“I always have,” I say, but her arms feel so good that I lean into her, taking comfort in the round of her shoulder, the faintly vanilla smell of her. She rocks me, just as I had hoped, and I wonder if I’ve manipulated her or if my emotion was real. Does it even matter?
I have no idea.
“Come to dinner tonight,” she says, letting me go, but before she does, she strokes my hair in a familiar way. “Jasmine will keep us from getting too weird.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I know you’ll want to see her.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
A pause. In it, I feel our history—the diaries and promises, her art school days and my first movie. Joel, always.
“Okay.” She lets me go. “I have to get down the hill. Come over around six, I guess.”
“Do you want me to bring anything?”
She raises a brow. “Did you suddenly start cooking?”
When I left my father’s house, I vowed never to cook again, and I haven’t, aside from the wild spree during the pandemic.
“Ha.” I wipe my face with the heel of my palm.
In that liminal moment, she touches my cheek. “You look like shit.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you sleeping?”
“No. Almost never.”
She nods. Drops her hand. “Okay, I’ll see you at six.” Pointing to the bread, she adds, “Eat at least two slices.”
Which means she’s noticed my wristbones. “Promise.”
She leaves, but a moment later, the doorbell rings. I open the door, and she looks sick to her stomach. “There’s a dead squirrel out here. I don’t know how I missed it before.”
On my front porch step is a dead squirrel. It has been sliced from throat to tail. Entrails spill from its belly. Bile rises in my throat and I have to step urgently to the side of the poor squirrel to barf over the edge of the porch, which means I have to see it again as I turn back. “You couldn’t have missed that.” I look around. “Someone just put it there.”
She bends over. “It’s cold.”
“It was probably killed somewhere else and brought here.”
“Why do you say that?”
I point. “No blood.” I press my hand over my belly. “You can go. I’ll call the police.”
“I’ll stay until they get here. Let’s go inside.”
A fine trembling has started beneath my skin, and it infuriates me. “Let’s look around, see if we see anything.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She takes me by the arm and pushes me inside.
Chapter Five
Phoebe
The police think we’re being alarmist, which infuriates me. “Look at the cut down the belly!”
The young deputy, blond hair cut into what we would have called a crew cut when I was a kid, shakes his head. “It could have been dropped by an animal. You said you found it when you came out? Maybe you scared it away.”
“What animal?” I push. “What makes a cut that neat?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know, ma’am. Any number of them, honestly.”
Suze touches my elbow. “Thank you,” she says to him.
“We’ll make a note of it.” He shifts his attention to Suze, who stands beside me. “I read about the attack in LA, Ms. Ogden, and I’m sure that’s made you jumpy, but I reckon this is some critter who’s lost his prize.”
She nods.
“Nothing to be worried about.” He tips his imaginary hat. “But you call us if you have any more trouble.”
“Little lady,” I mutter under my breath, but he’s already on his way.
At least Suze snorts in appreciation. “Well, we couldn’t possibly know anything, being so ancient and all.”
I sigh. This makes me feel sick to my stomach. “Make sure you keep the doors locked.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you in a little while.”
Stephanie and Jasmine arrive as I’m walking back down the driveway. Jasmine rolls down the window and cries out, “Nana!”
“Hey!” I wave as the car slowly moves by me and stops in the circular drive in front of the house. A cluster of Douglas firs drip water on the car, and Stephanie backs up to get away from them. The instant the engine clicks off, Jasmine is out of the car and flinging herself into my embrace, all grasshopper arms and legs. She closes her eyes and trusts me to catch her, because I always do, always will, and she melts into a boneless weight against my body. Her clouds of hair tickle my nose and she goes completely limp, her head on my chest. She smells of brown sugar. “Nana. I’m so glad I’m here.”