“But is it really? How can we be sure if we don’t understand why Stella disappeared? Or why she came back to the house, or what made her change into the better person Adelmo says she was. And if Eva doesn’t call, we never will.”
“Isn’t it enough she wanted to be an improved version of herself? And that she never doubted you loved her?”
He was right. But for me, the reasons for Stella’s behavior held the key to a door I wasn’t sure even existed. Yet I couldn’t get rid of the nagging feeling I was leaving something behind. Something Stella wanted me to find.
. . . . .
Midway into our flight, I thought about the contract Mom took out on Ben. I wondered how much money she offered and how she would answer if I asked her about it. Would she insist it was a joke? Or say she must have been out of her mind with grief? That she didn’t even remember saying it?
Once upon a time, I would have believed her. Now, I couldn’t picture a world where I would believe anything she told me. Because there was no doubt, Gran and Mom drove Uncle Roy, passed out cold in his truck, to the lake and pushed both into the murky water. Not only did I remember seeing them drive away, but I pictured Stella joining me, awakened by the noise. The two of us watched the taillights disappear along with the man who hurt our Lesroy, and we never mentioned it again. Until she asked about it long after we grew up.
My mother’s thirst for revenge made sense. She’d been willing to kill to protect her sister. And I hadn’t even been willing to accept calls from mine.
I glanced at Justin, who was reading the newspaper. I guessed, to the casual observer, we looked like a married couple, content to be separate, but together.
But we weren’t a couple, married or otherwise. And we never had been. Ours was one of those shipboard romances only with guns and explosives. Once we returned to home port, would we resume being strangers? Despite the urgency of our attraction, I knew almost nothing about him: what he did for a living, whether he’d been married, if he wanted kids. More important, did he want me?
Then I remembered something Stella said to me before I met Ben. I complained about how hard it was to find a good man. She told me I didn’t think I deserved to find a good man, so I talked myself out of relationships before they began. Or I tried to be what I thought the guy wanted because being myself wasn’t good enough.
And she’d been right about my relationship with Ben. He seemed too good to be true. I worried he would wake up, see the real me, and run. So, I remade myself into his perfect partner. I pretended to like fancy wine and playing tennis at the club and all his weird sex stuff. And it worked for a while until he discovered my sister didn’t require remolding because she was exactly what he wanted.
Well, Justin had first-hand, worst case knowledge of the real me, and he was still here, sitting beside me.
I realized I was doing what Stella accused me of: thinking of reasons I wasn’t good enough to be in a relationship with a man like him. Instead of sitting here going over what wouldn’t work between us, I should talk to him and find out what would. She was right. I should stop doubting myself and go for it.
But when I turned to begin the go-for-it process, my seatmate was leaning back on his pillow, sound asleep. I sighed, turned toward the window, and drifted off myself.
When I awoke with my head on Justin’s shoulder, the pilot was announcing our approach to Atlanta.
“Glad to be home?” he asked as I sat up.
“I’m not looking forward to facing Mom. Other than that, yes. How about you? Are you happy to be home?” Where was home for him? Would someone be waiting for him? Again, I realized how little I knew about his life.
“Well, it will be a letdown after Montañita. But yeah, it’s always good to get back to the States.”
I had so many questions I wanted to ask, but people began the dreadful process of disembarking. The man across the aisle leaped up as soon as the light went off, cracking his head as he shoved himself over the woman in the seat beside him. He opened the overhead and dragged out his bag, then stood, tapping his fingers on my hand rest. A mother with three kids put one on her hip and the other two between her legs and inched toward the exit. A married couple tossed pillows and sweaters, searching for the woman’s reading glasses, only to discover they were hidden in her fluffy perm.
Justin and I waited until the flood of people turned to a steady stream before gathering our bags. When we reached the gate, I saw the sign before I saw my cousin: Thank the Good Lord. Grace is back! Lesroy waved, then spun the placard before he dropped it, raced up to me, and whirled me around.
“Oh, my God, Grace.” He released me, and I stumbled against him. Then he looked me up and down. “You’re not different at all.” He sounded disappointed.
“Why should I be? I’ve only been gone a few weeks.”
“When Mike said lightning struck you, I about lost it. I expected you to glow, or at least have one of those Bride of Frankenstein white streaks in your hair. But you only look peaked, like you
