The Silent Sister(44)

“I’m coming,” she said, her voice a croak as she got out of the bed. She could smell her filthy hair as she moved across the room, and she was still in the clothes she’d been wearing since getting off the train. Lisa would never have let herself fall apart like this. But Lisa was dead and gone.

She cracked open the door, blinking against the sunlight, and got her first real look at Ingrid. She wore loose white pants, a loose white flowy top, and green flip-flops. A very, very long braid hung over her left shoulder, and the color of her hair was a dull mixture of beige and brown and gray. Her eyes were as blue as Jade’s, but Ingrid’s stood out because of her tan. Crinkly lines fanned out from her eyes, and her neck had a leathery look, but she wasn’t very old. Maybe in her early forties. Jade’s mother’s age.

Ingrid smiled. “Do you remember me from the other night on the beach?” she asked.

Jade nodded.

“I asked around and someone told me they thought you got a room here. But I don’t think you really belong here, do you?”

Jade wasn’t sure what she was asking, but no. She didn’t belong here. She shook her head.

“I don’t live too far from here,” Ingrid said, “and I have a little cottage I rent out. My tenant moved out last week and I can let you have it for a little more than what you’re probably paying here. Would you like that?”

Could she trust her? Had Ingrid called the police about her? Jade’s brain was too foggy to think it through. She remembered the screaming and shouting outside her room during the night hours. The old man’s craggy face pressed against her window. She nodded. “Yes,” she said.

“Then pack up your things and let’s go.”

* * *

They had to walk. Ingrid explained that she had no car and didn’t need one in Ocean Beach, where everything was at her fingertips. She rolled Jade’s small suitcase for her, saying nothing about how light it was when she took it from her hands. Jade wanted to ask how far it was to her house—she wasn’t sure she could walk more than a block, she felt so weak and sick. Her stomach was concave and her muscles so slack that it was difficult to hold herself upright as they walked. But it was wrong to ask. Wrong to complain about anything at all when this woman was being so nice to her.

“Look at you, in that heavy jacket and hat,” Ingrid said as they walked. “You must have come from someplace cold?”

“Maryland,” Jade said, trying out the lie. Ann Johnson was from Bethesda, Maryland. At first she’d thought it was stupid that her documents made it look like she was from Maryland when that was only one state over from Virginia, but her father said it would be easiest for her. Growing up in Virginia, she knew a lot about Maryland. If anyone asked her about it, she could sound like she’d actually grown up there.

“Well, you can burn those winter clothes,” Ingrid said cheerfully. “You’re a California girl now.”

They walked a few blocks in silence, the shops and palm trees and people a blur, and Jade was breathing hard through her mouth by the time Ingrid pointed to a low wooden bungalow. It was tiny and looked old, like all the other houses on the street, but it was painted a deep turquoise, and purple flowers grew on vines all over the front yard. It looked like a real home. It looked like more than Jade felt she deserved.

She followed Ingrid up the cracked sidewalk to the front door of the bungalow. Ingrid opened the unlocked door and ushered her inside. They were in a small living room dominated by a green tiled fireplace and a huge, fat-cushioned brown couch. Jade could see three doorways from where she stood, all of them arched. “This is my house,” Ingrid said. “Your little cottage is out back.” Jade felt Ingrid scrutinizing her face and wished she could hide behind more than her filthy hair. Was Ingrid comparing her face to one she’d seen on TV that morning? She thought of the photographs of her that had made the news since Steven’s death. In nearly every one, she was holding Violet. Her father had been right not to let her bring the violin with her.

“I’ve never been farther east than Iowa, where I’m from,” Ingrid said. She stood in the arched doorway between the living room and a yellow kitchen. “But I’ve been out here since I was eighteen. Your age,” she continued. “As soon as I graduated, I hightailed it out of town.” She laughed and Jade tried to smile. “I didn’t regret it for an instant,” Ingrid said. “I had some friends in San Diego, though. How about you? Do you know someone here?”

She shook her head. “I wanted a fresh start,” she managed to say. “Just … really fresh.”

“And you look like you could use one,” Ingrid said. “Utterly exhausted, aren’t you. Come on. Let me show you your new home.” She reached for the suitcase, but this time Jade grabbed the handle herself.

“I’ve got it,” she said.

She followed Ingrid through a tiny yellow kitchen and out the arched back door. They were in a small yard, where a minuscule turquoise cottage sat in a tangle of vines and pink flowers, looking like something out of a fairy tale.

“So this is your little abode.” Ingrid motioned to the cottage. “You can pick your own oranges for your morning juice.” She pointed to a couple of trees in the middle of the yard. “The man at the motel said you were paying one-twenty a week, so this will be one-thirty. Will you be able to manage that?”