The Silent Sister(45)

Jade nodded. This time, she knew she was getting a bargain.

“Don’t carry a lot of cash with you,” Ingrid said, pointing to her purse. “It’s pretty safe around here, but there are drugs and users, just like everywhere. I’m sure you met some of them on the beach.” She smiled. “You need to open a bank account, even if you only have a little money. Don’t risk losing it. You’ve got to be smart.”

They’d reached the little front patio—just big enough for two small white metal chairs and an identical pair of large potted plants. Jade touched the leaves. They were thick, rubbery and shiny, and they felt like velvet between her fingers.

“When I decided to ask you if you wanted to stay here,” Ingrid said, pointing to one of the plants, “I bought these for you to have on the patio. Do you know what they’re called?”

She shook her head.

“They’re jade plants,” Ingrid said. “Like your name.”

Before she knew what was happening, Jade started to cry. It was an out-of-control sort of crying that took over her whole body and spirit, and she wasn’t even sure what started it. That Ingrid was so nice, she guessed. So nice to a girl who was lying to her face. She sobbed into her hands, unable to hold herself together one more second.

“Oh, you’re so worn down.” Ingrid put an arm around her shoulders. “Come inside and get unpacked and you can take a nice bath. There’s no shower, but you can wash your hair in the tub or the sink. Then after you’ve had a rest, we’re only two blocks from a market where you can stock your fridge and pantry.” Ingrid lowered her arm to her side as Jade wiped her wet face with her fingers. “You’re all skin and bones,” Ingrid said, and Jade wondered if she thought she was one of the drug users she’d been talking about.

She let Ingrid guide her inside the cottage to a tiny living room. Ingrid pulled open the blinds of the only window in the room, while Jade looked around her. A giant brown couch, identical to the one in Ingrid’s house, took up most of the room, along with two chairs that looked like they came from someone’s old dining room set. There was a TV in the corner. She wanted to turn it on. She needed to see if Lisa MacPherson’s suicide was on the news. Instead she followed Ingrid into the bedroom, which was only a little bigger than the double bed, the same size bed she’d had at home. A dresser was wedged between the bed and the window that looked out on the orange trees. “And here’s your bathroom,” Ingrid said. The bathroom, too, was tiny—just a toilet and sink and one of those old claw-foot tubs. Ingrid was right. She needed a long soak in that thing.

“Linens come with the cottage.” Ingrid pulled open a little cupboard that held faded pink towels and pink floral sheets. “There’s a Laundromat on Newport Avenue,” she said. “Not far. And if you need to make local calls, there’s a pay phone right in front of it. You can use my phone in an emergency.”

“Thank you so much,” Jade said, and for the first time since leaving home, her voice sounded a little more like her own, though quiet and weary. “This is amazing. And I’m going to do what you said. Take a bath. And then a nap.”

Ingrid pressed a key into her hand and looked her in the eye. “You’ll be safe here,” she said, and Jade could only hope she was right.

* * *

For the next two days, Jade stayed in the cottage. She drank water from the tap but ate nothing, afraid to go out. Afraid to be seen. She trusted Ingrid, but not one hundred percent, and she waited for the knock on the cottage door that would spell the end for her. She cowered in the corner of the couch evening and morning, watching the news. There was absolutely nothing about her on it, although she knew she was probably the only story the newscasters back home were talking about. Here, it was all about a serial killer who was stabbing women to death in their homes and the Leaning Tower of Pisa being closed to the public because it was leaning too far. If the San Diego news had ever mentioned Lisa MacPherson’s suicide, they were done with it now.

In bed at night, she longed for her mother. A word she hadn’t uttered in years—Mommy—was nearly always on her lips. She wanted to be a small child again, like Riley, being tucked into bed by her mom. She remembered her mother leaning over to kiss the tip of her nose before saying her prayers with her, God-blessing everyone they knew, including Steven. Now, though, the bedtime prayer she repeated each night had nothing to do with God and everything to do with a post office box in North Carolina. She needed to keep that address front and center in her mind, although she felt certain her father hoped she’d never try to use it.

Was he relieved these days? He’d spared the family from the spectacle of her trial, which would have been in its third day by now. The media circus was over for them. Had he done this for her, she wondered, or for her family?

* * *

On the third morning, there was a knock on her door. Through the window, she saw Ingrid standing between the jade plants, something in her hand. Ingrid gave her a wave and Jade knew she had no choice but to open the door. She hadn’t spoken to her landlady since the first day.

“I brought you some banana bread,” Ingrid said, when Jade pulled the door open. “Come sit out here in the sunshine with me. You’ve got this place all closed up and you’re missing some beautiful weather.” She tilted her head, peering closely at her. “Are you all right?”