I passed her the iPad. Her hand floated over her mouth. “That’s almost . . . ,” she started, but then stopped herself, like she was afraid to say the words. So I said them for her.
“A million dollars,” I said. “But only if they make the movie.” And they very rarely make the movie. The odds were one in a thousand. But I didn’t tell her that. I wanted her to enjoy the moment. She’d earned it.
“Of course they’re going to make the movie,” she insisted, and I just smiled. “It’s brilliant! Just like you.”
She threw her arms around me. Then grabbed my face and kissed me hard on the mouth. “I’m so proud of you!” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. And then she suddenly frowned. “How’d you get avocado on your nose?”
“From your nose,” I told her. She looked at her reflection in a butter knife, and then she laughed.
“Oh dear!” She reached for a towel, wiped my nose and then her own. Her smile made me feel light on my feet. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt buoyant like that, and in that moment I realized just how bleak the last twelve months had been.
“Where do we sign?” she asked, eagerly scrolling through the document. Her face was lit with excitement. And I almost cried with happiness. The old Libby was back.
“This is just a draft,” I said. “My lawyer has to mark it up, it’s going to be a while.”
Her face lit up. “So you could get even more!”
I hadn’t thought about that. It was unlikely, but I didn’t want to burst her bubble. “Yeah, I guess I could.”
She got to the end of the document, then suddenly got quiet. Her eyebrows crunched into little caterpillars. Something was wrong.
“What’s that face?” I asked. She looked confused, and for a second I worried that maybe it wasn’t real, that the meeting, the offer, all of it, had just been one big joke. The thought of moving back to New York with my tail between my legs suddenly reared up like a painful memory, filling me with a dull ache of dread.
She turned the iPad to face me. She had scrolled to the signature page. No one had signed it yet, but this was normal, it was only a draft. Is that what she is so concerned about? That he hasn’t signed it?
“He’ll sign it when it’s final,” I assured her. “And then I will, too.” She shook her head and pointed to the section where Jack was supposed to sign and date.
“What?” I still didn’t get it. Her eyebrows arched up like a cat stretching its back.
“Look at the company name,” she prodded.
I squinted at the signature line, at the name of the LLC that was hiring me—Jack Kimball’s LLC.
“Happy Accident Enterprises,” I read aloud.
Again, the cat eyebrows. “Don’t you remember?”
I shook my head. I had no idea what she was talking about. She clucked her tongue, closed the contract, and opened the browser. A few clicks later she was on the LA County website. She showed me the public record for the house across the street—Holly’s house. She pointed at the name listed as the owner.
“Happy Accident Enterprises,” I read again, but this time my tongue stumbled on the words.
Our eyes met. I had a prickly feeling on my arms.
“Does that mean what I think it means?” she asked.
I nodded as I spoke aloud what she already knew. “Jack Kimball owns Holly’s house.”
Her mouth drifted open. “But . . . how? I mean . . . why? What possible connection could Jack Kimball have to Holly?”
I shook my head. I had no idea.
But I had a sudden, pressing urge to find out.
PART 4
SAVANNAH
Three months ago
What is a human life worth?
We learned in tenth grade US history that “all men are created equal,” but everyone knows that’s complete horseshit. An accomplished life is worth more than a do-nothing life. A healthy life is worth more than a sickly life. Young lives are worth more than tired, old lives. Dad always said we’re all equal in the eyes of God, but if that’s true, it must be God’s best-kept secret, because we sure don’t treat each other that way.
I was back in the smelly police cruiser, on my way to the scene of the accident, which also happened to be the street where I lived. When I told Officer Kellogg I left “something important” in my mom’s car, I had thought he would say no, he couldn’t take me, it was an active crime scene, I’d have to wait. But he must have felt sorry for me, because here I was on my way there.