The pounding in her head got louder. When had it started? When would it stop? She couldn’t hold on anymore. Collapsing against the wall, she heaved what felt like her last breath as the door burst open and the light streamed in.
EPILOGUE
Nine months later
The city sounded good, like the best dream revisited. The humming, honking vehicles made Ham’s head whip back and forth, tail tucked as his gangly legs followed at a matching trot with hers. Rupi, on the other hand, seemed to like the incessant car action, and he stared toward the road transfixed, his little lips pursed in interest.
“I can’t believe you lived here,” Viola said. Rupi was strapped to her chest in one of his baby wraps, and she had both of his little hands in hers as she kept pace with Rainy and Ham. It was her first time in New York. She’d insisted on coming with Rainy, even though Rupi was only nine months old.
“I’m going to go feed him and change him, which should give you just enough time to say all the things you don’t want me to hear. Okay?”
Rainy nodded. They parted ways in the lobby, with Viola going right toward the elevators that would take her to their room. Rainy stepped into the hotel’s restaurant with Ham still beside her.
“I’m meeting someone… Braithe Mattson.”
The hostess nodded and led Rainy to the terrace where Braithe was already seated, drinking a glass of red wine and staring at Rainy like she’d been expecting her to walk in at precisely that moment. She didn’t stand up when Rainy got to the table, but she did greet Ham, who sniffed at her with interest. They’d purposely chosen a pet-friendly patio.
“I’m sorry about Shep,” she said. “He was a good boy.”
“He was old,” Rainy said. Ham whined and Rainy settled him down before taking a seat herself. Shep had died a few months after they got back from Vegas. Cancer. Ham was a good boy, too; he just needed practice.
“Is Viola here with Rupert?”
“Yeah, she’ll be down in a minute.”
Braithe nodded. She’d changed a bit: she wasn’t so polished. Rainy had seen on Instagram that she’d chopped her hair and had given up the beiges and golds for blacks and grays. As far as Rainy was concerned, Braithe could make anything look good—especially this edgier self.
“How has it been?”
The waiter poured her a glass of water, asked what she wanted to drink. Braithe waited until she was gone to answer the question.
“I love it. I wouldn’t have before… I know that. But—”
“It lets you get lost enough to think.”
“Yeah. And I’ve never been on my own like this. I’m a real adult at forty-three. Paying my own bills and all.” She rolled her eyes to say how silly it was, but Rainy could also see Braithe’s true pleasure in these facts, as well. She’d split from Stephen after they got back from Vegas. Rainy hadn’t seen her after they parted ways at the airport.
Grant had met her as she walked through, rushing, running, holding her in all the right ways. Braithe had stayed with Tara for a few weeks before moving to New York, where her sister’s family lived. Stephen put the house up for sale a month after. He and Grant still spoke occasionally, but after everything that had happened, he moved to Montana and was living with a new woman.
“Nice ring.” Braithe nodded at her finger.
“Thanks.” It was simple: an emerald cut on a gold band. She’d chosen a plain gold band for her wedding ring and now wore them paired and with pride. Grant said he would have married her even if she’d rejoined the cult. It was a terrible joke, and he’d apologized for days. Either way, they were happy.
“Your hair is pretty badass that length, if you don’t mind me saying.”
Rainy smiled her most genuine smile. “I most certainly don’t mind you saying,” she teased. She’d learned that the best way to honor her mother was through her life, not the length of her hair. She’d cut it to her chin in the “baddest” bob and never looked back.
“You sure you don’t want to do the interview? It might be good to talk about it.”
Braithe shook her head, but it was the look of horror in her eyes that made it clear to Rainy: she would never talk about what happened. “I was caught in it, but that’s your story to tell. Besides, there’s nothing more that I want than to move on with my life and put all that behind me. I lost so many things through that experience.”
Rainy nodded. Her wine arrived. Tomorrow she was doing a TV interview with a morning show on what the media was calling Tauredia. In the wake of Taured’s death—which the police had easily seen was self-defense on Rainy’s part—what was left of the compound had dissolved, those remaining members detained and Taured’s cult the subject of multiple documentaries and podcasts currently in production. Everyone wanted to talk to Rainy, the woman who’d gotten away from it all and taken down the leader. The floppy disk and the photos she’d stolen all those years ago were now part of ongoing investigations into the dark side of the web and Taured’s part in it. Taured had sent their photos to other email addresses, and those recipients were now being investigated, too. The only reason she’d agreed and flown to New York to do the interview was to raise awareness about women in positions like the one her mother had been in.