The Silent Sister(46)

“I’m fine,” Jade said. “Just still worn out after … not sleeping well on the train. And the beach and the motel.”

Ingrid looked like she didn’t believe her. “Come on,” she insisted. “Sit with me out here. Let’s have a chat.”

Jade followed her onto the patio, terrified of what Ingrid had to say and blinking against the bright sunlight.

“I don’t mean to pry,” Ingrid said, as they sat down on the white metal chairs, “but I’d like to help you, and to do that I need to know what’s going on with you. You’re ill, right? You can tell me. Is it AIDS?”

“AIDS?” She was shocked. “No!”

“Well, I’m relieved to hear that,” Ingrid said, although she didn’t look completely convinced. “You remind me of a friend I lost to that damn disease, so I was worried. It’s that … you’re so thin. You look like you haven’t eaten in months. You’re so pale and just … you have those dark circles around your eyes.”

She knew she looked sick. The shirts her father had picked up for her at Goodwill hung from her shoulders and she would soon need to get a belt to keep her jeans up. Her breasts had always been small, but now her bra puckered over them.

“I’m not sick,” she said. “I’ve just been … I guess I’m nervous, moving here, starting a new life on my own. I have no appetite.”

“Honey.” Ingrid leaned toward her. “Are you on the run from someone who hurt you?”

She tried to laugh as if the question was absurd. “Not at all,” she said.

“Pregnant? I’m sorry to be so personal,” Ingrid added quickly. “I only want to help.”

She wanted to tell Ingrid everything. She was so nice. But of course she couldn’t. She’d never be able to tell a soul.

“Not pregnant. Not sick.” She made herself smile. “I’m okay. Really.”

“You need to have some food in the house.” Ingrid handed her the loaf of banana bread and she held it on her lap. “Have you been out at all?” she asked. “Have you been to the market?” She pointed north of where they sat. Or maybe it was south. Having the ocean on the west coast was confusing her after living her whole life with it on the east. “I have a cart I use if I need to buy more than I can carry a block,” Ingrid said. “You’re welcome to use it. I keep it in the shed.” She motioned to a tiny building at the back of the little yard. It was overgrown with a white flowering vine.

“Thank you.”

“Are you up to walking over there?” she said. “If not, I can pick up some things for you later.”

Jade had the feeling Ingrid still thought she had AIDS.

“I’ll go this afternoon,” she said. She would, too. Ingrid was right. She had to get out. She had to see how people reacted to her. She had to know she was safe here.

* * *

Inside the cottage, Jade looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. She was a disaster. Her hair was clean now, but it hung limply around her pale face, and her eyes were red-rimmed. Although she’d dyed her eyebrows, her eyelashes were their usual white and if that wasn’t a giveaway, she didn’t know what was. She had to get mascara. And more of that dye for when her roots started coming in.

She put on her sandals and grabbed her purse. Once on the street, she walked in the direction Ingrid had pointed. North. She was winded by the time the market came into view. There were loads of people on the street and most of them seemed to be close to her age. Blond boys on skateboards. Long-haired girls with holey jeans and cutoff T-shirts. They glanced at her. Some even smiled and said hi. She was not in northern Virginia any longer. People were happy and friendly and unrushed here. The sun shone brighter and crisper. Nobody was thinking about the murderous girl from Alexandria.

Once in the market, she realized she should have brought Ingrid’s cart with her. She limited what she bought so it would fit in two paper sacks, picking out some fruit and chicken breasts and a paperback cookbook called Healthy Cooking on the Cheap. She paged through it for a chicken recipe and bought the rest of the ingredients she’d need to make it. She’d never learned to cook. Her mother always said she’d rather have her practice the violin than do housework. She bit back tears at the memory of her mother, and that’s when she saw the little girl. She was tiny, no more than two, crouching down in the pasta and rice aisle with her back to Jade as she poked at a plastic bag of noodles. A woman—most likely the child’s mother—stood nearby, reading the labels on jars of pasta sauce. The girl’s black hair shimmered in two high pigtails. Jade stopped in the middle of the aisle, staring, willing the girl to turn around and be Riley. If only! The little girl chattered to herself as she poked the bag, and Jade fought the urge to pick her up, swing her around, and bury her face in that chubby little neck that she was certain would smell exactly like Riley’s. But when the girl looked up at her with the face of an adorable stranger, the magic spell was broken, and Jade quickly walked past her toward the checkout counter before the child’s mother could catch her staring.

She walked back to Ingrid’s as fast as she could with the bags in her arms. They weighed a ton and she had so little strength. She was out of breath after the first block, and she couldn’t get her heart to slow down. It was even skipping beats, the way it had the day she was arrested and the police dragged her down to the station. She’d been nearly comatose in the back of that police car and her chest had felt like it had a pinball banging around inside it. Her jeans had been stiff with blood; her hands sticky and red. She didn’t care then if she died. A heart attack would have been just fine with her. She’d wanted it to be over, because she knew that whatever was ahead of her was going to ruin her life. She felt a little the same way now. Her life no longer seemed to matter. If she dropped dead on the street, they’d find this girl, Jade, this girl who didn’t exist, and they’d try to contact her family, only to discover her family didn’t exist, either.