Page 5 of Cruelly Fated
Marley sighed. “Would you like to stay at my place tonight? You don’t have to shoulder this alone.”
Silent tears streamed down my cheeks, splashing onto his hand. I shook my head.
“This is my home,” I said. “And my car is shot right now.” I let out a long, quivering exhale. “When can I see him? Is he being held at your precinct?” I peered at Marley with hopeful eyes. Just because my savings were missing, that didn’t prove anything yet. I needed to speak with Grandpa and get him out somehow.
He winced. “This is a high-profile case. They took him straight to Avari Penitentiary; they’ll book him this morning.”
“Without the trial? What about bail?” I asked, desperate to grasp at anything.
“In the eyes of the prosecutor, Pete is already found guilty. The only question is how long they will give him.” His tone implied many years. I didn’t dare ask how many.
I scooped the socks, letting them fall from my open palms into the drawer. This had to be one bad dream, and once I wokeup, all would be back to normal with Grandpa cooking our Sunday breakfast.
“Any idea why he’d do something like this?” Marley asked.
I blinked up at him. “I honestly don’t know. We were doing fine…or so I thought,” I whispered. A sniffle escaped me.
There was not a bad bone in my grandpa’s body. Despite the gambling scheme, if he were truly involved, he would have acted with good intentions, though perhaps with poor judgment.
“When can I see him?” I asked again.
“I’ll know more on Monday. I’ll call you as soon as I have any information,” he said.
“Thank you…for telling me this in person. Were you here when they arrested him?” I asked, hoping he had been here. His presence would have eased Grandpa’s mind.
“I rushed over as soon as I learned about it. They were escorting him to the car when I got here. He wouldn’t look at me or talk. Only asked that I be the one to tell you.”
I rocked on the soles of my feet, shaking my head. Why didn’t he say he didn’t do it? Why avoid Marley when he could help him? My heart warred with my head, which was telling me Grandpa had stolen the money. He’d betrayed me. But why?
“Come.” Marley gripped my arm and pulled me to my feet. Propping me up, he walked us back to the living room. I collapsed onto the sofa, drawing my knees to my chest.
After prolonged silence, Marley cleared his throat. “You’re welcome to stay at my place. Move in for as long as you need. I mean it, Allie…you almost became my stepdaughter…”
I swallowed, my throat tight. “I can’t.”
He dipped his head, maybe because he didn’t understand where I was coming from, or because he’d expected this reaction.
“I’ll call you Monday,” he murmured. He lifted his arm as if to comfort me, then thought better of it and stood instead. He let himself out and locked the door with the spare key Mom had given him, and which he’d kept. Perhaps he’d anticipated he would need it one day.
I leaned against the armrest, still hugging my knees, and closed my eyes. The news of Grandpa’s arrest and the emotional roller coaster of the entire day drained me of all feeling. Numbness spread across my body. Silent tears fell, and finally, I drifted into oblivion.
I slept on and off for twelve hours, fully waking as the sun descended in the sky. I rolled onto my back and stared at the yellowed ceiling, contemplating my next steps. Sundays were family days. Since Mom’s passing, that had meant spending time with Grandpa, whether we went grocery shopping together or sat on the front porch playing checkers.
It was our routine. Without him, I felt unmotivated to do anything…not even to rise and shower. A layer of something sticky to touch covered my skin, and the lingering scent of tobacco smoke and alcohol clung to my clothes.
I clenched the backrest and hoisted myself up—no more wallowing in self-pity. Grandpa might be absent, but Mom was nearby. I shuffled to the kitchen and downed a tall glass of water. Then, I grabbed my keys with the attached pepper spray and stepped out the back door.
Our house butted up against a nature preserve, a place where the local riffraff often congregated, but it also offered the quickest route to the largest cemetery in Avari, where we had laid her to rest.
I stepped onto a narrow path partially obscured by abundant ferns sprawling under the shade of massive trees. Sticks and dry leaves crunched under my sneakers. I whirled in a circle, scrutinizing my surroundings, the spray digging into my palm. A bird flew overhead, cawing loudly. The brush gave way to an open field. I sped through the low grass, brushing against my calves. This stretch of the trek left me exposed.
Reaching thicker terrain, I slowed down then sprinted across jagged river rocks like I’d done many times. On the other side of the riverbed, I gripped thick vines swaying down from tall pine trees and swung over a shallow ravine.
Next, I reached a trail that forked into three directions. I veered right and descended into another grass field intersected by a shallow stream. Water tumbled over the limestone. I leapedover taller rocks to the opposite bank, then climbed handmade lumber steps to the ridge. The trees thinned out here, and the cemetery parking lot greeted me.
Two stone gargoyles perched atop wide columns, supporting arching iron gates. I nudged the small square gate inside the larger one open and stepped into the graveyard. The gravel scraped against the soles of my sneakers. I cut between tombs and headed straight to the far corner where the newer graves lay.
Marble headstone, engraved with her favorite quote, “Love is the wind beneath our wings,” marked Mom’s resting place. She indeed was that wind for me. Memories flooded in—a montage of her gentle hand caressing my cheek, the love in her eyes as I unveiled each new painting, her laughter as she danced with Grandpa on a Sunday afternoon to some old tune.
