Garden of Stones - By Sophie Littlefield Page 0,103

to see him, you made me feel like it would all be okay.”

“You hung up on me,” Lucy said, aching to think of him in some hotel room, alone, deciding to do this thing. Reliving all the hurt and all the shame for the hundredth time, the thousandth, the millionth, and deciding that he would finally end it.

“Only because I knew you’d try to talk me out of it.”

“I would have.” Not because killing was wrong, but because it was a risk; he was gambling everything, whatever was left of his life. And what guarantee was there that in taking Forrest’s life, he could extinguish the pain? Lucy looked at his face, searching for proof that he’d succeeded. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. I am. I really am.” He touched her arm lightly. “But what about you? Lucy, when I think of what I put you through...that you saw what I did. Saw him.”

For a moment, Lucy felt it all again, the shock, the regret, the fear. Forrest had been slumped in his chair, blood cascading down his face, his mouth slack. He looked nothing like he did back then. He’d looked so old. Staring at his still body, his gut hanging over his pants, his feet splayed in their dirty white sneakers, the cramped room smelling of sweat and feces, Lucy almost felt pity for him.

It had been nothing like the night at Rickenbocker’s room. Then, she’d felt like Nancy Drew, stealing along the back of the staff buildings, stealthy, with her mother’s scarf wrapped around her hair. She saw the way he looked at her when he opened the door, his eyebrows raised in surprise, his smile hungry. She moved fast, carried by the momentum that took her through the door. She brought her mittened hand up and aimed well, her mother’s good scissors heavy in her hand. And when it was done, when Rickenbocker sunk to his knees, clutching his neck and staring at her with his eyes bulging, she felt no pity at all.

He had swayed on his knees for a moment before falling sideways. It wasn’t long before he was still. Blood made a puddle under his cheek. His eyes were open, but they seemed to look past her, as though he’d figured out her ruse and was searching for the real Miyako. He’d never touch her again, though; Lucy had made sure of that, and as she let herself back out into the freezing night, she felt no regret, only satisfaction.

She’d been young, too young to understand how it might play out. Miyako had known, though. She knew they’d come for her, and she knew they’d come for Lucy next. It would never end, and Lucy realized that her mother had done everything she could to save her...even if it meant causing her pain.

Rickenbocker’s death had been for Miyako, and maybe that was why it never haunted Lucy, why she never regretted it.

“It’s all right,” she told Jessie, and she believed it. Forrest had hurt Jessie; now he was dead. It was not her place to forgive either of them, but maybe she could offer something else, the words she’d tried to live by herself. “Just look ahead now. The future is all that matters.”

“I’m not sorry I killed him,” Jessie said. “I’m only sorry I got you involved. Lucy...if it had gone any further, I would have confessed. I would never have let you go to jail for me.”

“Then I’m glad it didn’t go any further.”

“Did your daughter tell you I came by? A couple days after?”

“She told me. She was very curious about my mysterious friend.” Lucy smiled wistfully.

“She mentioned she was getting married. She’s really turned out great, Lucy. You should be proud.”

“Thank you.”

“You know, all these years... Sometimes I would call information, just to find out if you were still here, still living in San Francisco. I guess I just liked knowing that I could find you again. But all that time I never knew you had a daughter.”

“It’s...it’s a long story.”

“I’m sure it is,” Jessie said gently. “It can’t have been easy.”

“It wasn’t. But it’s all right.” Lucy paused, wondering how much to tell him. “It might seem strange, but I never really told her about that time.”

“I never talk about Manzanar,” he said, the faint lines between his eyes betraying his age. “Maybe it’s just easier, you know, when you’ve lived through something like that. But ever since I moved to Portland...since my divorce...I couldn’t stop thinking about it.