Page 165 of Someone Like Me
I close my eyes and picture my short, gray-haired, feisty, meddling Grandma, who had her way right up to the end.
“My God.” I palm my forehead, still reeling at the thought. The house must be worth two hundred thousand at least. My eyes pop open. “But what about you guys? The house is your… your inheritance.”
She cocks her brow at me again. “Do you really think any of us would want to deny Mama’s last wish?” She glances over her shoulder and lowers her voice. “I wouldn’t put it past her to haunt us if we did.”
“Josie.” She’s making light of it, but I can’t. “I’m good. We can just ignore her will. I don’t want everyone to hate me.”
All humor leaves her face. “Andrew, no one is going to hate you.” She shakes her head, her mouth going tight. “I mean, was your mother happy about it when she found out? No. But it’s not because she wants the house for herself or was even thinking about benefiting from its sale.”
I huff. “Two hundred thousand split three ways is no small thing.”
Josie rolls her eyes. “It’s not worth that much. It needs a new roof. You’ll be lucky if this one makes it through next spring.”
“Josie—”
“Andrew, Lottie was upset because she’s still trying to punish you, not because she wants cash,” Josie says with a scowl. “Mama was always on her about doing right by you. Maybe this was her way of having the last word on that.”
I don’t doubt Grandma Quincy’s ability to get the last word — even beyond the grave — but I don’t deserve this. “I can’t accept it,” I say with finality.
Josie’s face hardens in a way that makes her look more like Grandma Q than I’ve ever seen. “You can, and you will. And you know what else you can do?” She crosses her arms over her chest and glares at me. “You can put up a fight for that girl of yours like the life you have actually matters, and when that’s good and settled, the two of you can start planning for the holidays because I’ve never had Christmas dinner anywhere but inside this house, and I’m not ready for that to change.”
Her lecture shuts me up for a second. Because she’s just painted a picture of a future I’m almost too scared to hope for. Christmas? Here at Grandma Q’s house —my house— with Evie? The memory of us laughing in the kitchen as we pickled okra flashes behind my eyes. It could be like that again. We could burn the apple pie. Spill gravy. Drop the bread. Any number of happy disasters.
She would make the walls and windows smile.
I look back at Aunt Josie. Her gaze is still hard, but now there’s a glint in her eye. “That puts things in a different light, doesn’t it?”
I say nothing, but I can’t deny she’s right. I could give Evie a home. Everything she needs. I’ll never be completely worthy of her, but this would bring me closer at least.
“I saw her at the funeral. You can’t tell me she’s not head over heels for you,” Josie says, her face softening. “Go to her. Right now, Drew.”
How I wish I could. Just hop the fence and carry her home. I square my shoulders and meet Josie’s gaze. “There’s something I need to do first.”
Jumping and twirling, Quincy greets me as I open the apartment door. I rake my eyes across the room as though I’ll now see what I haven’t noticed before, but of course whatever Tori Lalonde planted here is going to be tucked out of sight.
“C’mon, girl. Let’s go down to the yard, and then you can help me search.”
I don’t even bother with the leash by the door. Quincy won’t leave my side. She follows me down the stairs and makes a quick dash onto the grass, my eyes on the Lalonde house the entire time. I hurry Quincy back to the stairs. I’ll take her for a long walk later as we’ve done the last two nights — if I can get to the bottom of this.
If I don’t go mad first.
Which seems a real possibility. Because when I step over the threshold of the apartment door, I feel the malice. Tori’s hatred of her sister — and of me — had to be epic for her to breech my space and leave her weapon of evidence. Like a fucking landmine.
And as I feel the chill of this calculated violation, I’m aware, too, of a sickening shame.
Is it really so different from the way I violated so many? I’ve broken into dozens of homes with intent to harm. Not bodily. Not personal. But to enter someone’s home uninvited… in secret. How abused it must have made those victims —myvictims — feel.
For a dizzying moment, I nearly convince myself that this is no less than what I deserve. To feel violated. To feel suspicious of every shadow in my apartment. To feel hunted.
But while I may deserve all of that, Evie does not.
Tori’s plot has caused Evie pain. Taken away her liberty. Made her afraid. No matter what punishment I have earned, I cannot let that stand.
I start in the obvious places. Everything comes off the bookshelf. I sift through books and CD cases. Quincy eyes me warily from the bed, flinching as plastic cases knock together. I empty my clothes from the wardrobe, pour over the contents of the kitchen cabinets. A couple of dust bunnies greet me from behind the refrigerator, but nothing else. I over turn the table and chairs. Quincyboofsin protest, jumping to the floor as the mattress comes off the futon. I search beneath it and among the rungs of the frame.
Nothing.
The stolen TV and PlayStation have remained uncovered since I revealed them to Evie a few weeks ago. I pick up each, check beneath them, and set them down again, resolving that they won’t stay here another night. As soon as I find the wicked treasure I’m searching for, those things will be returned.
