Real easy, p.28
Real Easy, page 28
“Give me a minute,” Georgia says into the phone, “and I will tell you everything.”
Living silence fills her ear. Bella is ready, waiting. It feels as good as love.
SAMANTHA
It was a hot day. It was July, the peak of summer, and Samantha had the day off, so she and Nick packed the car with a small cooler of ham sandwiches and Capri Suns and drove with Rosie to the dunes in Indiana. Long grass whispered along the crests of the hills of sand, where pink thistle bloomed, nodding in the light wind. As they walked down to the beach from the parking lot, Samantha pointed out to Rosie how the wind had made ripples along the dunes. There were cottontail rabbits in the grass, Samantha told Rosie, but Rosie didn’t care. The sand burned Rosie’s feet, even through her flip-flops, and she cried until Nick scooped her up and carried her. Samantha carried the cooler and towels. She was the only one to see the great blue heron rise from the dunes, its gawky shape made elegant by an enormous wingspan, its feathers more gray than blue. Its wings strode into the sky. She called for the others to look, but by the time they did, it was gone.
Lake Michigan was perfect. They immediately went into the water, which was fresh but not cold, and washed away the sweat of the car ride. Nick and Samantha played with Rosie in the shallows, Nick tossing his shrieking daughter into the waves again and again as she begged for more. Then Rosie grew bored of that and pretended to be a sea monster, ducking underwater and bursting through the surface with her hair hanging in front of her face, hands hooked into claws. Samantha pretended to be frightened.
Nick said he wanted to swim beyond the sandbar. The currents could be strong in the lake’s deeper waters, so Samantha said she would sunbathe and keep an eye on Rosie, who wanted to collect pebbles on the shore.
Samantha stretched out on her towel. On clear days, Chicago’s skyline could be seen across the lake. When she put on her sunglasses, Samantha saw it, just barely. It looked like haze. She lay down, face to the sun, letting the day bake into her body. The club felt far away. It felt like it didn’t exist.
Rosie kept running up to show off her latest prize. A smooth, black oval stone. A slightly bigger, smooth, black oval stone. Another. They all held an obvious value to Rosie, who made Samantha examine each one and deposit them in a cairn near the towel. Rosie was going to take them home. Yes, the brown ones, too. And that piece of green glass, its surface softened by time.
Samantha sat up and watched Rosie swim, the child never going deeper into the water than chest high. Beyond her, Nick swam far out, his shoulders dark.
Rosie came out of the water, the lake lapping at her heels, and sprinted up the sand to Samantha. Her teeth chattered, and although Samantha offered to wrap Rosie’s towel around her, Rosie didn’t want that. She wanted to lie down next to Samantha on Samantha’s towel. Rosie said the sun was too bright, so Samantha gave her her sunglasses, which were huge on the girl in a silly, wonderful way. Samantha didn’t laugh, although she wanted to. Rosie needed to be taken seriously. She pushed her cold body up against Samantha’s, her toes right against Samantha’s calf, and shivered until she stopped.
As she lay next to Rosie’s warming skin, Samantha imagined that Rosie was her child. Samantha had heard or read that the fetus of a girl already has millions of eggs inside her months before she is born. If I had a normal woman’s body, Samantha thought, the egg that would become Rosie would have been inside me even when I was a baby growing inside my own mother.
Nick was so far out on the lake that Samantha had to squint to see him, and then she could not see him at all.
“Sam?” Rosie said.
Samantha looked down at Rosie, whose upturned face was half masked by the sunglasses. Rosie said, as if she knew what Samantha had been thinking, “I wish you were my real mom.”
Samantha pulled Rosie close. The girl’s swimsuit was clammy, her skin as warm as cake. The sky dazzled, washing the world white. It changed everyone else on the beach into ghosts. The sand became milk, the lake ice. Rosie, though, was as vivid as ever: the freckles on her tan nose, the twisted ropes of her hair, the pink ruffles of her swimsuit straps, her worried mouth. Samantha said, “I am your real mom.”
Rosie smiled. Two new teeth were coming in. One day, Samantha thought, she would see Rosie’s grown smile. Rosie would grow up and leave her, because that is what children do.
But not yet.
Samantha shifted to sit up and pulled Rosie onto her lap. “Can you see Chicago?” Samantha pointed. She couldn’t see it anymore; the sun was too bright without her sunglasses. Rosie looked, her hand a visor, and said, “You mean that sparkly stuff?”
“Yes, on the horizon. It’s the skyscrapers.”
“But Chicago is so far away.”
“I know.”
“I can see across the whole lake?”
“You can see across the whole lake.”
“Wow.”
“Not always,” Samantha said. “But sometimes.”
The waves pulled away and came back. Rosie dropped her hand to Samantha’s knee. She was heavy and hot on Samantha’s lap, and Samantha knew that Rosie would soon grow restless, and break away to run into the water, and be cranky on the ride home if she did not fall asleep. Still, this moment was theirs, sure and solid, forever. If Rosie forgot, Samantha would remind her. Remember when we went to the beach? Remember what we said?
Rosie said, “It looks like a magic land.”
“Let’s pretend that it is,” Samantha said, and held her girl, and was happy.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to:
My brother, Officer Jonathon Rutkoski, and my sister-in-law, Detective Rosie Rutkoski, for many conversations about police procedure and for putting me in touch with their colleagues.
Detective Sergeant Tizoc Landros, Detective Sergeant Ed Grizzle, and accident reconstructionist Sergeant Phil Stice of the Joliet Police Department, and Detective Keith Flannery of the Manhattan South Homicide Squad, for taking the time to answer all of my questions patiently, thoughtfully, and with good humor.
Mark L. Taff, M.D., former chief medical examiner in Rockland County, New York, for his help regarding forensic pathology.
Dr. Ilene Wong, board member of InterACT: Advocates for Intersex Youth, and Jeanne Nollman, former head of the AIS-DSD (Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome-Disorder of Sex Development) support group. I am grateful for their wisdom and the important work they do.
All those who read drafts or portions of drafts: Marianna Baer, Holly Black, Doireann Fitzgerald, Donna Freitas, Eve Gleichman, Anna Godberson, Drew Gorman-Lewis, Anne Heltzl, Kelly Link, Shannon Luders-Manuel, Sarah Mesle, Neel Mukherjee, Jeanne Nollman, Emily XR Pan, Becky Rosenthal, Jill Santopolo, Eliot Schrefer, Titania, Robin Wasserman, and Ashley Woodfolk.
Other dear friends who shared advice, perspective, and experience: Renée Ahdieh, Manuel Amador, Akeela Azcuy, Zoraida Córdova, Vinnie Curcio, Joy Daniels, Morgan Fahey, Nelly Lopez, Sarah Maclean, Daniel Matos, Andrew Needham, Carrie Ryan, and Eric Weigeshoff.
Cassandra Clare and Josh Lewis, Adam and Sabina Deaton, Valérie Buffet, Jocelyne Buffet, and Yann Guinard, for their kindness, hospitality, and generosity.
Professor Ellen Tremper, for always supporting me and my career.
The Harvard Review, for publishing the chapter “Frankie” as a short story called “El Capitan.”
My agent, Alexandra Machinist, for believing in me and having the keenest sense for what is right.
Felicity Blunt, Sophie Baker, Roxane Edouard, Josie Freedman, Ruth Landry, Lindsey Sanderson, and everyone at ICM and Curtis Brown UK.
Everyone at Holt, especially my editor Serena Jones, for her wisdom, and editorial assistant Anita Sheih, Carla Benton, Janel Brown, Kathleen Cook, Karen Horton, Carolyn O’Keefe, Carol Rutan, and Christopher Sergio, as well as the many people who contribute to a book’s production. Many thanks, too, to those same counterparts at Tinder (Headline) in the UK, especially my editor Jen Doyle and Alara Delfosse. Serena and Jen masterfully shaped this book into what it is.
Thank you, finally, to my partner, Eve Gleichman. I love you so much.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Born in Illinois, MARIE RUTKOSKI is a graduate of the University of Iowa and Harvard University. She is a professor of English literature at Brooklyn College and a New York Times bestselling author of books for children and young adults. She lives in Brooklyn with her family. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Ch. 1: Samantha (Ruby)
Ch. 2: Georgia (Gigi)
Ch. 3: Detective Victor Amador
Ch. 4: Detective Holly Meylin
Ch. 5: Samantha (Ruby)
Ch. 6: Detective Victor Amador
Ch. 7: Samantha (Ruby)
Ch. 8: Melody
Ch. 9: Georgia (Gigi)
Ch. 10: Detective Holly Meylin
Ch. 11: Samantha (Ruby)
Ch. 12: Rosie
Ch. 13: Him
Ch. 14: Detective Holly Meylin
Ch. 15: Samantha (Ruby)
Ch. 16: Georgia (Gigi)
Ch. 17: Samantha (Ruby)
Ch. 18: Detective Victor Amador
Ch. 19: Nick
Ch. 20: Samantha (Ruby)
Ch. 21: Detective Holly Meylin
Ch. 22: Detective Victor Amador
Ch. 23: Samantha (Ruby)
Ch. 24: Him
Ch. 25: Detective Victor Amador
Ch. 26: Georgia (Gigi)
Ch. 27: Ron
Ch. 28: Samantha (Ruby)
Ch. 29: Maryann
Ch. 30: Frankie
Ch. 31: Detective Holly Meylin
Ch. 32: Georgia (Gigi)
Ch. 33: Him
Ch. 34: Detective Holly Meylin
Ch. 35: Jimmy
Ch. 36: Georgia (Gigi)
Ch. 37: Him
Ch. 38: Detective Holly Meylin
Ch. 39: Rachel (Morgan)
Ch. 40: Georgia (Gigi)
Ch. 41: Detective Holly Meylin
Ch. 42: Sergeant Tony Rabideaux
Ch. 43: Catherine (Violet)
Ch. 44: Georgia (Gigi)
Ch. 45: Him
Ch. 46: Dale
Ch. 47: Georgia (Gigi)
Ch. 48: Detective Holly Meylin
Ch. 49: Georgia (Gigi)
Ch. 50: Detective Holly Meylin
Ch. 51: Georgia (Gigi)
Ch. 52: Detective Holly Meylin
Ch. 53: Georgia (Gigi)
Ch. 54: Detective Holly Meylin
Ch. 55: Him
Ch. 56: Georgia (Gigi)
Ch. 57: Detective Holly Meylin
Ch. 58: Georgia (Gigi)
Ch. 59: Him
Ch. 60: Detective Holly Meylin
Ch. 61: Him
Ch. 62: Detective Holly Meylin
Ch. 63: Him
Ch. 64: Georgia (Gigi)
Ch. 65: Detective Holly Meylin
Ch. 66: Georgia (Gigi)
Ch 67: Holly
Ch. 68: Georgia
Ch. 69: Samantha
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
REAL EASY. Copyright © 2022 by Marie Rutkoski. All rights reserved. For information, address Henry Holt and Co., 120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271.
www.henryholt.com
Cover design by Colin Webber
Cover photography © Alisa Rodnova / Getty Images
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Names: Rutkoski, Marie, author.
Title: Real easy / Marie Rutkoski.
Description: First edition. | New York: Henry Holt and Company, 2022.
Identifiers: LCCN 2021020446 (print) | LCCN 2021020447 (ebook) | ISBN 9781250788245 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781250788252 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Stripteasers—Crimes against—Fiction. | Women detectives—Fiction. | GSAFD: Mystery fiction. | LCGFT: Novels.
Classification: LCC PS3618.U789 R43 2022 (print) | LCC PS3618.U789 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021020446
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021020447
e-ISBN 9781250788252
First Edition 2022
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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Marie Rutkoski, Real Easy
