Page 52 of By Sin To Atone

I walk into the apartment and head toward the bedroom, Zeke following me. There’s just a couple of things I need. One is the photo of Mom, Wren and me. It’s the only photo I have of Mom. I pick it up, smile when I look at it. The memory is sweet, but looking at it now is bitter. They’re both gone, even Wren, because who she was is no longer.

I take an old tote hanging on the closet door and put the photo inside, then reach for a shoebox on the top shelf. I can’t quite manage to get to it, but Zeke extends an arm and easily lifts the box out and sets it on the bed for me. “Thanks,” I say, opening the lid and shuffling through what is mostly junk. Buried beneath it all is a small, black velvet bag. Inside that is a necklace. It’s our mom’s. She never took it off. It’s a medal of the Virgin Mary. It was on the nightstand the day she disappeared. It’s how I know she didn’t just leave. Well, it’s one of the ways I know. First thing she did every morning was put it on and say a little prayer.

“Is that it?” he asks.

“Almost.”

His phone rings and I’m grateful when he steps away. I hurry to grab a pile of underthings and a pair of jeans and shove them, too, into the tote. Without waiting for permission, I slip into the bathroom. “I just need to use the bathroom real quick,” I say as I lock the door. I hurry to pull on a pair of panties and, after taking a deep breath in, I flush the toilet, then lift the lid of the tank, hoping the flushing of the toilet will cover any sound of what I’m doing. I feel under the rim and find what I’m looking for. What I’d hidden. My fingers come into contact with the small Ziploc bag. I peel the tape off and look at it. This is one thing I learned from my dad. Never leave all your eggs in one basket. The go bag was one thing. If anyone ever found it, took the cash, Wren and I would be screwed. So, there’s a second stash of cash. Another two grand. And along with it, a small flash drive.

My father’s laptop is empty because I emptied it. All of his files are on the thumb drive.

A knock on the door startles me. “Blue? What are you doing?”

I hurry to shove the roll of cash and flash drive into my pocket and replace the lid.

“What people do in bathrooms,” I call out, running the water as I tell myself to relax so I sound natural.

“Open the door. Now.” He bangs on it.

I unlock the door and open it. He has his fist raised to pound again.

“Whoa. I needed to change my tampon.” I say which is not quite true although I do have my period. “Is that okay, or did you want to watch me do that, too?”

He looks at me and my heart is pounding. I’m not sure he believes me.

“Let’s go,” he finally says and gestures for me to go ahead of him. I do, relieved and we walk out of the building and to the SUV and head to Oakwood to see Wren.

18

Ezekiel

Blue annoyingly flips radio channels the whole drive to the facility housing Wren. I’m not sure why I let her, but she must know a snippet of every song ever made because she can sing along to most. She’s restless.

We arrive and I park the SUV, noticing how few cars are in the lot.

“It might be better if you just wait here,” she says.

“Nah. I’d love to meet your sister.”

“She might get upset.”

“You’re not going in alone, Blue.”

“Fine. I just need to stop by the gift shop,” she says and strolls ahead of me.

“Why? You have a gift.”

“She likes balloons. And teddy bears,” she says. We walk into the building. The gift shop is just by the entrance. Blue chooses the biggest bouquet of Happy Birthday balloons and a huge purple teddy bear. We get to the register. The woman rings up her items, making small talk, and when she tells us the cost, Blue looks up at me, eyebrows high, expectantly looking at me. “Pay the lady,” she says, the smile on her face telling me how pleased she is with herself.

“Christ.” I take out my wallet.

“Wait. Those flowers too. She’ll love those,” Blue says.

I reach over her and tap my card to the reader, tucking it back into my wallet before taking hold of her by the back of her neck. She gathers up the purchases, shoving the flowers into my hand.

“Their prices are extortion,” I comment.

“It’s all for a good cause. Besides, it’s what money’s for. To be spent,” she taunts.

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