It went on and on, touching her heart each time.

Then her heart stopped when she came to the familiar block printing.

Not the usual envelope, she realized, which explained how she’d missed it before. A thicker, larger white one, with a Philadelphia postmark.

When she carefully slit it open, she found a card, a black-and-white photo of a cat, eyes wide, fur frazzled.

HAVING A BAD DAY?

REMEMBER SOMEBODY’S ALWAYS GOT IT WORSE!

 

She opened it, read the poem.

Your popi’s dead, too bad for you.

You cried lots of tears, but don’t be blue.

You’ll see him again, and it’ll be swell,

When I send you down to join him in hell.

 

“That’s the fucking limit.” Enraged, she started to tear the card to pieces. She stopped, shut her eyes, pulled out some control. “You’re not going to use him, not going to use him this way.”

She pushed up to pace because she could feel herself shaking. Too angry to think, and she had to think.

She yanked open the fridge, pulled out a Coke. She’d taken the first glug when Lina walked in.

“Really? We’re going to attempt some delayed bonding, and you … What’s going on?”

Adrian just pointed at the card.

Lina read it, sat. “If you’re not drinking this smoothie, I will.”

“Help yourself.”

“I want to tell you it’s more bullshit, but I don’t feel that way either. Anyone who’s followed your blog, read any of your interviews knows how close you and Popi were, so this is calculated cruelty.”

“I know it. I know it’s designed to make me feel exactly what I feel now.”

“No, Adrian, it was designed to make you sad, to enhance your grief and frighten you. What it’s done is piss you off. He doesn’t—or she doesn’t—know you.”

She stopped, looked back at Lina. “That’s what Raylan said.”

“You’ve told Raylan Wells?”

“It was one of those things. He saw me take one out of the PO Box when he was in there, and he saw my reaction. So I told him.”

“Good. The more people who know who care about you, the better. Now, what do you want to do?”

It threw Adrian off for a moment that her mother, who kept personal business locked-down private, approved of opening her tight circle.

“I don’t know.”

“I’d like to hire an investigator. The police, even the FBI aren’t as invested as someone would be who’s being paid to invest in this specific thing. They don’t have the time.”

“I don’t know what a private investigator could do.”

“We’ll find out. Maybe nothing, but we’ll find out. Let me do this for you. Let me find the right person, have them start looking into it. I should have done it years ago, but I felt—always have—this sort of thing is just a nasty side effect of being in the public eye.”

“So does everyone else.”

“Well, I think I, and everyone else, have been wrong. Let’s try it.”

“Okay.” Adrian nodded. “Okay. It’s more than just doing nothing and waiting for the next one to come.”

Or, she thought, waiting for the poet to come. How much longer would writing a few lines suffice?

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Raylan sat in his car outside the house in Brooklyn. It looked the same—of course it looked the same—but it wasn’t the same.

Nearly a year had passed since he’d driven away from his life there. Nothing was really the same.

But his friend, his partner, had brought another life into that house. Time to go in, he told himself. Time to deal.

He gathered the flowers, the enormous rainbow-colored stuffed dragon, and carried them to the front door.

Weird, of course it felt weird to knock at the door of what had once been his. But moments later he smiled, and meant it, as Pats opened that door.

She stood, a tall, strong-shouldered woman with a messy cap of brown hair and lively blue eyes. Immediately, she threw her arms out, dragged him into a cheerful bear hug.

“You’re here! Oh, it’s good to see you, Raylan.”

“Congratulations, Mom.”

“I can’t get over it. I could stare at her all day. She’s so beautiful. Come in, come in and meet our Callie Rose. A dragon! A rainbow dragon! I love it!”

“Gee, did you want one, too? Flowers for the moms, dragon for the baby. It’ll watch over her.”

“A guardian dragon. Only you.”

She took the flowers, and his hand. She held it, strong and tight, while he took the moment to absorb.

New paint, some new furniture mixed with what they’d taken from him. A baby monitor, a frilly baby swing, a Pack ’n Play with bassinet, a box of Pampers, a Diaper Genie.

The air smelled of flowers—he hadn’t been the only one to bring them—and new baby. Soft, creamy life.

New life, he thought again. Not his. And he found himself all right with that.

“Okay, pal?”

“Yes.” He turned his head and kissed her cheek. “Just fine.”

“Come on back. Want a Coke?”

“Oh yeah. It looks good in here, Pats. I mean it. It looks happy, and that makes it just fine.”

“We love the house. It has more than good bones. It has a good spirit. Bick just took Callie up to change her. Yes, we are those mothers, as it turns out. We wanted to put her in one of her ridiculously adorable dresses when you met her. How’re the kids, and everybody else?”

“Great. Excited to have a sleepover with Nana—‘When are you leaving, Dad?’ Maya’s on her last couple laps before we get another new baby. You guys really did the home birth thing?”

“We did, and I’m not ashamed to admit I was scared shitless.” She poured the Coke over ice. “But it went really smooth. Bick is a warrior. I get teary, sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“She just powered through it, and Sherri, our midwife, was awesome. And there she was, the most beautiful creature in the world, yelling, waving her fists like What the fuck is all this about?”

She poured a second glass, and they tapped them. “And here they come.”

Bick walked down the steps holding the bundle in a fussy pink dress with a matching hair wrap.

“I feel like we should have lights,” Bick said, “music, maybe a marching band. Let me introduce you to the newest wonder of the world, Callie Rose.”

She had that look newborns did, as if she’d just swum up from some mysterious world, big, almond-shaped eyes dominating a face the color of gold dust over chocolate. A perfectly carved pixie mouth and a button of a nose.

“Okay, she’s gorgeous. Good work, Bick.”

“Best I ever did. Want to hold her?”

“Damn right.”

He put the Coke aside to take the baby. And his heart melted. “I’ll always have candy, whatever your moms say. You can count on it.”

Callie stared at him, looked as though she might be interested. Then immediately spit up on his shirt.

“That takes me back.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Laughing, Bick whipped the burp cloth from her shoulder.