As the sky shifts from black to a deep bruised blue, I saunter back to the truck.I lean against the hood, arms crossed as I take one more look before I do what is long overdue.
Phone in hand, I dial.Marcos picks up on the second ring.
“Maddox.”He sounds smooth as usual.The voice of a man who has never been caught off guard in his life, or at the very least, he hides it well.“I was wondering when you’d call.”
“You sent her to do your dirty work.”
He doesn’t miss a beat.“I don’t know what you?—”
“Don’t.”I stare at the empty track.“Erica.You promised her ten thousand dollars to walk into my house and unload everything in front of the journalist.”
My jaw tightens and mouth sours at talking about Grace as if she means nothing to me.“You want to tell me that wasn’t deliberate, considering you paid her airfare to get here?”
“I wanted the truth out.That’s all.”
“Your version of it.”I push off the hood.“You let Erica carry what happened to Beto, even when we both knew it wasn’t her.You know he supplied the drug, but somehow you got her to believe she was the reason he’s dead.What did you promise her?Money?And let me guess, you never paid her.Never will.”
The anger sits low and steady in my chest, the kind that’s been there a long time.“So don’t talk to me about truth.”
Silence lives on the line.The comfortable silence of a man selecting his next words carefully.“Honor your commitment, and?—”
“I’ve been honoring it.”I stop at the fence line, fingers curled around the railing, gaze on the track.“I’ve jumped through every hoop you put in front of me since I retired.Shit, since I started working for you.Every appearance, every obligation, every favor.I did all of it.Three more days and we’re done.”
I pause, my turn to show him who’s in control.“But hear me clearly—I’m blocking your number.Don’t go through anyone to get to me.We end here.”
“Fine.”Something shifts beneath the smoothness, just barely.“That’s all I need.”
I end the call, block the number before the screen dims, and pocket the phone.
Then I stand there at the fence line in the quiet and look out at the track— the first track I ever turned a wheel on, the one my father brought me to as a kid with grease already under my fingernails, the one I bought with a career I had to choose to end.
Fuck, three days.
Grace leaves in three days.
The moment things got complicated, I stopped trusting any of it—stopped trusting her—and went looking for the threat.
She was never the threat.
In front of my house, I sit in the truck as the sun comes up, working out what to say.Whether to start with the apology or build to it, whether she’ll even let me get that far.I’ve been turning it over the whole drive back, and I still don’t have it right, but I’m done letting that be a reason to wait.
I step inside, and Mom is in her nightgown, arms crossed, a folded piece of paper held between two fingers.She looks at me the way she did when I hit high school and would come in past curfew—not angry exactly, just deeply, specifically unimpressed.
Something drops in my chest.“Mom?—”
“She’s gone.I came home from dinner with Patsy last night and found this.”
I cross to her and take the note.It’s addressed to my mom, not to me.In fact, my name isn’t anywhere on it.
Meri, I don’t have the words to thank you enough for opening your home to me.Your kindness and generosity are something I’ll carry with me for a long time.Thank you for everything.Goodbye and all the best, Grace
I read it twice.Three times.The goodbye sits at the bottom of the page like a door swinging shut.
“Where did she go?”
Mom tilts her head, studying me the way she does when she’s deciding how much grace to extend.
“The inn reopened several days ago.Patsy told her she was welcome back anytime.”She places her hands on her hips.“I told Grace she didn’t have to go anywhere.That this was her home for as long as she needed it.”