Page 22 of Savage Vows

Outside, the air has the kind of bite that finds the gaps in your coat. She unlocks the car and looks across the roof at me. “I know you’re going to tell me I should stay out of this.”

“You should,” I say, because it’s true.

She unlocks the other door. “Too bad.”

I check in under a false name and pay cash. The room is small but clean, the sheets crisp, the water hot. After a shower I sit on the bed with my phone in my hand, staring at Julianne’s last missed call until the screen goes dark. I wake it again and scroll to a number I haven’t dialed in years.

My mother answers on the first ring, my name catching in her throat. “Adi?”

“I’m in the city,” I say. “I want to see you.”

There’s a silence long enough for me to hear the faint clink of a cup being set down. I can almost picture her in the kitchen, one hand braced on the counter, weighing what this will cost.

“Adriana, you shouldn’t be here,” she says.

A chill goes through me. “What are you talking about? I’m here for Julianne. She’s in trouble, isn’t she? I spoke to Dad.”

“You did what?” I can hear her balking.

“Mom, please,” I beg. “Just meet me once. I meant what I said all those years ago. I never meant to abandon you guys. I just had to leave…”

I can hear her sigh softly.

“Where?” she asks at last. “Where do you want to meet?”

“Queens. I can meet you anywhere you like.”

Another pause, then, “There’s a tea shop near Jackson Heights. Corner of Seventy-fourth. Twenty minutes.”

“I’ll be there.”

I hang up before I can second-guess it.

The tea shop is small and bright, glass jars crowding the shelves, steam fogging the front window. She’s already there by the time I arrive, both hands around a cup she hasn’t started drinking from. Her hair is pinned back the way she wore it when guests came to the house. She looks the same and older at once.

She looks like she always has in my memory, only smaller. Plain features, soft skin that never quite fit the expensive creams they pushed on her, hair pinned back without fuss. We are the same kind of ordinary, she and I, the sort that disappears in a room built for spectacle. My father was the one with looks that drew eyes. The easy smile, the kind of confidence that made people forget what it cost. He enjoyed that attention. He took more than his share of it.

I sit across from her and try to read what she will not say.

“What’s wrong with Julianne?” I ask. “What do you know?”

Her fingers tighten on the cup. “I haven’t heard from her.”

“I can help.” I pull my press badge from my wallet and lay it on the table, the laminate catching the light. “I’m a journalist now.”

She leans forward and studies the card, tracing my name with her gaze. Awe softens her face for a second, pride slipping through whatever script she rehearsed on her way here.

“What happened to her?” I press, lowering my voice. “Is this connected to her friend?”

Her eyes snap up to mine. “What are you talking about?”

“Someone close to her went missing last week, or so I’ve heard,” I say calmly. I’m not about to mention Bella and get her in trouble.

My mother shakes her head, once. “I have heard nothing.”

“You would tell me if you had.”

She looks away, toward the window, where the lights of the street smear across the glass. “There are things I cannot say.”