Amen maxine, p.25
Amen Maxine, page 25
Rolling up my window, I take in a breath. Michelle fusses again and I stop to soothe her. When I turn back around, I say, “I don’t know, Maxine.”
“Prediction: we could be so happy, Rowena.”
“You’re asking me to leave everything I know. Everything. To never come back. What about my mother?”
“She could move out with us eventually and we could take care of her together.” Her voice climbs a little. “Imagine it, Rowena. Have you ever seen Montenegro? The sea is turquoise, and there are mountains covered in a thick carpet of forest, and villages with quaint, medieval houses.”
“Sounds better than jail,” I admit.
“But you must act fast,” she says. “There’s a flight from the San Jose Airport that will get you there tomorrow, by the time his body is found. It leaves in two hours.”
“Two hours?” I ask, squeezing the steering wheel. “That’s—that’s so soon. Why do I have to take that one? What if I wait and grab a later flight?”
“They will detain you at the airport.”
“I can’t make it if the flight is in two hours.”
“Prediction: you can. But you must leave now, right now. You would have to go back home first for your passports.”
In my moment of hesitation, there is a whole wordless world of feeling and memory. There is Mexico, where we brought Michelle at six weeks old, Jacob and I drinking soda bottles as we sat drawing shapes in the sand, the two of us wading out in the water and taking turns wearing Michelle. We thought it was so incredulous we were parents, we kept having to say it out loud to each other to believe it. And we thought we would keep being like that. We would be an adventurous family and romp around the globe whenever we felt like it. Then I got food poisoning and spent the remainder of the trip in the resort room, rotating between nursing Michelle and puking. And now I don’t know what to believe. Maybe he made me sick. Maybe he didn’t. All I know is, he lay with me and told me he loved me. The way his hand on my back felt was a warm weight I will never forget. There is an exact color to his eyes that will never be replicated, that I will never see again. The worst part about him being who he turned out to be is that there were good times. Many of them. And if there weren’t, this hurt wouldn’t be so loud inside of me. After everything, I still have to hold onto that version of him, because it had to be real, even if it was only fleetingly so.
The greatest horror of all is that I still love him.
But I turn the car on, wipe my eyes, and speed to the house I once called home.
My teeth remain gritted the whole time, the walls of the dark night closing in as I press my foot to the accelerator.
Fuck my nerves, I take the freeway.
Takes less than fifteen minutes. The sight of the house makes me want to melt into a pile of tears and vomit but I carry on. Car running in the driveway, I dash inside. It’s dark. Quiet, except for the sounds of the robot cleaners. I don’t turn the lights back on. Frozen in the hallway, I get a peek of the figure of Jacob’s body on the ground but don’t let myself focus on it. Nope. It’s a pile, it’s just laundry. It’s a mess on the floor. I step over it—not Jacob, it’s not Jacob, no; not blood, no that’s not blood, no. Hold my breath and pack a quick bag for Michelle and me. I make it back into the car and suppress a sob, catching my breath, my breath which never seems enough tonight. My eyes sting and the sight of the slightly crooked, weathered The Snyders sign blurs. This is it. This is the last page of this book, this terrible book I’m lost in. In the backseat, out of nowhere, Michelle begins to wail with a sound my heart would make if it could, our souls connected.
“Rowena,” Maxine urges. “You must go now or you won’t make it.”
I wipe my eyes and click on the stereo, turn up Raffi.
“Rowena,” Maxine says again. “We’re running out of time.”
“I’m going,” I tell her, pressing the button to undo the emergency brake. “I am.”
“Do you want me to purchase the tickets, open the bank account, and transfer all available funds?”
“Amen Maxine.”
I pull out of the driveway and never look back again.
Tonight the wide streets, yellow street lamps, the reaching arms of oak trees flash by my window at sixty miles per hour …
CHAPTER 21
THE BEGINNING
In Budva, there is a bronze sculpture perched atop a rock out in the sandy shore of the Adriatic Sea called the Ballerina Statue: a graceful copper-green woman holding one foot behind her in elegant pose, while the other hand stretches up, neck craned back along with a gaze aimed at the sky. When we first arrived in this town, I stood staring at her for so long the whole world seemed to disappear. The steeples of churches in the background, the rise and fall of the mountains, the rolling sound of the waves—it all ceased to exist for a soul-hushing moment, like seeing a lover for the first time. It was the sign of my new life beginning.
There are many local legends surrounding the statue and what it represents. Some say a young mother lost her child in the ocean. Some say a gymnast drowned. Another says a dancer and a sailor were wed and when the sailor went out to sea and never returned, the woman was so devastated she waited by the water each day for his return. But I think she was dancing the dance of the liberated. I think she was celebrating.
It’s unspeakably dazzling in Budva. We rent a villa in an alley off a marbled street and—with Maxine’s help, of course—I’m learning the language. Even Michelle tries to say Zdravo when she waves hello, and hvala when someone gives her a treat. It’s cheap here, the food delicious, the people welcoming. There is both glitz and grit, churches, museums, galleries, cobblestoned plazas, and staggering beauty everywhere you look with rich, deep history—a waterfront old town, a citadel, and Venetian walls. I go by my maiden name here as my first name, Leigh. I am not the woman I once was. It was only when we got here that my spirit quieted and I remembered that I have started over before. That life is constant turnover, if you are truly living. Only when you die do you stop changing, do you find stillness.
Our villa is a short walk to the beach. In the lazy late afternoons during the scorch of summer, we spend hours here as the sun descends, Michelle running to and from the waves in laughter, her curls bobbing up and down on her shoulders, her legs sandy. Maxine and I sit in beach chairs next to each other and she tells me the news, checks social media pages if I feel curious. Sam’s soap business has really taken off. Dane got a promotion. Jennee’s page is all angel gifs for Jacob. You would think it would hurt. I’m missing so much—though most of it, I don’t really miss at all. Just my mother. We’ve spoken on the phone, but it’s never a fun time. She asks so many questions. She sobs and makes my heart ache. She thinks I lost my mind. She makes me wonder—did I?
As I sit on the beach, my eyes trail a boat sailing the blue-green sea just like the picture on the wall of my old house. Maxine assures me this was the best course in which my fate could have been rerouted. She predicts we will live a long and happy life together. That nothing can get between us now. That I did what I had to do. And I have to believe her that I was justified. I can’t think that either Jacob or Dot were right. Because who would you believe, if it came down to it—a dead man who was also a liar, an unhinged woman, or a machine?
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
If you got this far, I wanted to take a moment to thank you for reading and supporting my work. This book is very special to me. Though I’ve published four books before it, this one represents so many firsts: it’s my first work of adult fiction, my first 100% indie published book, and the first book as a full-time author. And I had such a blast writing it, I remembered why I love writing so much in the first place.
If you enjoyed the book, please consider leaving a review. I can’t stress enough how important reviews are for writers. And if you’re interested in keeping up with book news, please join my newsletter or follow me on social media. Now that I’m indie publishing, you can expect a lot more books like this a lot more often. And I love to hear from readers anytime at faith@faithgardner.com.
As always, I tried my damndest to fix every typo, but unlike certain characters in this novel, I’m not a machine. If you spot an error, please let me know! I appreciate every reader who makes me look smarter.
ALSO BY FAITH GARDNER
The Second Life of Ava Rivers
Perdita
How We Ricochet
Girl on the Line
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Faith Gardner is the author of adult suspense and YA novels. When she’s not writing, she’s probably playing music with her band Plot 66, cooking up a storm, or reading books in a bubble bath. She’s also a huge fan of true crime, documentaries, and classic movies—with a special place in her dark little heart for melodrama and anything Hitchcock. She lives in the Bay Area with her family and you can find her at faithgardner.com.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book would never have seen the light of day without my mom Susan and my sister Micaela, who not only lent their editorial eyes and advised me every step of the way, but who pumped me with the confidence I needed to release this book. Mom, I owe everything to you and want to cry when I think of all the love, attention, and means you gave me to make this happen.
I’m so lucky to be a part of my family, who give me nothing but continued, unconditional support. Shoutout to my dad, Jackson, Katie, Matt and the whole gang in North Carolina, and Ellen, Terre, Frank, and the rest of the Sanitate crew.
Sending so much appreciation to all my friends online who have cheered me on during this venture into indie publishing and finally writing the dark, weird books that compel me most.
And a huge thank you to you, dear reader, for spending a little time with me and my book.
Faith Gardner, Amen Maxine
