No Safe House Read Free Page A

doing that.”
    Before I could weigh in, Grace said, “Are you kidding? I’m not going to fucking Budapest. It’s New Haven.”
    This was a relatively new wrinkle. The use of foul language. I don’t suppose we had anyone to blame but ourselves. It was not uncommon for Cynthia or me to drop the f-bomb when we were angry or frustrated. If we had one of those swear jars where you drop in a quarter every time you used a bad word, we could have used the money to take a trip to Rome every year.
    Just the same, I called Grace on it.
    “Don’t you ever speak to your mother that way,” I said sternly.
    Cynthia clearly felt a reprimand was inadequate. “You’re grounded for two weeks,” she said.
    Grace, stunned, came back with: “How long are you going to take it out on
me
that
you
couldn’t save your family? I wasn’t even born, okay? It’s not my fault.”
    A verbal knife to the heart with that one.
    I could see, in Grace’s face, instant regret, and something more than that. Fear. She’d crossed a line, and she knew it. Maybe, if she’d had a chance, she’d have withdrawn the comment, offered an apology, but Cynthia’s hand came up so quickly, she never had a chance.
    She slapped our daughter across the face. A smack loud enough I felt it in my own cheek.
    “Cyn!” I shouted.
    But as I yelled, Grace stumbled to the side, put out her hand instinctively to brace her fall in case she lost her footing.
    Her hand hit the side of the pot that was cooking the rice. Knocked it to one side. Grace’s hand dropped, landed on the burner.
    The scream. Jesus, the scream.
    “Oh God!” Cynthia said. “Oh my God!”
    She grabbed Grace’s arm, spun her around to the sink, and turned on the cold tap, kept a constant stream of water running over her burned hand. The back of it had hit the hot pan and the side had connected with the burner. Maybe a millisecond of contact in each case, but enough to sear the flesh.
    Tears were streaming down Grace’s face. I wrapped my arms tightly around her while Cynthia kept running cold water on her hand.
    We took her to Milford Hospital.
    “You can tell them the truth,” Cynthia told Grace. “You can tell them what I did. I deserve to be punished. If they call the police, they call the police. I’m not going to make you tell them something that isn’t true.”
    Grace told the doctor she was boiling water to cook some macaroni, iPod buds in her ears, listening to Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep,” dancing like an idiot, when she flung her arm out and hit the handle on the pot, knocking it off the stove.
    We brought Grace home, her hand well bandaged.
    The next day, Cynthia moved out for the second time.
    She hasn’t come back yet.

TWO
    “REGGIE , Reggie, come in, come in.”
    “Hi, Unk.”
    “Did you find her?”
    “Jeez, let me get my coat off.”
    “I’m sorry. I just—”
    “I didn’t. I didn’t find … her. Not yet. No money, either.”
    “But I thought—You said you found the house and—”
    “It didn’t work out. It was a false lead. Eli lied to us, Unk. And it’s not like we can go back and ask him again.”
    “Oh. But you said—”
    “I know what I said. I’m telling you, we struck out.”
    “I’m sorry. I guess I got my hopes up. You seemed so sure last time I talked to you. I’m just disappointed is all. There’s coffee there if you want it.”
    “Thanks.”
    “I still appreciate everything you’re doing for me.”
    “It’s okay, Unk.”
    “I mean it. I know you get tired of my saying it, but I do. You’re all I got. You’re like the kid I never had, Reggie.”
    “Not a kid anymore.”
    “No, no—you’re all grown. You grew up fast, and early.”
    “Didn’t have much choice. Coffee’s good.”
    “I’m just sorry I wasn’t there for you sooner.”
    “I’ve never blamed you. You know that. We don’t have to keep going over this. You see me obsessing about this? Huh? And
I’m
the one it all happened to. So if I can move on,