All the Lies We Tell (Quarry Road #1)(16)

She eyed him with a small smile and another of those curious head tilts. “I brought some. Drink the water.”

The beers he’d shotgunned earlier were settling. He still felt buzzy, woozy, warm, but it was becoming easier to focus. Not quite as easy to walk, but he made it to the sink and drew another glass of tepid water from the tap. He didn’t want to drink it, but he did while he watched her pull out the ancient cutting board and begin to slice the tomatoes.

“Babulya always used to put tomatoes on the grilled cheese.” Ilya closed his eyes for a few seconds longer than a blink. When he opened them, she was staring.

Theresa’s hand slowed for a second as she put down the knife. “I know. She’s the one who taught me how to cook. I’d never had grilled cheese made that way until I moved in here. It’s how I’ve made them ever since.”

The food was ready in a few minutes, and she slid plates across the table with a gesture for him to sit. He hadn’t been sure he wanted food, but once he took the first bite, his appetite roared, and he gobbled everything on the plate; then he went to the stove for another sandwich. She’d made extra, like she knew he’d want more.

“Will you be back tomorrow?” he asked, once he’d returned to the table.

Theresa wiped her mouth with a paper napkin. “I’d like to see her again. The nurse there told me they thought she didn’t have much longer.”

“Are you going to go all the way home?” He realized he wasn’t sure where home was for her. For all he knew, she’d moved back to Quarrytown years ago, and they’d merely been missing sightings of each other. It was a small town, though. That didn’t seem likely.

“I thought I’d find a cheap hotel room close to the home . . . crash there. I have some work to do in the area, too.”

He also had no idea what Theresa did for a living, but despite the belly full of carbs and fat, he was still a little too hammered to figure out how to ask her without sounding like an idiot of the highest order. “There aren’t any hotels close to the home. They were talking about putting in a business-suite-type place nearby, but it never happened. You can stay here if you want. Your old room. It hasn’t changed much, if you want to know the truth. Galina made it into a sewing room after you and your dad left—”

“We didn’t leave,” Theresa said sharply. “She threw us out.”

Ilya didn’t say anything at first. His brain was still fuzzy at the moment—his memories faded even without the booze—but that had not been the way he’d heard the story. “Galina threw you out?”

“Yeah. She wanted to split up from my dad, so she told him we had three hours to pack our stuff and get out.” She tilted her head to look at him. “You didn’t know.”

He should have. It was exactly the sort of thing his mother would have done and turned around later so she could make herself look like the victim. He frowned, heat tickling his throat with embarrassment. “No.”

Theresa shook her head. “That was your mom, through and through. Anyway, I can get a hotel room. Don’t worry about it.”

Ilya knew he had his moments, but he’d never in his life been the kind of class-A bitch his mother could be. He wasn’t going to be one now. Ilya stood on wobbly legs. This seemed important. Really important.

“Shit, no, you stay here. She threw you out? You should stay here, in your old room. Yeah.”

“I don’t have to—”

It wasn’t going to make anything right, but he was so damned tired of everything being wrong. He shook his head and took her by the shoulders. “You lived here. This was your house—hell, it’s too big and empty with just me in it, anyway. You stay here.”

Theresa looked amused. “Okay. For tonight, anyway. In case . . . well. In case you need a ride.”

From the kitchen doorway came the scuffle of feet. “What’s up?”

Ilya and Theresa both turned to see Niko. Ilya greeted his brother with a clap on the shoulder and a chest bump. Niko looked past him at their former stepsister.

Ilya gestured. “I told Theresa she could stay here in the house, so she can be here when . . . well, she can be here for Babulya. I don’t give a damn what Galina says.”

Niko’s brow furrowed. “Why would she say anything? Oh, shit, she’s coming home? I mean, of course she is. When did you talk to her?”

“She left a voicemail. Yeah, she’s coming. Sometime. I guess whenever she gets here.” Ilya shrugged.

Niko looked confused. “Did Mom say Theresa couldn’t stay here? Why?”

“Ilya, you should drink some more water,” Theresa put in. “Niko, do you want something to eat?”

“Drunk?” Niko asked her.

Ilya waved them both away. “I’m fine. Theresa says she threw them out, her and her dad. Did you know that?”

Niko looked uncomfortable and embarrassed, the way Ilya had felt when Theresa told him the truth about what had happened. The way he’d often felt over the years when he’d discovered his mother had been untruthful about one thing or another. It should have stopped being a surprise but somehow never did.

“I didn’t,” Niko said. “She told us they left. She cried about it, remember?”

“She lied,” Ilya said. “She lies all the time.”