Three Weeks Later
“You want to leave?” Vanna cried. “You can’t! What will I do?”
Georgia, at the kitchen sink washing dishes, shook her head. “I will never leave you. I just found you.”
“But you just said you’re going to move. Without me!”
Georgia had been thinking about the condo Jimmy had rented. The idea of having more private time with him was tantalizing. Even if it was just one or two nights a week. She’d just raised the issue with Vanna. Now she wasn’t so sure.
“It would only be a couple of nights a week.” She picked up a plate and dried it with a towel.
“But why?”
“Mostly because it’s pretty crowded in here, don’t you think? And Jimmy and I haven’t had any private time unless I go up to Lake Geneva. Which is too far away.”
Vanna worried a hand through her long blond hair. A younger—Vanna was just sixteen—more beautiful version of Georgia, her sister shared the same porcelain skin, high cheekbones, and lithe body. But her nose was smaller than Georgia’s, and she was at least two inches taller. Now her brown eyes flashed with anger.
“Who’s gonna take care of my baby when you’re gone?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re taking Charlie, right? And what about school? Sam said I could intern with her next semester. I need you.”
Georgia sighed. This was the hard part. “Vanna, Charlie is your son. Not mine. I can’t babysit forever. I need to work. But don’t worry. We’ll find really good day care. Or a babysitter.”
“I can’t believe this!” Vanna’s voice climbed up an octave. “You’re fucking abandoning me. And my baby. Because of your boyfriend.” Vanna’s lips puckered. Georgia wasn’t sure if she was going to cry or throw a tantrum. “Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy. It’s all about him, isn’t it? You don’t give a shit about me. He’s the one who wants you to leave. He’s never liked me. He—”
“He does like you. What he doesn’t and didn’t like was the danger we were in. You know how I want to protect you? Well, he wants to protect me.”
Vanna planted her hands on her hips, exaggerating her belligerence. Georgia almost expected her to stamp her foot. “So you’re going to move out? Some protection.”
“Vanna, I told Jimmy I didn’t know if you were ready. But he had an opportunity to rent an apartment nearby, and I told him I’d consider spending more time with him. You’ve been a real trooper since—well—everything happened. You’ve matured a lot. And you’re a wonderful mother to Charlie. I thought this might give you a chance to spread your wings.” She flipped the towel over her shoulder. “See what life could be like without your sister and her boyfriend in the way.”
“What if I don’t want to spread my wings?” Her expression hardened. “What if I’m fine the way things are? What about me and my feelings? You just want to dump me . . . like, like”—she waved her hand—“last night’s garbage.”
This was not the reaction Georgia had expected. Maybe she should have. Fourteen months earlier Vanna had run away from a Denver suburb where she was living with her—no, their—mother, from whom Georgia was estranged. Vanna came to Chicago on the bus, but Georgia didn’t meet her until six months later, when Vanna was in trouble and pregnant. Eight months later they’d created a new life together. Vanna had done well. Really well. A little more freedom, Georgia had figured, might not be a bad idea. Apparently, she was wrong.
“And what about homework?” Vanna cocked her hip. “What am I supposed to do with Charlie when I’m studying?”
“We’ll figure out a solution, if it comes to that. Vanna, we’re only talking one or two nights a week.”
But Vanna ignored her. “I should have known. You want to get as far away from me as you can. You’re just like everyone else.”
Was “everyone else” a euphemism for their mother? “Oh, Vanna.” Georgia couldn’t decide whether to tell Vanna to quit manipulating her or to throw her arms around the girl. Her sister’s words cut deep.
Just what Vanna wanted, Georgia figured. She was a former addict, a survivor of sex trafficking, and now a mother. But she was also just a teenager who thought the world revolved around her. Throw in some drama, and this was the result. Georgia wished she knew what to say to her sister, but she stood a few feet away, feeling useless. This is how families fall apart, she thought. Misunderstandings. Friction. Angry jabs.
“I get it.” Vanna was working herself up. Her body was rigid, her eyes slits. Her skin from the neck up was bright red. “You don’t give a shit about me.”
“Sweetheart. That’s not true.”
“Don’t call me sweetheart,” she hissed. “You’re not my mother.”
Georgia had never seen her sister so angry. Pure white-hot rage with a dose of teenage prima donna syndrome. She choked back her own feelings. She’d taken a psychology class at the police academy and knew rage usually stems from a deep-seated fear. Of rejection. Or abandonment. And while she and Vanna had taken very different paths, they both shared the same mother. A mother who’d abandoned Georgia. Walked out when she was twelve and never called, wrote, or even sent a damn birthday card. Then Vanna had walked out on her. Now Vanna thought Georgia was walking out. In her mind, the circle was complete.
She wanted to suggest they start the conversation over when two things happened at the same time. Charlie woke up with a lusty yell—Georgia was surprised he’d slept this long with Vanna’s shouting—and Georgia’s cell pinged.
“Let’s talk about this in a minute, okay?”
Vanna turned on her heel and stomped out of the kitchen. Georgia fished the cell off the kitchen table. The screen registered an unfamiliar number, but it had a North Shore area code. Another damn telemarketer?
“Davis here.”
“Is this Georgia Davis, the private investigator?”
Georgia straightened. “Speaking.”
“My name is Erica Baldwin Stewart.”
Where had Georgia heard that name?
The woman’s voice cracked. “My daughter was Dena Baldwin.”