police he believed you were a victim in all this, too. I don’t personally believe that; I think that’s his guilt talking. I think you’re a smart young woman, and that you know exactly what you’re doing to the rich men you shake down. In a lot of ways, it feels like I’m rewarding you for being a shitty person who tried to ruin my life. But I need to sleep at night with a clear conscience, knowing that I at least tried to make up for the things I did. I paid someone a quarter of a million dollars to take your life, and now I’m paying you a quarter of a million dollars to make up for it. Keep it, donate it, burn it, I don’t give a shit.”
McKenzie is staring at her, stunned, waiting for a punchline that isn’t coming.
“Also,” Marin says, “you were kind to my son. Bash told me you stayed with him in the wine cellar. You held his hand, you hugged him when he got scared, you told him everything was going to be okay. Bash liked you. He calls you the pink-haired lady. He says you were his friend. So I threw in a little something extra.”
McKenzie swallows. “He’s a really sweet boy,” she says, finally finding her voice. “And … thank you. For this. My mom is sick. This will … this will help.”
“You’re welcome. By the way, you should go back to the pink. It suited you.”
Marin leaves the bag on the floor and walks out, imagining the look on the younger woman’s face when she unzips it and sees the Christian Louboutins she’d admired when she broke into Marin’s house sitting on top of the pile of cash.
All right, karma. We’re square.
Chapter 34
It’s the first Tuesday of the month.
Marin pulls into the parking lot of Big Holes. She can’t remember the last time she was nervous attending a group meeting—probably not since the first time she came, but back then it was tempered by grief, and shock. She can see from the cars in the lot that Simon is already here, as is Lila. Frances, too, of course. And also Jamie, the newbie, whose car Marin parks next to.
She’s been in touch with them all individually since the news broke a month earlier. She and Derek refused all interviews, but they did issue a statement expressing their gratitude for the safe return of their son. She really doesn’t know if the group is okay with seeing her today. It was Frances’s idea to do this, but Frances is in a different emotional space than the others.
And now, so is Marin.
She looks at Sebastian in the rearview mirror; he’s sitting in the back in his booster seat. He grins at her reflection, and she returns the smile. “You ready, honey bear?”
“I want the rainbow sprinkle donut,” he says. “Will there be toys inside?”
“Ooh, I don’t know.” Marin unbuckles her seat belt and gets out. “Maybe not toys. But definitely donuts. All kinds of donuts. We won’t stay too long, okay? Just a quick hello. Usually this meeting is for grown-ups, but Frances wants to meet you.”
“Who’s Frances?”
“She’s my friend. She’s the really nice lady who owns the donut shop.” Marin releases his booster seat belt and hoists him out. Their hands automatically link as they walk across the parking lot. It’s amazing how after sixteen months of being away from him, their hands still know to do that, how to find each other.
“Does she have kids?” he asks hopefully.
“She did,” Marin says, and Sebastian doesn’t press it further.
She opens the door to Big Holes. Nobody is behind the counter and, as is usual at this time of the afternoon, there are only a few customers at the front, all regulars. Heads turn as she passes through with Sebastian, and she returns their smiles with a warm one of her own. When she gets to the back room, she takes a deep breath before pushing the door open.
She hopes this is a good thing. She hopes this doesn’t hurt anyone.
“Surprise!” they shout, and Sebastian jumps, his hand slipping out of hers.
She looks down at him, concerned, but she doesn’t need to be. Her son is absolutely thrilled, clapping his hands and laughing at the sight of a dozen helium-filled balloons bumping up against the ceiling, dangling curly streamers all the way down to the floor. In the middle of the room sits a pile of assorted donuts, and a Paw Patrol cake with blue and white icing. A large sign hanging above it reads, simply, Sebastian.
Frances gets to them first, smothering them both with hugs and kisses. And then it’s Simon, with tears, followed by Jamie and her shy smile, and then finally Lila, who’s brought her two younger children. There’s music and presents—So many presents, Mommy!—and Sebastian makes a beeline for the sprinkle donut at the top of the pile, which he promptly offers to one of Lila’s kids.
Marin was worried that it would be hard for them to see her son, alive and well and thriving, even though they’d all reassured her on the phone beforehand that it would be fine. She can see now that it is. They’re all parents. Whether their kids are with them or not, they’re genuinely delighted to be in the presence of a child they’ve talked about so often, a child they’ve wished for, and prayed for.
Frances squeezes her hand. “Derek couldn’t come?”
“Nah,” Marin says. “He isn’t comfortable doing the group thing. He’s waiting for us at home. It’s movie night. Lion King.”
“You guys doing okay?”
“We’re okay,” she answers. “We have to be, for Bash. We’re both staying in the house, and it’s good for all of us, for now. I’m not sure where we go from here, but we have time to figure that out. We still love each other. We’re friends. We’re on the same page when it comes to our son. Right now, those are the only things I’m certain about.”
Frances gives her another hug.
Marin watches Sebastian playing with Lila’s children. He’s laughing so hard that his icing-covered cheeks are pink. She still wakes up in the middle of the night, compelled to check that he’s asleep in his room and safe, but Dr. Chen says that will ease with time. At least she no longer needs medication to sleep.
Her phone pings, and she checks it. It’s a text from Derek.
Let me know when you’re on your way back, and I’ll order the pizza. No rush. Love and miss you guys.
She doesn’t know how to feel when he says things like this, so she responds the only way she feels comfortable. She sends back a heart.
With Sebastian occupied and everyone else otherwise engaged in conversation, Marin takes a seat in a corner chair and scrolls through her phone. The number of texts and calls she’s received from friends, family, and clients over the past few weeks has been overwhelming. She still hasn’t caught up on them all.
Near the bottom of her list of messages are old texts from Sal. She can’t bring herself to delete them yet. It’s hard to reconcile the person she thought she knew with the person he turned out to be. He put her through absolute hell, but he was also the one who helped her survive it. They were best friends for over twenty years, and up until the past year and a half, most of those years were good. It’s confusing how love and hate can exist at the same time, intertwined and tangled and messy and confusing, even after a person is dead.
Sal’s text messages are the only concrete thing Marin has left to remind herself that somewhere deep inside, he was good. And he loved her. He’ll never text her again.
She checks the last message Sal sent, the same one he sent her every morning for months and months.
You alive?
Across the room, a balloon pops, and Sebastian shrieks with joy. Marin’s heart swells at the sound.
You’re goddamned right she is.