. “Maybe if you tried some, you’d understand. Besides, Walter and I have been so strung out trying to conceive. I figure this would calm my nerves.”
“Do you remember I’m a cop? This man is an FBI agent.” She gestured to him. “Neither of us condone drug usage.”
Eileen looked at the sink, and then the mess at her feet. “You ever tried any?”
Amanda shook her head. “My mother taught me drugs aren’t worth it.”
“A shame. Your mother sounds like a spoil-sport, which means you probably are, too. A waste of space in my opinion.” Spit flew from her mouth and landed on Amanda’s face, a bubbly wad of phlegm.
She clenched her eyes tight, her hands following suit. Yes. A year, erased, would be great. She could have her mother back. The one that didn’t own a mean bone in her body, never said a bad word, thought Pot was something a flower sat in and referred to her daughter’s friends as super spies.
They saw less and less of that woman all the time. And Eileen Nettles knew it. Knew someday Alzheimer’s disease would take her away completely and forever.
It will happen, Amanda, sooner than any of us want. So, help me find a good home that will take care of me when you and your dad can’t anymore.
“Glenda quit, didn’t she?” Her voice lent a calmness to her body, but like numbness ebbing from limbs with severe circulation issues, the feeling was prickly and uncomfortable. She wiped the spit from her face and opened her eyes. “As soon as Dad left, you made her leave. What did you do?”
Her mom’s mouth opened, a look of sheer outrage festering like an open sore. As if Amanda had insulted every decent idea she had.
She should know what to do here. What to say to turn this moment around. Her mom was counting on her. Instead, the punch of tears started behind her eyes, because, no matter what she said or did, the outcome wouldn’t change.
Robinson placed a hand on her mom’s shoulder. “Can I help you get out of this area? I don’t want you to slip.” He pointed to the ruined lunch mixture, at her feet.
As if taking in the scene for the first time, she looked from it to him and back.
Amanda held her breath.
Her mother squinted at him. “You’re Agent Robinson.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He grasped her elbow and guided her past Amanda and away from the mess. “McKenna’s boss.”
Amanda didn’t move. The woman couldn’t remember her daughter half the time, but she recognized Robinson after one meeting?
“A.J.’s super spy friend,” her mom said.
He chuckled as if they’d all been enjoying a Christmas party. “Yeah. That’s me.”
Eileen smiled, but it fell as she glanced at her daughter. Heartbreaking sadness crowded her eyes, a frown pulling her mouth downward. She rested a hand on Amanda’s arm. “Honey, are you crying?”
“No.” She scrubbed a hand across her face. Something wet met her fingertips. Crap. She totally was. How much more embarrassing could her day get? “It’s just allergies.”
“Don’t lie.” The older woman cupped Amanda’s face in her hands. As if she were a little girl, awake after a nightmare, her mom gathered her close and hugged her tight.
“I’ve done so
mething again, haven’t I?” She whispered.
Amanda shook her head and hugged her back. “No.”
“You’re not a very good liar, A.J. A mother always knows the truth. I hope whatever I’ve done, you’ll forgive me for.” She placed a kiss on her forehead and released her. “I’m so proud of you, dear. Did you come over for a specific reason?”
Amanda took a breath. Her eyes met Robinson’s and he mouthed I’ll be outside. She nodded.
“We just stopped by to say hello.”
Sincerity shone from her mom’s smile, as if life hadn’t dealt her one card short of a royal flush.
These moments, Amanda would hang on to. Forever.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Robinson sat on the front stoop of Amanda’s childhood home and watched the neighborhood, in which she’d grown up.
A two-story house across the street had their yard decked out in Christmas lights, a nativity scene taking up a good portion of the front lawn. Other homes had similar decorations, festivity in the air. The Nettles’ home fit right in with the perfect picture of Christmas.
A fresh blanket of snow was the only thing missing. It might make an appearance in January or February and then disappear before anyone could enjoy it. Charlotte saw a least a little bit of snow each year. The last heavy snowfall had trapped people in their homes for days as the county only had two snowplows.
He’d been a teenager at the time—maybe fourteen and unaware of what the next couple of years would hold for his family—and he and his friends had enjoyed a snowball war with the girls in his neighborhood.
Amanda would have been six at the time. Probably had some kind of snow related fun with Jordan and McKenna. Knowing those two, there was bound to have been a little mischief involved.
Amanda’s role in the stories Jordan and McKenna told, was always vibrant, much like her artwork. Bold, alive, sassy. Alluring.
While both of his ASAC's had charged head first into juvenile trouble, Amanda always stood out as coming up with an inventive escape, at the perfect moment. That is, when she wasn’t joining in on it.
He checked his voicemail and followed up on a few leads. Jordan left a message saying they’d swept Amanda’s apartment for bugs and come up empty handed. They’d located her spare set of keys and took them to the lab, to check for prints.
They didn’t have a warrant or verbal permission to confiscate Eric and Amanda’s computers. He’d get one, because if he knew Lawyer Boy, he’d need it.
Unless Amanda agreed to a search. And even then, a warrant would cover his rear end a lot better.
“You’re still here.” Amanda sat next to him, her thigh brushing his as she settled in. “You’re hogging all the space. Scoot over.”
He tucked his phone in his pocket and then complied. She moved toward him a few centimeters, but their bodies didn’t touch this time.
“How’s your mom?”
“Lucid, for the moment and chatting with her new nurse as if they’re old friends.” Amanda braced her elbows on her knees, her clasped hands falling between them. “Sorry you had to witness that. She was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s, right after my dad announced his intent to run for Senate.”
That explained the time erasing comment. “Don’t be. You handled it well.”
She shot him a smile, a wisp of hair blowing across her face with the breeze. “I had help.”
“How often does this happen?”
She picked a weed growing through a crack in the sidewalk, below her feet. “It’s become more frequent, in the last few months. The last time she had an episode was Thanksgiving. Right in the middle of dinner.
“It wasn’t as bad as today, but when she came back to us, she knew something had happened. It’s heartbreaking to see the woman, who has been so charismatic all my life, turn into a person I don’t know. And then watch her deal with the aftermath.”
He knew the feeling of powerlessness. “My dad could be easily confused at times, too.”
“Alzheimer’s?”
“Cancer. But the chemo and radiation messed with his mind at the end.”
“He passed away?”
He nodded.
She blinked a few times. “You never mentioned anything about it.”
Robinson rubbed his neck and studied the ground beneath his feet. “It’s not exactly good dinner conversation, A.J.”
“When exactly did he die?”
If anybody else had led the conversation this far down the path, he’d have shut it down before a breath could be drawn. It headed to a whole lot of pity, empathy and hugs. Things he’d rather not deal with.
For him, moving on meant sweeping up the pieces of the past and throwing them in the trash. Cleaned up and out of sight. He refused to dwell on things that couldn’t be changed or deal with people who couldn’t move on.
Plenty of the women he’d dated thought his philosophy left something to be desire. It was how he operated best. Managed to get Ariana through the rough patches, having a mother in a long-term care facility produced. Without his heart breaking into a million pieces every day, anyway.
Six months ago—three even, it had worked well. As he looked at the woman next to him, a hollow chunk of his soul cried out for more than empty words. More than the occasional ongoing barbs about each other’s respective significant others. Someone to confide in, who understood something about him. “September,” he heard himself say.
“September?” She sat up straight. The amber of her eyes melted as they locked on his.
He braced himself for an attack of sympathy, even as his stomach turned. It was normal. He could handle it.
“You jerk.” She landed a punch to his upper arm.
“What was that for?” He rubbed it as if she’d caused him pain.
Sympathy didn’t crowd her facial features. Instead, her eyebrows merged together, in the middle of her forehead, and her lips pressed together. Those eyes, always catching him off guard, cracked fire. The last time she’d leveled him with that look, she’d chewed his butt with a calm that bordered on scary.
“This has been a crappy year for everyone and you kept that to yourself?”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Now who’s lying?”
She had him there. “We miss him, but he’s not suffering anymore. He could become easily agitated and almost nothing would calm him. And with Lilly in the hospital, well, the memory lapses made it easier to, you know, tell him she was getting better.”
Amanda’s gaze searched the foliage around them. “A group of teenagers were goofing around on the highway, lost control of the vehicle and crossed the median, right?”
The familiar thickness in his throat, appeared whenever anyone mentioned the subject of the accident that had reduced his sister to vegetable status. He cleared the nonexistent blockage. “Yeah.” He hated talking about it, usually only did so for Ariana.
“She and my brother-in-law were driving home from their anniversary dinner. The kids crossed the median and hit them head on. She was six months pregnant. By the time they got her to the hospital, she’d lost so much blood they had to do an emergency C-section. The baby didn’t make it.”
“What about your brother-in-law?”
“He spent some time in critical care. When he got well enough and learned that his wife was in a coma, she might never resurface from, and his unborn child was dead, he couldn’t take it.”
“What happened, Robbie?” Her soft tone loosened the knot in his stomach.
“He didn’t handle things well. He started drinking heavily, leaving Ariana with my dad or myself. Disappearing for days at a time. We tried to get him help, but he always refused.”
Amanda remained quiet, watchful.
“He wrapped his truck around a tree and died instantly.” Whenever Ariana had a bad day, he alternated between anger and relief—all of it aimed at his sister’s husband. Anger over the other man’s selfishness. Even in grief, Robinson would never forget his daughter
. Would never chose drink or drug to dull the same emotions his flesh and blood was dealing with.
Jeff hadn’t taken anyone down with him. For that, Robinson was thankful, as screwed up as it sounded.
“You’re doing a great job. I remember what being a teenager is like. It can’t be easy for either of you.”
“Whoa, whoa.” He held up a hand. “We’re not there yet, so don’t rush things.”
A laugh escaped Amanda’s mouth, light and fresh. She sobered. “I would have come to the funeral. To support you and Ariana, if you’d told me.”
Somewhere, in the recesses of his mind, he must have known that, because he hadn't told her. Hadn’t wanted to deal with the ramifications her presence might bring. Well, here they sat, anyway. Her words melted over him, settling in and coating all the places, which craved her presence in his life.
No matter how stupid and impossible the idea.
A girlfriend wouldn't fix this problem. A lobotomy was the only way to erase Amanda from his life with one, precise cut. There had to be a neurologist around here who would approve the idea, right?
Get back to reality.
“There have been more than enough funerals this year. Plus, you’ve probably had your hands full, here.” He threw his fist, thumb out, toward the front door and the woman beyond it.
She remained silent, those eyes watching him.
“I take it we’ll come back to talk to your parents later?”
“My dad should be home soon. Maybe if things stay calm I can sneak in a few questions.”
“What’s he doing at the courthouse on a Saturday?”
“He’s not at the courthouse. He’s at the driving range. My mom has to make him take time for himself. I called him a little while ago and explained the situation. You don’t have to wait.”
He gave a noncommittal grunt. He had plenty of work to keep him busy, but not an ounce of desire to leave. Yet.
How would she respond to the news of a search warrant for her condo? They couldn’t delay the inevitable forever.
He rested a palm against the hard, concrete stoop behind him and leaned on it. “I wouldn’t want to miss this opportunity to enjoy the fall weather.”
DISCONNECT (The Bening Files Book 2) Page 15