“Good. And should you need to contact me, here is where you can reach me directly.” I slide a business card across the bench, which he accepts by sliding it toward him.
“Thank you, Mr. Blackthorne. I’ll be in touch.”
Chapter 59
Isadora
The small Tupperware container filled with my mother’s ashes sits in the sand beside me, as I tip back a bottle of Boone’s Farm I stole from Aunt Midge’s stash.
I’ve taken just a small bit of the ashes to scatter into the ocean, the one place I know my mom would love to be. The spot is a small cove where Aunt Midge brought me to swim, when I first arrived in Tempest. Away from all the tourists and meddling eyes, a small piece of heaven that belonged only to us.
“Do you remember the night, when I was eight years old, you and I ran down to the ocean? We plopped in the sand, and you let me try strawberry Boone’s for the first time. You told me it was your favorite, because it reminded you of hot summer nights and sunsets in Tempest Cove. And afterward, we stripped down to our underwear and jumped into the waves for a night swim.” Staring into the bottle of pink alcohol, I smile. “I think that was my favorite moment with you.” The setting sun casts vibrant colors over the surface, as I tip back a sip of the drink and slam the bottle into the sand beside me.
I swipe up the container of ashes and dig open the lid, careful not to spill any of the contents prematurely. With my blue jeans rolled up to my calves, I wade into the water, letting the waves crash against my ankles. Arm outstretched away from me, I sprinkle the ashes into the shallow waters around me, and watch as they gather on the surface, the bigger fragments sinking to the sand.
In seconds, a school of tiny minnows gathers around me, nibbling up the small ashes of my mother’s remains.
The fucking fish are eating her.
Within minutes, I’m surrounded by small fish feeding off the tiny bits still floating around, and laughter cracks through my chest. I bend forward, laughing so hard, I’m afraid I might piss myself. For five straight minutes, the hysterical laughter pounds through me, and I let it take me under.
Mom would’ve laughed, too, I’m certain of it. If there’s one thing we did share, it was humor for the macabre. Dark humor, for which she was bold enough to laugh when others might keep quiet. Perhaps that’s one thing I loved about her.
In seconds, the dust of her remains is consumed, and the school disperses back out into the deeper waters.
Sighing, I stare out over the ocean, thinking how incredible it would be to end up in the tiny bellies of fish. To forever be part of the sea.
About three quarters of the bottle remains, and I toss what’s left in one of the nearby trashcans, then gather up my shoes from the sand. For the last hour, I’ve sat here, contemplating what to do next, now that I hold all the missing pieces to the puzzle.
Back when my mother was pregnant with me, Boyd was apparently working toward his first run as mayor. He had a wife, a daughter, an entire life built around the facade of a well-respected man. An affair with one of his students who ended up pregnant would’ve blown all of that to bits. It would’ve annihilated his opportunities in politics, and possibly his marriage at the time.
But what about now?
With his wife having left him, his career destroyed by some scandal Aunt Midge told me about, and his daughter dead, would he still feel the same hatred toward me? Would I still be unwelcomed?
Would I even bother with a man who once threatened my mother to destroy me?
I walk along the path toward the house, the warm sea air leaving a saline mist across my face. At the sound of an engine, I turn to see a vehicle slowing alongside me. Inside, Patrick Boyd stares back at me, his smile bright and friendly, as usual.
I wonder if he knows who I am. If he recognizes himself in me.
“Need a lift?” he asks through the rolled-down window.
“No, I’m just heading back to Aunt Midge’s. Thanks, though.”
The car comes to a stop, which brings me to a stop, and I turn to see him climb out of the vehicle.
“Isa, we need to talk.” The tone of his voice has changed and carries an edge of confession. It’s vastly different from the man I’ve met on a few occasions. One clearly versed in polish and veneer. “I know … who you are. What we are. And I just want to say, I was such a stupid, selfish bastard back then.” Coming around the car, he folds his arms over his chest and leans against the hood. “I was scared, and your mom … she was so young. But so incredibly beautiful and smart and funny.” Smiling, he stares off like he’s lost in the thought. “But we were wrong together. Still, I shouldn’t have scared her away. I feel like everything that happened was my fault. And I want to make things right with you.”
There’s a part of me, a niggling sensation that tells me to run away, but it gets tamped down by the authenticity of his voice. It’s unnerving how genuine this sounds to me.
I’m a girl from the streets, though. And I always go with my gut.
“How did you know I was here?”
“Your aunt told me where to find you.”
Bullshit. Aunt Midge wouldn’t have told an FBI agent where to find me, let alone this guy. “Look, I really need to get back. Aunt Midge is waiting for me. She’s got lunch planned.”
“I’d love to give you a ride and talk more on the way.”
“I appreciate it, but I need some time to process everything.” I don’t even realize I’m backing away from him at first, until the guardrail hits my leg.
Lips pressed together, he nods. “Of course you do.” He reaches behind his back, and something flips inside my head. A warning.
Run.
I twist on the ball of my foot, and dart forward.
A pop sounds behind me, and pain explodes in my ankle, white hot streaks of it climbing my leg. A throaty scream rips from my chest as I collapse to the ground, and I pull my knees up to find blood seeping out of a dark red hole, where a small bit of white peeks out. Every muscle in my body is shaking on a rush of adrenaline, while I watch the blood trickle down my skin to be wicked away by the sand. Nausea gurgles in my stomach, my hands cold and clammy, and I swallow it back the bile that rises to my throat. “Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God.”
At the sound of approaching footsteps, I crawl toward the opposite direction, kicking away from him with my one good foot. “Somebody, help me!” Fingernails digging into the sand, I pull myself along, my body burning with urgency.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to do that. But I had no choice. You’re as stubborn as your mother.” He reaches down into my pants pocket, sliding out my cellphone, and pitches it toward the ocean.
Arms snake beneath mine, and when he tries to lift me up, I scratch at his skin and scream again. “Please, somebody, help me!”
There’s nobody here. Nothing but cliffs, and the soft rustle of trees over the distant crashing of waves.
This is where I’m going to die. Fish food, just like my mother.
“Freeze, or I swear to God, I’ll pull the trigger.” Relief bursts inside of me at the sound of familiarity and I turn to see Mr. Goodman pointing his gun at Boyd. “N-now get down on your knees, and p-p-put your hands behind your back. Where I can see them.”