Page 67 of Good Half Gone

“S—someone…” Her word is quietly loud, and it hits home.

“Someone is trying to scare me, that’s all.”

We get to her bedroom, and I flick on the light. She does her bathroom things on her own, so I sit on the bed and wait while she uses her walking stick to carry her the rest of the way.

“We should probably be prepared for the worst,” I say from the bed.

Seventy years old and she’s still preparing for the worst. What have I brought to her front door? Gran is the strongest woman I know, but she doesn’t deserve this. Not after everything else…

She comes out a few minutes later, and I help her into her nightgown. When she’s in bed, she looks especially small. I look away from her face—which is bloodless—and stare at the books on her bookshelf, their spines color-coordinated. She’ll probably never read those books again.

“I’ll take care of it,” I tell her.

She looks at me long and hard, some of the color returning to her face. Then she points to her notepad. It’s equally as tiring for her to write, but she’s used up all her speaking energy. She writes:I love you, Iris, but we need to have a serious conversation about what you’re doing and the danger it’s putting your son in. And all in the name of what?

I feel heat build in my chest like an aggravated wind. “How can you ask me that? You know why I’m doing this.”

Your obsession, she scribbles crookedly down the page.

I shut my eyes. If I wasn’t obsessed with finding out what happened to my sister, what would I be? Broken? Hiding? Complacently pretending it didn’t happen? Which outcome would she prefer for me?

“Peace,” she says. She touches my face. She’s exhausted. I kiss her forehead and help her lie down.

I lock myself in the bathroom. Cal left the floor wet, something I’ve talked to him about a hundred times. I drop the note on the lid of the toilet and text Leo as I lean against the sink.

Did you tell anyone what I told you?

A minute later his text bubble pops up with??

About my sister. I don’t want people to feel sorry for me.

Of course not. I would never do that to you. What’s this about?

Nothing,I send back quickly.Just making sure.

Do you need a ride back to your car tomorrow?

Nope, it’s all taken care of thanks

Chapter22

December Arrives Withlittle fanfare. No one seems in the mood to celebrate. “Everyone is still in pandemic mindset,” Crede says offhandedly when I mention it.

“I have a kid, I can’t get out of Christmas.”

He makes a face liketoo bad for you, and I laugh.

It’s Thursday morning. We are huddled on the ferry, clutching gingerbread lattes, our beanies dotted with moisture. He is probably right—even a year removed, the public atmosphere is still cagey. The local Starbucks still hasn’t reopened its indoor seating area. Crede pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his backpack and sets it on the empty seat next to him. His leg bounces as he waits. The woman sitting across from us gives Crede’s cigarettes a dirty look before relocating to the other side if the boat.

“Do you ever take smoke breaks with Dr. Grayson?”

His eyebrow shoots up, and I feel my face grow hot.

“You obsessed with him too? Joining the gaggle of googly-eyed fans of Leo the lion?” I watch as he digs around the pockets of his backpack.

I snicker. “Leo the lion?”

“I didn’t make the zodiac.” He downs the last of his latte and sighs.“All the nurses do is talk about him. I know too much about that man. He doesn’t smoke, by the way. What type of psychotherapist smokes cigarettes?”

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