The Break(86)

“Or maybe you’re the violent one,” Detective Mulvahey says to Gabe, like it’s a thought that just dawned on him. “Violent mother, violent son?”

I clutch Lila tighter with my other arm. “He’s not,” I say. “He’s never hurt anyone, and he would never hurt June.”

“Gabe,” Harrison says firmly, stepping toward Gabe as though he can shoulder the detective away from us, as though he can protect us like he always does. But he can’t, not now. “You and your mother need a lawyer present,” he says. “Don’t say another word.”

“Now, wait,” Mulvahey says to Harrison. “I thought we were all in this together. I thought we all wanted to help figure out who did this to June?”

His eyes dart between us; he’s so obviously accusing one of us of murder. My mind won’t work fast enough, and then I hear a voice call Gabe’s name. I turn to see Elena and my mother racing down our block; Elena must have checked her out for bingo, and they probably tried to reach me and couldn’t, so they came here. My mother’s arm is crooked at an awkward angle, and Elena’s gloved fingers are over her wrist. She’s practically dragging my mother over the sidewalk.

“Oh no,” I say.

Gabe turns and sees them. “What are they doing here?” he asks beneath his breath.

“What perfect timing,” Mulvahey says, like a satisfied cat.

“Gabe!” calls Elena again, taking in the scene. “Are you all right?” she cries.

“Are they all right?” my mother asks as they get closer, but I can tell something’s wrong with her. She has the frantic look she gets when she’s confused and doesn’t understand where she is.



“Mom,” I say, starting to make my way toward them. She stares at me, but I’m not sure she knows who I am.

“Stay here,” the detective says, his voice hard.

I freeze. “But, my mom,” I say, and I start to cry—I can’t help it. Mulvahey doesn’t have any mercy on me, and why should he? He waits and watches as Elena drags my mother through the random pedestrians gathered. “Let them through,” Mulvahey calls to the officer near the crime scene tape, and as they come close, Mulvahey studies Elena like a portrait at the Met. He can’t possibly suspect her of hurting June. She’s barely big enough to hurt anything.

“Mom,” I say when she’s finally to me. I want to wrap my arms around her, but I don’t; it’ll scare her if she doesn’t know who I am. “I’m so sorry,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm, to see how far gone she is and not make it worse, “there’s been this terrible thing that happened to our sitter . . . and we . . .”

My mother isn’t looking at me. She’s staring at Lila.

“Where’s the other baby?” she asks.

My heart stops. Gabe’s hand finds mine.

“Mom,” I say. “Oh God.”

Her blue eyes are wide and stricken with worry. She looks up at me. “Sweetie?” she asks, like she’s not sure if it’s really me. “Where’s your son?”

“Oh, Mom,” I say, and then I wrap my arms around her. I’m holding on to her, but my eyes on are Gabe. He’s staring at me, frozen in place. “Gray is gone,” I say, tears on my face, my mom and I both shaking. Gabe lets out a long breath and his dark eyes fill with tears. I reach for his hand, holding on to both him and my mother.

“Rowan,” my mother says, hugging me so tightly, so perfectly, exactly what I need. “I’m sorry, my darling,” she says. “I’m so very sorry about your little boy.”





FORTY-NINE


June. Three days ago. Tuesday, November 8th.


My nose is bleeding everywhere. It’s hot and gushing over my face, onto Elena’s jacket and all over the hand she used to smack me. My nose is broken, I’m sure of it, and I can’t feel the elbow that I cracked against the railing. I hate Elena right now—it rages through my feet and into my head. But the sight of all that blood from my nose has startled her—she’s frozen in place. Coming over her face is the realization of what she’s done, and I use that moment to get myself off the railing and far away from her.

“You almost pushed me over that railing and killed me, Elena,” I hiss. “Leave me alone, or I’ll go back inside that apartment and show Gabe how badly you’ve hurt me.” She looks terrified. She almost seems like she’s snapping out of something, like she got carried away and did something she didn’t mean to. I have no idea—I just want her to leave. She looks once more in horror at the mess she’s made of my face, and then finally she scuttles down the stairs, her tiny feet clapping the marble steps.

Crap, I say to myself when she’s gone. I double-check that she’s truly left, but on the floor beneath me I see a flash of blond hair and a low male voice that sounds like Henri. Maybe Henri’s talking to Elena? Maybe he was checking up when he heard the scuffle? How did Gabe not hear us? He must have gone back to the bedroom where Rowan was sleeping with Lila. It’s so quiet back there. And where are Mart and Mrs. Davis when I need them? Mrs. Davis is usually good for sticking her head out when she hears Rowan and me in the hallway, giving me looks behind Rowan’s back like she’s trying to telegraph: Has she remembered the baby yet? Maybe they’re out.