Chapter 14
Two years later, the sun was setting over the back patio of our new home.
The air smelled like jasmine and barbecue.
Vivien was sitting in a wicker lounge chair, one hand resting gently on her visibly pregnant belly. She was laughing at something our golden retriever puppy was doing in the grass.
I stood by the grill, flipping steaks with a cold beer in my hand.
Life had moved on.
The silence from my former family was nearly absolute.
Through the grapevine, I’d heard that Logan eventually had a breakdown. Unable to handle Mom’s deteriorating health and facing legal pressure from the state, he fled. He moved out of state, leaving her alone in the apartment.
The state intervened, and Mom was placed in a bare-bones nursing facility.
It wasn’t cruel.
But it wasn’t comfortable either.
It was just an institution.
Sienna never visited her.
Logan never called.
Mom spent her days staring out a window, eating bland cafeteria food, surrounded by strangers.
Sometimes I felt a fleeting pang of sadness for her.
But it was the kind of sadness you feel when reading a tragic news story about someone you don’t know.
It no longer belonged to me.
I walked inside to grab a platter for the steaks.
In the hallway, hanging above the small mahogany console table, was the shadow box frame.
Inside the glass, nestled on the dark velvet, were the two shiny one-dollar coins.
I smiled and tapped the glass lightly with my finger.
Then the doorbell rang.
My smile vanished.
Nobody unexpected ever came to our house anymore.
Vivien looked up from the patio doors. “Are you expecting someone?”
“No.”
I set the platter down and checked the security camera feed on my phone.
For one strange second, all I saw was a thin woman in a pale cardigan, standing alone with a tote bag at her feet.
Then she lifted her face toward the camera.
And I recognized her.
Mom.