by Sharon Potts
“And you want to get even,” Aubrey said. “But hurting more people won’t bring your brother back, or your family.” She took a breath. “The government owes you justice for Willis. They have agreed to reopen his case.”
Star didn’t react.
“Get justice for you brother,” Aubrey said. “For your mother, and for your father. Get justice for yourself. But please, don’t hurt anyone else.”
Star was silent.
“Please, Star. Let Ethan go. Let my mother go.”
“Okay,” Star said, so softly Aubrey wasn’t sure she heard her correctly.
Smolleck nodded.
“Thank you,” Aubrey said. “Thank you, Star.”
The line went dead.
Aubrey’s hands were shaking. Her whole body was shaking. Would Star do it? Would she let them go?
She didn’t want to think about the alternative.
CHAPTER 50
It was strange, yet also familiar, for Diana to be sitting so close to her college roommate.
Gertrude’s cell phone had been ringing every five minutes or so, but this last time, Gertrude had frowned at the number on the display and shown it to Diana. Aubrey’s number.
Gertrude had sat down on the sofa beside her, so close that Diana could smell her scent—a not-unpleasant smell like spicy sausages. She was reminded of the early days of their freshman year when they’d go to the dorm lounge to watch a movie and share popcorn out of a chipped mixing bowl.
The memory was a distant whisper, as Diana strained to hear what Aubrey was saying on the other end of the phone.
Something about Gertrude’s brother.
Then, Gertrude had become agitated as she told Aubrey things about her brother and parents Diana had never known. Diana was starting to understand what had made Gertrude the irreverent, passionate woman she had once admired, but also feared.
The government destroyed my family, she’d said to Aubrey on the phone.
No wonder Gertrude wanted to set off bombs.
Diana caught a word on Aubrey’s end. “Justice.” And it seemed Gertrude’s face changed, but to what? Sadness? Defeat?
“Okay,” Gertrude said softly, then put her phone down and sat without moving, as the air conditioner hummed.
“Justice for your brother,” Diana said. “That’s what you always wanted, wasn’t it?”
Gertrude shifted, as though awakening. “It was in the beginning.”
“That’s why it was so important to you to make a statement,” Diana said. “The library would have been that statement.”
Gertrude got up from the sofa and went over to the kitchen counter. It was cluttered with pipe bombs, dynamite, and Molotov cocktails, just like the workbench in the brownstone basement had been.
Suddenly, Diana understood. “I took it away from you. Your only way to be heard, your voice. I left you with no choice.”
Gertrude met her eyes. Blue and wide. She’d always had the prettiest eyes.
“That’s why you blew up the brownstone,” Diana said. “But how did you survive?”
Gertrude gave her a small smile.
The memory of that day pushed against Diana like a rough wave, but as it receded, she was left with clarity. “After I told you about the deal with the FBI, you went back inside,” Diana said. “You thought it was all over.”
“I knew it was over.”
“So you ran back down to the basement where Gary and Michael were working on the bombs for the library.”
Gertrude stood motionless at the counter, as though she were remembering it, too.
“From the top of the basement stairs, you could have thrown a Molotov cocktail against the brick wall. The explosion would have set off the other bombs on the workbench.”
Gertrude remained still.
“You would have had a couple of seconds to get out before the explosions reached the stairs,” Diana said. “You could have run out through the mudroom, then out the back door.”
Gertrude seemed to awaken. She looked back at Diana. “But they found my remains.”
“Because you planted them, didn’t you?” Diana said. “The fires burned for six days, so no one was able to search the wreckage. What did you do? Cut off your finger and braid? Scorch them along with your clothes and go back to leave them in the ruins?”
“I see you’ve become an ace detective, too.” Gertrude’s voice sounded tired.
“Then you disappeared, hating Larry, hating Jonathan, and hating me. Waiting for the right moment to destroy each of us, because we took away your voice.”
Gertrude picked up one of the Molotov cocktails and took a lighter from her pocket.
Diana knew nothing she could do or say would stop Gertrude from fulfilling what she saw as her destiny.
Gertrude lit the rag in the bottle. “You got it right, Di, except for one little thing.” She drew her arm back, the bottle clasped in her hand. “I wasn’t the one who blew up the brownstone.”
What was she saying?
Gertrude let out a laugh that could have been a cry. She flung the flaming bottle toward the wall above the counter, as she sang out, “April Fool!”
CHAPTER 51
The fireball burst over the kitchen counter, hypnotizing Diana for barely an instant.
Ethan! she thought, dropping to the floor.
The second, louder explosion came a fraction of a second later, the force of it crushing her chest. Something flew across the room, as plaster and glass fell all around her. Then Diana could no longer hear anything, just shrill, high-pitched ringing.
But she was alive. She was still alive.
Something over her head was trapping her. She rolled away. The coffee table had protected her from the worst.
Ethan . . . she had to get to him.
Smoke burned her eyes as she felt around for a piece of broken glass and cut through the binding on her wrists, then ankles, trying not to breathe.
She covered her mouth and nose with her blouse and crawled behind the sofa toward the door, barely able to see through the thick smoke. Flames shot up around her, the floor shifted beneath her.
Ethan. Where was Ethan?
Something was lying in a heap. Red and blue and white.
The little boy on the tricycle. She had to save him.
She crept toward him on hands and knees.
The head was wrong, eyes wide open, neck broken, blood pouring from his face. Diana stared into his blue eyes.
Not the little boy. Gertrude.
The hot air was crushing her. Flames bursting. Ringing in her head like a relentless siren.
The little boy. She needed to save the little boy.
Di’s head was filled with cotton, so no sound could break through. Only a shrill, high-pitched ringing. She ran from the brownstone as the ground fell from beneath her. She turned to see bricks flying through the air, the building collapsing.
On the sidewalk, a red tricycle. Near it, something blue, white, and red. The little boy.
Di crawled toward him. She needed to save the little boy. Something warm was running down her check, in her eye. The ringing sound screamed in her head.
She picked up the child and tried to run, but her feet were trapped in quicksand. The boy—he was so very heavy. She heaved her legs away from the smoke and fires and flying debris.
“You’re going to be all right,” she said to the bundle in her arms. She pulled herself down the street, past two people huddled by the stoop of another brownstone. A flash of white. A flash of black. Something familiar about them.
She kept dragging herself forward, the warm wetness in her mouth, in her eyes so she could no longer see. The ringing so loud that all she wanted to do was scream. Then she became weightless as she fell into darkness.
Diana coughed. She stretched out her arms and thrashed the air. She had to get to Ethan, but the darkness was too thick.
And there was nothing to break her fall.
CHAPTER 52
Aubrey felt it be
fore she heard it. A tremor beneath her feet. Then came a blast so loud, so sudden, that even from a hundred feet away where she stood with Smolleck, the sound reverberated through her body.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t take her eyes off the small building that seemed to swell as though it had just taken a shallow breath. Hundreds of cracks appeared in the walls as windows burst out of their frames and mustard-colored stucco fell to the ground.
Blinding lights flashed in the downstairs apartment.
Aubrey found her voice. “Mama!” she screamed.
Something was restraining her arm, keeping her from running toward the exploding building, where black smoke flowed out like lava.
“Mama!” she cried, trying to run. “Let me go. Let me go!”
Someone pulled her back. He was stronger than she. She looked up. Smolleck.
“Aubrey. We have to get away from here. Now!”
She took deep breaths. Calm down, she willed herself. She stopped fighting him and went slack.
He eased his grip.
And then she took off and ran toward the building.
“Aubrey, stop!”
She didn’t know whether he was following her, but she sprinted toward the building, charged with adrenaline.
She yanked on the outer door and ran into the building. Smoke poured into the hallway, coming out of the apartment on the right. She covered her mouth and nose, ducked down low, and tried not to inhale. Part of the wall to the apartment was missing. She stepped through the torn gap. Flames shot up where the kitchen had been. The outer wall of the building was gone, and part of the upper floor dangled above her.
She searched through the haze for her mother.
Two bodies were lying on the floor, head to head.
Aubrey crawled over.
Star’s eyes were wide open, her head twisted like a broken doll’s. Beside her, Mama was huddled in a fetal position, her shirt pulled up over her mouth and nose.
“Mama?” Aubrey shook her.
Her mother jerked and opened her eyes. She began to cough.
Aubrey grabbed her arm. “Come. Quick.”
Her mother was confused as she glanced at Star’s wrecked body. Then panic filled her eyes, and she crawled after Aubrey through the gaping wall into the hallway. Behind them, the spitting flames set off another blast.
“Ethan!” her mother shouted over the noise.
Aubrey rushed ahead and opened the door to the garage. She prayed she was right about Ethan, that the movie they’d watched together had left an impression.
Her mother pointed upstairs. “Ethan.”
The upper floor was caving in around them. They had to get out.
“In here, Mama.” Aubrey pulled her mother into the garage, then threw the door closed behind them. She could hear plaster and wood crashing down where they had just been. Only a thin haze of smoke had leaked into the small garage. A white sedan took up most of the space.
Please be here. She opened the rear car door. A blanket covered the space behind the driver’s seat. Had he remembered the movie with the clever little boy?
“Ethan?”
The blanket moved.
She pulled it away.
There he was—wide-eyed, his damp blond curls matted around his head. A small indentation in his cheek from a crease in the blanket. A jumping dolphin on his wrinkled blue T-shirt.
Safe. He was safe.
“Was I brave enough, Aunt Aubrey?” he asked, in his pure, sweet voice.
Her eyes stung. “You were the bravest.”
“Ethan,” her mother said, taking him into her arms. “Oh, my precious boy. Oh, my Ethan.”
Another blast shook the garage. A piece of ceiling crashed down on the top of the car.
“Mama, get in. Quick.” Aubrey gave her a little shove, then slammed the door after her. No time for reunions. The garage was reverberating from the explosions. They needed to get out before the building collapsed.
She felt for a button to open the garage door, but found nothing.
She climbed into the driver’s seat, praying that Janis had left the key in the ignition, in case she and Star had needed to make a quick getaway.
Yes! It was there. She started up the car.
“Hang on,” she shouted.
“Grandma, get down,” Ethan said.
Aubrey stepped on the accelerator. The car began to move. She floored it, squeezing her eyes shut and lowering her head. The wheels squealed.
The car crashed through the wood door. She heard the crack of glass.
Out. They were out!
She opened her eyes. The windshield was a giant cobweb of thin white lines. She couldn’t see beyond. She eased the car into the street.
Behind them came an explosion that rocked the car, scattering pebbled glass.
Her arms shook so badly she was afraid to let go of the steering wheel. The sound of sirens surrounded her. People in uniforms rushed toward them. Smolleck, his tie askew and arms outstretched.
“Aunt Aubrey?” asked a little voice. “Is it safe to come out?”
Glass from the windshield glistened on the passenger seat, on her lap.
Glass like from a smashed snow globe.
“Yes, sweet boy.” Her throat ached. “It’s safe to come out now.”
CHAPTER 53
Hours had gone by. Or maybe it had only been seconds. Someone had wrapped a blanket around her, but Aubrey couldn’t stop shaking. The lights were disorienting, spilling out red, white, and blue, like a Fourth of July gone crazy. Then things came into focus. Sirens blared as people ran from firetrucks, ambulances, police cars.
Aubrey watched black smoke billow out of what once had been the time-share. It reminded her of the gaping hole between two intact buildings in the photo of the brownstone explosion.
Explosion. Where was Mama?
She looked around in a panic, but quickly spotted her mother sitting on an ambulance stretcher, her arms enveloping Ethan. His head rested against his grandmother’s shoulder, eyes closed.
Safe now, and finally able to sleep.
Ethan was fine.
They were both fine, but Mama had refused to let go of her grandson when they were helped from the car. Everyone seemed to understand why and gave her some space with Ethan.
The burning smell lingered in Aubrey’s nose and chest. She couldn’t tell whether her nostrils and lungs were scorched from earlier, or if the acrid odor was hanging in the open air.
She noticed a woman standing beside Detective Gonzalez a short distance away. Feral black hair, a prominent chin. The woman was absolutely motionless as she stared at the burning building.
Aubrey drew nearer. Up close, she could see the woman’s resemblance to the college photo of Gertrude Morgenstern. Gertrude, who had been her mother’s roommate. We were once very close, her mother had said.
And now, here were their daughters. Two women whose lives had been shaped by their mothers.
What had Gertrude done to her daughter to make her willing to go along with her plan to kidnap a child and put his life at risk? Why hadn’t Janis had sufficient will to resist her?
Gertrude’s daughter seemed to sense Aubrey’s presence. Their eyes met. Janis’s were very blue. Pretty, even. Like Star’s.
Like Gertrude’s would have been, behind her pink-lensed glasses.
“Why did you do it?” Aubrey asked.
Janis sucked the thick air deep into her lungs. “My mother,” she said. “She was so sad. I just wanted her to be happy.” She turned back to stare at the smoke rising out of the building.
And Aubrey realized that was exactly what she had been doing her own entire life. Trying to make her parents happy, because she had wanted so desperately to preserve their family. A family she had sensed had been built on a weak foundation, which could collapse from pressure on the tiniest fault line.
The breeze shifted and it began to snow. Aubrey looked at the snowflakes on her arms.
Not flakes.
&
nbsp; Ashes.
“She’s dead, isn’t she?” Janis asked. “My mother’s dead.”
“Yes,” Aubrey said.
Janis nodded. She held up her arms, bound together by handcuffs. “Finally, I’m free.” A smile grew on her face. “And so is Mom.”
Free, Aubrey thought.
So why was it so difficult to breathe?
CHAPTER 54
Her ears hadn’t stopped ringing, and her head felt as though it were filled with sawdust, but she was alive. More important, Ethan was safe, in good health, and reunited with his mother and father.
Diana rolled her wheelchair out of the hospital room where she had spent the last twenty-four hours. Her hands were in bandages, and it was painful to use them to operate the wheelchair, but she was too unstable on her own feet.
She had been to Larry’s room earlier today, shortly after he’d regained consciousness, but she had wanted to wait until they were alone and he was stronger before she spoke to him.
If not for the misunderstanding, she might never have put it all together. The nurse had assumed she was Larry’s wife, not ex-wife, and had brought her a large folded paper that had been tucked into Larry’s waistband when the medics had brought him to the hospital. The old, yellowed paper was spotted with recent blood. She had unfolded the document and realized it was the blueprint of Low Library that she had seen forty-five years before. But it was only when she examined the notations in the margins that she recognized the handwriting. Handwriting that had been so new to her when she first saw the blueprint, she hadn’t made the connection.
That’s when everything came together for her—Gertrude’s last words before she blew up the time-share, Larry’s reluctance to go to the FBI so many years ago, and Diana’s confused memory of the two people huddled together a few doors down from the exploding brownstone.
The hallway was quiet, just the sounds of beeping coming from patients’ rooms. It was after ten and the visitors were mostly gone. Aubrey had left a few minutes earlier. Diana had reprimanded her daughter for risking her life, but there was no heart in her motherly scolding, and Aubrey had known it. Without her daughter’s intervention, Diana and Ethan would never have survived.
