Chapter Thirty-five

Chapter Thirty-five

After catching up with Terrence, I felt the overwhelming urge to talk to Derek’s mom. Before I could make up with Adeena, I needed to put the past to rest. At the wake, I was too much of a coward to really deal with her pain, but hearing about the way Derek had changed—and reminiscing with Terrence about who he used to be—made me realize I needed to hear his mom’s side. Maybe together we could figure out where it had all gone wrong.

Besides, I still didn’t know if Adeena would talk to me and I didn’t want to get iced in front of a crowd at Java Jo’s. Needed to kill time till she got off work.

I pulled up in front of the Longs’ house, which used to be the Winters’ house. I’d spent quite a bit of my youth there. After finding out what Derek was doing to my family, I’d pushed away the memories we’d shared and the feelings that had started to crop up once again. But now, faced with the reality of the house that had once been a second home for me, I couldn’t run away from them.

I hadn’t been there since we broke up my senior year. It was such a typical small-town breakup. I wanted to go to Chicago for school. He wanted me to stay in Shady Palms, where we’d get married, have kids, and live blandly ever after. At the time, staying in Shady Palms for the rest of my life had felt like death. So I left him behind. Him and everyone else I cared about. Selfish? Maybe. But it got to the point where I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Where I started having panic attacks when I thought about my future here. Why was it selfish to try to save myself?

Even now, the thought of staying here forever felt like a hand squeezing me tighter and tighter—this phantom hand molding me into the shape everyone else wanted me to be.

Why couldn’t Adeena understand that?

I mentally shook myself. Sitting in the car staring at the house wasn’t going to solve anything. Also, it was super creepy. I was lucky no nosy neighbor had called the cops on me yet. Most people in this town had the cops on speed dial, as if the police department were customer service meant to deal with their every complaint.

I reached back to grab the box of ube crinkles that I’d picked up from the house before driving over. I remembered Mrs. Long sharing my love of ube, and my aunt had raised me better than to arrive at someone’s house empty-handed. I marched up the steps and rang the doorbell, eager to get this over with. I heard the clanging of the bell within the house, but nobody answered. I rang it again. And again. Nothing.

I was about to ring one last time before realizing my blunder. Everyone was probably still at the wake. How could I forget they usually went all day? To be fair, it’d been awhile since someone I’d known had died, but still.

Should I leave the box of cookies on the porch? No, I’d hate for them to get stolen, or worse, have mice picking at them. Maybe I could just slip a note in her mailbox and come again tomorrow? Decision made, I hurried down the steps to grab a pen and paper from the car when someone rounded the side of the house and slammed into me.

“Ope!” I yelped as I grabbed the person to stop myself from falling. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

“Lila?” The hooded figure peered closely at me. “What are you doing here?”

The voice was Mrs. Long’s.

I held up the box of cookies. “I didn’t have a chance to truly express my condolences. I remembered you liked my baking, so I wanted to stop by for a bit with my ube crinkles.”

She lowered her hood, eyes flickering to the treats I held out, then back to meet my eyes. “I was wondering if you were ever going to come over.”

I bit my lip. “Wasn’t sure if I was welcome. Your husband certainly doesn’t want me around.”

“Yes, well . . .” She turned away and stomped toward the front door. “It’s my home, too, and I’d like a chance to talk to you. So come on in.”

I followed her through the open door, expecting the usual warmth of a Midwestern home but was met with the chill of an unheated house. Guess they’d lowered the temperature before heading out to the funeral home. I took off my boots, but kept my coat on, trying—and failing—to suppress a shudder.

Noting my involuntary gesture, Mrs. Long hurried over to the thermostat. “Sorry about the cold. Ed likes to keep the heat as low as possible to cut costs.”

I smiled to reassure her. “Don’t worry, my grandmother’s the same way.” I mimicked my Lola Flor’s stern voice. “‘If you’re cold, put on a sweater, ha? You think it’s cheap heating up this old house?’”

I left out the part where she’d make some crack about how all my excess fat should be keeping me warm. And people wondered why I wanted to leave so bad.

Mrs. Long smiled. “That sounds like her all right. But your house is always so lovely and warm when I stop by.”

“That’s because Tita Rosie turns the heat back up to normal human temperatures.” Realizing what she said, I frowned. “Wait, you’ve been by recently?”

Her hands fluttered up toward her permed blonde hair, fingers fluffing up the curls. “N-no, I wouldn’t say recently. Maybe a few months ago? I stopped by to pick something up for a church function and your aunt invited me in. She fed me enough food to constitute a three-course meal even though I said I’d already eaten. Insisted it was just coffee and snacks.”

I smiled, slightly embarrassed. Tita Rosie’s warmth was genuine, but my family’s hospitality could be a little on the pushy side. “Yeah, sorry about that. Her innate need to feed the world can be a little overwhelming at times.”

She laughed. “It was the best meal I’d had in a long time, so I didn’t mind. Ed keeps me on a pretty limited budget when it comes to buying groceries, and I’m not very creative in the kitchen, so . . .”

She trailed off and glanced at the kitchen, eyes widening suddenly. “How rude of me, having you stand around without even offering you a drink! Let me just pop into the kitchen and I can make some coffee to go with those, um, how do you pronounce it?”

I held out the box to her. “Oo-beh. It’s like a mild sweet potato that we use for desserts in the Philippines.”

She picked one up clumsily in her gloved hands and took a small, timid bite. Her eyes bugged out and she popped the rest of it into her mouth, chewing vigorously. “Ohh, I remember the taste of these now! Subtle and sweet, and such a lovely color.”

I nodded. “Thanks. I love them, too.”

“They’re quite addictive.” She ate two more in rapid succession and urged me to have one as well, so I helped myself to a few.

They worked up quite a thirst, but I didn’t know how to signal to Mrs. Long that I was really craving that coffee she’d offered. I cleared my throat a few times as she worked on another cookie, but it took a fake cough to draw her attention.

“Are you OK, dear?”

“Sorry, winter doesn’t really agree with me. The cold gets into my chest and makes my throat so dry.”

“Oh, right, the coffee! Coming right up. Just wait here a moment.” She put the box down on a side table and scurried off to the kitchen.

I followed her, figuring it was time to stop stalling and talk to her about Derek. “Mrs. Long, I’m sorry but—”

For the second time that day, I bumped into her. She was barely my height, which wasn’t all that impressive to begin with, and a wisp of a thing, but the rigidity of her body and the shock of the sudden stop nearly knocked me down.

“Whoa! Mrs. Long, what’s—” I peered past her into the kitchen and gasped as I saw what had caused the abrupt motion.

There on the floor lay Mr. Long. If the pool of blood that had inched its way toward the kitchen entrance wasn’t proof enough that something was wrong, the knife embedded in his chest was.

“Oh, dear Lord,” I said, crossing myself. What in the world was going on?

“Lila,” Mrs. Long said, keeping her eyes on her husband’s still form, “would you be a dear and call the police?”