Rain told her about the other men—Smith and Markham. How she thought there might be a connection, someone looking to deliver justice in a world where it was in short supply.
“Do you know the concept of karma?” asked Sandy when Rain was done. Lily had fallen asleep in Rain’s arms.
“Of course,” she answered, glad for the warm weight of her sleeping daughter. “If that’s not karma, I don’t know what is.”
Sandy shook her head and pulled her legs into a half lotus.
“Karma is about balance. It’s about the natural order of the universe, the delicate dance of light and shadow. ‘An eye for an eye’ is not a karmic concept—that’s a misconception. What happened to those men, it’s just more darkness. We fight violence with more violence and only more violence follows. We dig our grave deeper and deeper—there’s no end.”
Rain saw Tess everywhere—lounging on the couch, digging snacks out of the cupboard, half sliding down the banister that led to the living room, homework spread out on the coffee table while she slouched on the floor.
“How often do you talk to him?”
“Hank? Not as often as I talk to you,” said Sandy. “He calls on her birthday some years. Sometimes on the day she died. Sometimes he comes by, brings tulips or Oreos.”
Those things were Tess’s favorites. She thought tulips were the happiest flower. And that skinny kid could pack away Oreos like nobody’s business.
“Part of him never moved on,” said Rain. “He’s still back there.”
“I’d say that’s true of all of us, right? Or we wouldn’t be talking about this today.”
She nodded toward the digital recorder.
“Did he ever talk to you about what happened to Kreskey?” she asked.
Sandy looked away, down at her fingernails. “No.”
“Sandy.”
The older woman looked up at Rain, eyes shining.
“Don’t go down this road, Lara.” Her voice had gone low with warning. “He can’t move on. But you can. Look at that baby, asleep in your arms. She’s the future and that’s where you need to be headed.”
Shame warmed her cheeks—again. The baby—that’s all that mattered. Seemed that everyone kept reminding her of that. Sandy, her husband, Gretchen on the playground. Her father had the opposite warning—don’t let this slow you down. She was Lily’s mother, an awesome responsibility, an earth-quaking love, a profound gift. But she was still Rain Winter, survivor, journalist, a woman with a lot of questions about the world, about her own life. Couldn’t she be all the things she was?
“I’m Lily’s mom, present and in love,” she said, holding her daughter. “But I’m myself, too. I can be both.”
In the comfort of Sandy’s living room, she felt like she was acknowledging the feeling out loud for the first time. You were allowed to be both, weren’t you? She managed to put herself back together without disturbing Lily.
“I get it,” said Sandy with an assenting nod. “Just take my advice and be that first. Because nothing else matters if you fail your child.”
She flashed on Laney Markham’s father wailing, her cored-out mother. She picked up the recorder from the table and switched it off, stowed it in her bag. The air in the room had grown heavy, the past a hulking form in the corner draining all the light from the room. They chatted anyway about breastfeeding, and jogging strollers, both of them grateful for the mundane.
Finally Rain stood and moved toward the door. Sandy followed, embraced her at the threshold, kissed Lily on the head.
“Did he?” Rain asked again. “Did he ever talk to you about what happened to Kreskey?”
Sandy drew and released a breath. She still looked so young, same creamy skin, same jewel-blue eyes, high cheekbones and toothy smile.
“You have nothing to feel bad about, you know that, right?” Sandy laid a hand on Rain’s cheek. “You survived that day. You might not have. Why do you want to go back there? Don’t. Okay? Don’t go back.”
Rain carried Lily back to the car and strapped her in. She sat in the driver’s seat a moment. It was still early. Lily stirred, kicked her legs. If she wakes up, we’ll go to the park. If not, one more stop, she thought. Lily’s head lolled to the side; she stayed asleep. Rain put the car in Reverse and headed north. It wasn’t lost on her that Sandy never answered her question.
As she pulled onto the main road through town, the phone rang, Gillian’s number flashing on the dashboard caller ID.