Eva's hand shook as she extended the paper. It was damp, the edges fraying, but the ink was still legible. As her grandmother reached for it, a wave of guilt washed over Eva. The words on the paper were a shield, a kinder, simpler version of a truth too sharp to speak. A truth about a mother who hadn't died in a clean, sudden accident, but who had faded away until there was nothing left. This note was her first lie to this kind old woman, and it tasted like ash in her mouth.
Nana took it. She fumbled in her apron pocket for her reading glasses and perched them on her nose. Her hands were shaking so hard the paper rattled.
Hoyt stood guard a few feet away, his back to them, facing the street. He was the perimeter.
Nana read the first line.
Mom is gone.
A gasp escaped Nana's lips. It wasn't a scream. It was a sound of pure, physical pain, like something inside her had just snapped.
She read on.
She died. I had nowhere to go. I'm sorry.
The paper slipped from Nana's fingers. It fluttered down and landed in a puddle. The blue ink began to bleed into the dirty water.
Nana's legs gave out.
Eva rushed forward. She caught her grandmother just before she hit the ground. They collapsed together onto the wet concrete.
"No," Nana wailed. "No, no, no."
It was a guttural sound, a keen of grief that tore through the night. Nana buried her face in Eva's shoulder, clutching her wet sweatshirt.
Eva held her grandmother. She wrapped her arms around the frail woman and held on tight. Tears streamed down Eva's face, silent and hot. For the first time in her life, she wasn't crying alone in a locked room. She was sharing the weight.
Hoyt turned around at the sound of the wail. He saw the two women huddled on the ground, surrounded by spilled apples and rain.
A sharp pain hit his chest. A memory of sand, blood, and a similar sound of grief flashed in his mind. He shoved it down.
He stepped forward, casting a shadow over them, blocking the wind.
A car drove by slowly, the driver craning his neck to gawk at the scene. Hoyt glared at the driver. His expression was murderous. The car sped up and vanished into the night.
"My baby," Nana sobbed. "My Amirah..."
Eva buried her face in Nana's neck, smelling lavender and old wool.
Hoyt realized they couldn't stay on the ground. The cold was seeping into them.
He crouched down beside them. His voice was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to his earlier roughness.
"Mrs. Rose," he said softly. "We need to get you inside."
Nana nodded weakly. She tried to stand, but she had no strength left.
